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Pulp Fiction
I was eating my muffin and drinking my coffee, when I had what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity.
I was eating my muffin and drinking my coffee, when I had what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity.
Girls like me don't make invitations like this to just anyone!
Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead.
Tell you what. I'm gonna go to the bathroom and powder my nose and you sit here and think of something to say.
Hamburgers. The cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast.
All of my piercings, sixteen places on my body, all of them done with a needle. Five in each ear, one through the nipple on my left breast, one through my right nostril, one through my left eyebrow, one in my lip, one in my clit... and I wear a stud in my tongue.
Bring out the Gimp.
Dorks. They look like a couple of dorks.
If my answers frighten you then you should cease asking scary questions.
It's the one that says "bad motherfucker".
That was fuckin' trippy.
In the fifth my ass goes down.
Fuck! To be continued.
Everybody be cool, this is a robbery!
Any of you fucking pricks move, and I'll execute every one of you motherfuckers!
Don't be tellin' me about foot massages. I'm the foot fuckin' master.
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.
Say 'what' again. Say 'what' again, I dare you, I double dare you motherfucker, say 'what' one more Goddamn time!
English, motherfucker, do you speak it?
I'm gonna get medieval on your ass.
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