Pulp Fiction

I don't know why I picked this movie. Writing a review about it scares the ever-loving shit about me. It is such a well-loved film that if I say anything negative about it, I feel I might be crucified. Fuck, I might crucify myself if I give it a shitty review. Please don't hate me.

So after the intro with the English guy who screams a lot in Reservoir Dogs, we've got the song that used to be good before it was anally raped by the Black Eyed Peas. (I originally typed "anally rapped" and considered leaving it since it works surprisingly well). "Which one?" you say? Who the fuck cares?

This bullshit about being able to order a beer in McDonalds is actually completely true, by the way. You can get a beer in the drive-thru and (if someone else is driving) you can drink that motherfucker right in the car. I would feel like a criminal the whole way home. Also, I think if you consumed a meal like that, your liver would straight-up punch you in the face. "What is this, you fucking asshole? Liquor and your entire daily intake of fat and salt? You're a piece of shit, you know that? I am totally going to give you cirrhosis. Suck my fucking liver dick." Yeesh, your liver has anger management problems.

According to this film, shooting heroin and driving makes you feel like you're in a movie from the 1950s. And although I cannot confirm from experience whether or not that is true, I suspect it is not.

I don't know about you, but I would totally go to Jackrabbit Slims if it were real. That place sounds fucking amazing. Especially if Steve Buscemi were both Buddy Holly and the waiter. Five dollar milkshakes be damned. 16 years later, you'd be hard pressed to find a reasonably sized milkshake for under $5. I also enjoy the fact that Vincent just spent a grand on heroin and is freaking out about spending five bones on a milkshake. Addictions and shit, I guess.

Okay, Uma Thurman, I know you're addicted to cocaine, but is snorting a white powdered substance you find in someone else's pocket really a good idea? That's kind of a dick move, for one. I'll admit I'm not an expert on the rules of the cocaine culture, but I think it is a rather serious faux-pas to take someone's stash out of their coat pocket and snort a big, fat line of it. For another, I know it looks very similar, especially because the dealer was out of balloons or whatever the fuck the usual procedure is, but unless it's got a motherfucking "THIS IS COCAINE" label on it, you may want to reconsider shoving a shitload of it up your nose. Just a thought.

On to Bruce Willis' watch: I can't help but ask a few questions about the logistics of a watch spending 7 years in someone's rectum. Did they wrap it in something? It would seem to me that they wouldn't have access to something like condoms and therefore would likely have had to shove it in bareback. If so, I don't understand how it survived this. I don't think waterproof watches existed at that point. How did they clean it afterward? Would it not have been caked in shit? And, for some reason, the question that nags me the most: did these men shit out a watch every time they had to take a dump just to have to shove it right back in there afterward? This sounds like one of the circles of hell, to me. Besides all that, would you wear a watch that spent 2 years in Christopher Walken's ass? I think this is a question that every person must ask themselves at least once in their lives.

Quentin Tarantino, I think you need to cool it with the N word. We knooooow you're trying to be all realistic and whatever the fuck, but I'm not sure it is appropriate for you to be using that word. Not only are you not of African descent, but I'm not even sure you're human. I have a bad feeling that you're really just a cartoon drawing of a crescent moon (seriously, look up cartoon drawings of crescent moons and you will note that they all look remarkably like Quentin Tarantino).

Good lord, Vincent, for a film criminal, you sure do have bad luck. First, the boss' wife ODs on your fucking heroin, second, you accidentally shoot a motherfucker in the face, third, you get held up at gunpoint while having breakfast and whilst wearing a ludicrous outfit and finally, you get your ass shot to death after taking a shit in Bruce Willis' apartment. I would suggest you get your shit together, but at the end of this story, you're too busy bleeding from your chest wounds to worry about that.

This last scene just makes me think how totally confused and annoyed I would be at Jules for not fucking saving everyone if I were one of those restaurant patrons. He totally could have, but he's like being all religiously enlightened and shit. He's like "I can't give you this case because it's not mine" and those wallets in the bag, they're yours? Dick.

God dammit, I'm tired and this movie just makes me want to go for breakfast. I sure could go for some swine.

Goodnight Pumpkins and Honey Bunnies respectively.

Side note: WHY is this the 3rd movie out of 4 that I've reviewed that has a disgusting ponytail?! This is getting out of control! Obviously there weren't any in the Lion King because they were on the motherfucking savannah and, you know, don't have thumbs. Outrageous. Vincent Vega, cut your hair.