Found 431 results
1m5s
Okay, first thing. You two. Take the body, stick it in the trunk. This looks to be a pretty domesticated house. - That would lead me to believe you got cleansers and shit. - Yeah. Under the sink. Good. What I need you two fellas to do is take those cleaning products... and clean the inside of the car- I'm talkin' fast, fast, fast. Go in the back seat, scoop up all those little pieces of brain and skull. Get it out of there. Wipe down the upholstery. It don't need to be spick-and-span. You don't need to eat off it. Just give it a good once-over. What you need to take care of are the really messy parts. The pools of blood that have collected, you gotta soak that shit up. We need to raid your linen closet. I need blankets, I need comforters, quilts, bedspreads. The thicker the better, the darker the better. No whites. Can't use 'em. We'll need to camouflage the front seat and back seat and floorboards... with quilts and blankets, so if a cop starts stickin' his big snout in the car, the subterfuge won't last, but at a glance the car will appear to be normal. Jimmie, lead the way. Boys, get to work. "Please" would be nice.
Pulp Fiction
1m13s
Oh, no fuckin' shit she'll freak. That ain't no kinda answer. I mean, you know, I don't. How much? A lot or a little? You got to appreciate what an explosive element... this Bonnie situation is. She comes home from a hard day's work, finds a bunch of gangsters in her kitchen... doing a bunch of gangster shit, there ain't no tellin' what she's liable to do. [ All Gasping ] Yeah, I grasp that, Jules. All I'm doing is contemplating the ifs. I don't wanna hear about no motherfuckin' ifs! All I want to hear from your ass is, "You ain't got no problem, Jules. I'm on the motherfucker. Chill them niggers out and wait for the cavalry, which should be coming directly." You ain't got no problem, Jules. I'm on the motherfucker. Chill them niggers out and wait for the Wolf, who should be coming directly. You sendin' the Wolf? Oh, you feel better, motherfucker? Shit, yeah, negro! That's all you had to say! - [ Piano ] - [ Man ] She the hysterical type? - When is she due? - [ Partygoers Chattering ] Mm-hmm. Give me the principals' names again. [ Man ] Place your bets.
Pulp Fiction
34.8s
What the fuck'd I tell ya? Huh? As soon as the word got out the fix was in, man, the odds went through the roof. I know. I know. Unbelievable. Hey, fuck him, Scotty. If he was a better boxer, he'd still be alive. If he never laced up his gloves, which he never shoulda done in the first fuckin' place, he'd still be alive. [ Hawks, Spits ] Yeah, well, who gives a fuck? It's over now. Yeah, well, enough about the poor, unfortunate Mr. Floyd. Let's talk about the rich and prosperous Mr. Butch. How many bookies did you lay it around on? All eight? How long to collect?
Pulp Fiction