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 shoots Brett in shoulder] Jules: 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.
Jules: Nobody's gonna hurt anybody. We're gonna be like three little Fonzies here. And what's Fonzie like? Come on Yolanda what's Fonzie like? Yolanda: Cool? Jules: What? Yolanda: He's cool. Jules: Correctamundo. And that's what we're gonna be. We're gonna be cool. Now Ringo, I'm gonna count to three, and when I count three, you let go of your gun, and sit your ass down. But when you do it, you do it cool. Ready? One... two... three.