Jules: What does Marcellus Wallace look like?
Brett: What?
Jules: What country you from?
Brett: What?
Jules: What ain’t no country I ever heard of! They speak English in What?
Brett: What?
Jules: ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER! DO-YOU-SPEAK-IT?
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Then you know what I’m saying!
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Describe what Marcellus Wallace looks like!
Brett: What, I-?
Jules: [pointing his gun] Say what again. SAY WHAT AGAIN. I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker. Say what one more goddamn time.
Brett: He’s b-b-black…
Jules: Go on.
Brett: He’s bald…
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett: What?
Jules: [Jules shoots Brett in shoulder] DOES HE LOOK LIKE A BITCH?
Brett: No!
Jules: Then why you try to fuck him like a bitch, Brett?
Brett: I didn’t.
Jules: Yes you did. Yes you did, Brett. You tried to fuck him. And Marcellus Wallace don’t like to be fucked by anybody, except Mrs. Wallace.
pulp fiction, quentin tarantino
