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.
Three tomatoes are walking down the street- a poppa tomato, a momma tomato, and a little baby tomato. Baby tomato starts lagging behind. Poppa tomato gets angry, goes over to the baby tomato, and smooshes him... and says, Catch up.
