A little fiction....Any of you pricks move, an i'll execute every mother fucking last one of you |
[08 Feb 2002|01:15am] |
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PULP (pulp) n. 1. A soft, moist, shapeless mass of matter. 2. A magazine or book containing lurid subject matter and being characteristically printed on rough, unfinished paper. American Heritage Dictionary: New College Edition
Ezekiel 25:17 The path of the righteous man, Is beset on all size, By the inequities of the selfish, And the tyranny of evil men Blessed is he who in the name of charity and good will, Shepherds the weak through the Wally of darkness, For he is truly his brothers keeper, And the finder of lost children, And I will strike down upon thee With great vengeance And furious anger Those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers And you will know My name is the Lord When I lay my vengeance upon thee
how fuckin yummy does he look there??
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Jules: Oh man, I will never forgive your ass for this shit, this is some fucked up repugnant shit. Vince: Jules, you ever hear the philosophy that once a man admits he's wrong he is automatically forgiven for all wrong doings? Have ya ever heard that? Jules: Get the fuck out my face with that shit. The mother fucker who said that never had to pick up itty-bitty pieces of skull on account of your dumb ass. Vince: I got a threshold Jules, I got a threshold for the abuse that I will take. Right now I'm a fuckin' racecar alright, and you got me in the red. Now I'm just saying, im just saying that it's fuckin) dangerous to have a racecar in the fuckin' red, I could blow Jules: Oh you could blow? Vince: Yeah I could blow. Jules: Well im a mushroom cloud layin mother fucker, mother fucker. Every time my hands touch brain, I'm superfly T-N-T, I'm the guns of the Navarone. In fact, what the fuck am I doin in the back, you the mother fucker should be on brain detail, we fuckin' switchin, im washin the windows, and you pickin up this niggers skull.
Jules: What does Marsellus Wallace look like? Brett: What? Jules: What country you from? Brett: Wh-What? Jules: What aint no country I ever heard of, They speak english in what? Brett: W-What? Jules: English mother fucker, do you speak it? Brett: Y-Yes Jules: Then you know what I'm saying Brett: yes Jules: Describe what Marsellus Wallace looks like Brett: What? I.. Jules: Say what again! Say what again i dare ya, I double dare you mother fucker, say what one more god damn time! Brett: H-h-h-he's black Jules: Go on..! Brett: H-he's bald Jules: Does he look like a bitch? Brett: What? BANG! Brett: argggghhh urrrghhh Jules: Does - he - look - like - a - bitch? Brett: Nooo Jules: Then why you trying 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 Marsellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody except Mrs. Wallace
Jules: It was a foot massage. A foot massage means nothin'. I give my mother a foot massage. Vincent: It's layin' your hands in a familiar way on Marsellus' new wife. Is it as bad as eatin' her pussy out? No. But it's the same fuckin' ballpark. Jules: Whoa, whoa, whoa... stop right there. Eatin' a bitch out and givin' a bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fuckin' thing. Vincent: It's not... it's the same ballpark. Jules: Ain't no fuckin' ballpark neither. Now look, maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but y'know, touching his wife's feet and stickin' your tounge in the holiest of holys ain't in the same fuckin' ballpark, it ain't the same league, it ain't even the same fuckin' sport. Foot massages don't mean shit. Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage? Jules: Don't be tellin' me about fuckin' foot massages. I'm the foot fuckin' masta. Vincent: You given a lot of 'em? Jules: Shit yeah... I got my technique down and everything. I don't be ticklin' or nothin' Vincent: Would you give a guy a foot massage? Jules: Fuck you. Vincent: You give 'em alot? Jules: Fuck you. Vincent: You know, I'm kinda tired. I could use a foot massage myself. Jules: Yo man, you just back off. I'm gettin' a little pissed here.
Jimmy: When you came pullin' in here, did you notice a sign on the front of my house that said 'Dead Nigger Storage'? Jules: Jimmy, you know I didn't see no shit... Jimmy: Did you notice a sign on the front of my house that said 'Dead Nigger Storage'? Jules: No.....I didn't... Jimmy: You know why you didn't see that sign? Jules: Why? Jimmy: Cuz it ain't there - Cuz storin' dead niggers ain't my fuckin' business - That's why!
The Wolf: Fine job, gentlemen. We may get out of this yet. Jimmy: I can't believe that's the same car. The Wolf: Well, let's not start suckin' each other's dicks quite yet.
Butch: Zed's dead baby, Zed's dead...
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