Found 431 results
1m29s
Mmm! Goddamn, Jimmie! This some serious gourmet shit. Me and Vincent would've been satisfied... with some freeze-dried Taster's Choice. Right? [ Chuckles ] And he springs this serious gourmet shit on us. - What flavor is this? - Knock it off, Julie. - What? - I don't need you to tell me how fuckin' good my coffee is. I'm the one who buys it. I know how good it is. When Bonnie goes shopping, she buys shit. I buy the gourmet expensive stuff 'cause when I drink it, I wanna taste it. But you know what's on my mind right now? It ain't the coffee in my kitchen. It's the dead nigger in my garage. - Jimmie, don't even worry- - Don't tell me about anything. I wanna ask you a question. When you came pulling in here, did you notice the sign on the front of my house that said, "Dead Nigger Storage"? - You know I ain't seen no- - Did you notice the sign on the front of my house... that said, "Dead Nigger Storage"? No. I didn't. - You know why you didn't see that sign? - [ Sighs ] Why? 'Cause it ain't there, 'cause storing dead niggers ain't my fuckin' business, that's why! - We're not gonna store the motherfucker- - Don't you fuckin' realize... that if Bonnie comes home and finds a dead body in her house, I'm gonna get divorced? No marriage counselor. No trial separation. I'm gonna get fuckin' divorced. Okay? And I don't wanna get fuckin' divorced! Man, you know, fuck, I wanna help you, but I don't wanna lose my wife doin' it. Jimmie, Jimmie, she ain't gonna leave you. Don't fuckin' "Jimmie" me, Jules! Okay? Don't fuckin' "Jimmie" me. There's nothin' you're gonna say that's gonna make me forget I love my wife. Is there?
Pulp Fiction
28.3s
Have you lost your fucking mind? - You were talking about drug shit on a cellular phone! - Lance, help me. - You crashed your car into my fucking house! - Grab her feet. Are you deaf? You are not bringing this fucked-up bitch into my house! This "fucked-up bitch" is Marsellus Wallace's wife. - Do you know who Marsellus Wallace is? - Yeah. If she croaks on me, I am a fucking grease spot! I will be forced to tell him that you did not help and let her die on your lawn. Now, come on. Help me, help me. Pick her up.
Pulp Fiction
30.2s
And if self-preservation is an instinct you possess, you'd better fuckin' do it and do it quick. I'm here to help. If my help's not appreciated, lotsa luck, gentlemen. No, Mr. Wolf, it ain't like that; your help is definitely appreciated. Mr. Wolf, listen. I don't mean disrespect, okay? I respect you. I just don't like people barkin' orders at me. If I'm curt with you, it's because time is a factor. I think fast, I talk fast, and I need you guys to act fast if you wanna get out of this. So pretty please, with sugar on top, clean the fuckin' car.
Pulp Fiction