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Life imitating fiction... again..

pfjunkie and I were having the quarterly philosophical debate a couple of nights ago, and this bit o' Pulp Fiction came up. We were talking about different... ahem interactions, but it was in this ballpark :). For the record, I was trying to communicate the Vincent side of the argument :)..

Vincent: .. but still I got to say if you play with matches you'll get burned.
Jules: What do you mean?
Vincent: You don't be given Marcelus Wallace's new bride a foot massage.
Jules: You don't think he overreacted?
Vincent: Well Antoine probably didn't expect Marcelus to react the way he did, but he had to expect a reaction.
Jules: It was a foot massage a foot massage don't mean nothin'. I give my mother a foot massage.
Vincent: It's layin your hands in a familiar way on Marcelus' new wife. I mean is it as bad as eatin' her pussy out? No, but it's the same 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 touchin' his wife's feet, and stickin' your tongue in the holiest of holies, ain't the same fuckin' ballpark, it ain't the same league, it ain't even the same fuckin' sport. Look, foot massages don't mean shit.
Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage?
Jules: Don't be tellin' me about foot massages -- I'm the foot fuckin' master.
Vincent: You given a lot of 'em?
Jules: Shit yeah, 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 given' 'em a lot?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: You know, I'm kinda tired, I could use a foot massage myself.
Jules: Yo, yo, yo, man, you best back off, I'm gittin' a little pissed here.