Plump Fiction

---

(MILITARY DRUMMING)

And a handful of people

made a shitload of money.

(GUNFIRE)

..life-affirming...

...motion picture.

('PULP FICTION' THEME PARODY)

I love cappuccino. I love the taste of it.

I love the smell of it.

I even love the sound of it -

cappuccino.

If someone held a gun to my head

and forced me to choose

a celebrity - any celebrity -

whose life I'd have to assume,

I'd choose Al Pacino, because my name

would sound like 'cappuccino'.

I would choose Major Nelson

from 'I Dream of Jeannie'.

Having your own girl in a bottle

would be fun.

Yeah, I bet you'd like that,

wouldn't you, Bumpkin'? Ha-ha!

Your own little pin-up girl,

wearing nothing but harem pants

and a halter top,

popping out of a cookie jar

every time you snapped your fingers.

It wasn't a cookie jar.

It was a fancy bottle with a plug.

A stripper in a bottle.

Can you believe that'?

A freakin' call girl in a bottle.

And this was prime time - 7:30 -

right before 'Laugh-In'.

Yes, master."

Right away, master."

If I was Barbara Eden,

I would have crossed my arms

and blinked Major Nelson

right into a leather sling.

Then we'd see

who would be master.

Where's that f***ing waitress?

What's a sling?

I can't believe

how f***ing stupid you are.

Stupid is as stupid...

Whoa.

You say that stupid line

one more time, I'm gonna execute you

and every other pancake-eating

motherf***er in this place.

Do you hear me?

I'm not eating pancakes.

I said, do you hear me?

Yes, OK, I hear you.

Stupid movie.

Life is just like

a box of chocolates.

Life is just like a box of sh*t.

Ah, but what do I care?

I've just written

the most brilliant, violent script

in the history of cinema.

And somebody's

actually producing it.

Look out, Bumpkin,

my star is on the rise.

If your star is on the rise,

how come they banned you

from the set'?

I'll show them.

I'm gonna get my hands

on my first million bucks

and I'll make my own movie

and screw all of 'em.

Oh, actress...

(SIGHS)

...could you bring me

another double cappuccino?

(READS) I am not an actress.

I am an aspiring filmmaker."

Filmmaker?

WOW!

Why don't we do

a nice, slow tracking shot

of you bringing me...

...another f***ing cappuccino?

That wasn't very nice.

Well, nice doesn't

get you anywhere.

Just ask Barbara Eden.

Oww.

Look what I've been sitting on.

Gimme that.

(MAGICAL MUSIC)

Jesus Christ!

What is it?

(PHONE RINGS)

Hello?

Do I have a sign on my back

that says 'Blow smoke up my ass'?

Crispin, sweetheart.

Do I have a sign on my back

that says 'Blow smoke up my ass'?

Did you put another sign

on the director's back?

No, no. There's none

that I'm aware of.

No, I do not have such a sign.

You know why I have no such sign?

Because I don't like having smoke

blown up my f***in' ass!

Now, I got lights, I got cameras,

I got actors, I got a crew,

I even have

a f***ing cappuccino machine!

But there's only one thing I don't

have, Bunny. You know what that is?

A script, Bunny.

I don't have a f***ing script!

The first day of shooting,

I don't have a f***ing script.

Now, listen, unless you want me to

make a movie about a couple of grips

sitting around, jerkin' off

and eating crullers,

you get that script down here pronto!

Yesterday, you f***ing hear me?

And don't you blow smoke

up my ass anymore!

I got enough smoke up my ass

to elect a pope in my f***in' pants!

Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t.

Bumpkin, take this to the warehouse

in La Grande, Washington.

OK.

And this time, don't screw up.

It's my last copy.

Treat that script as if your life

depended on it.

Because, frankly...

...it does.

Uh, OK.

Love you, Bumpkin.

I love you too, Bunny Rabbit.

That's Roberts! Bunny Roberts!

F***ing retard.

And you, Marcel Marceau, I don't

need some f***ing coffee shop mime

throwing attitude at me

like it's f***ing rice at a wedding.

Now, you get me that cappuccino now

or I'll blow

that f***in' bonnet-wearing head

of yours right off.

And that goes for

every last motherfuckin' one of you!

And that goes for every last

motherfuckin' one of you!

('PULP FICTION-STYLE MUSIC)

(GUNSHOTS)

(CREAKING)

(CLANG AND SPLASH)

(RADIO CHANNEL SURFING)

MAN:
Sunday, Sunday, Sun...

NEWSREADER:
The pair

of serial-killing wrestlers

are still on the loose.

We're gonna be searching

for a high of 70...

SONG:
..wanna keep you

To wanna do it all

All for you

I wanna be your,

be your rubber ball

I wanna be the one

you love most of all

Oh, yeah

I'm your boogie man

I'm your boogie man

Turn me on

I'm your boogie man...

OK, tell me about

this Tomorrowland.

Alright, so, Tomorrowland

is called Mananaville,

but everything else in Tomorrowland

is in French.

No sh*t?

(SPEAKS FRENCH) Space Mountain.

(SPEAKS FRENCH)

That's that Star Wars ride, you know'?

What's it called?

Star Tours.

Right you are.

And all the characters

are in French too.

You know what they call Goofy'?

What?

(SPEAKS FRENCH)

You know what they call Mickey?

You keep going, cat.

(SPEAKS FRENCH)

(SPEAKS FRENCH)

That's groovy.

Now, what about Dumbo?

I dunno. I didn't make it over

to Fantasy land.

But I did see the Little Mermaid.

(SPEAKS FRENCH)

Had her right in front.

Check this out.

You know in the cartoon,

in the commercials,

she's got those two shells

covering her breasts?

Right, right.

Nothing-Get out of town.

These two enormous

surf-and-turf tits

just hangin' out

in the Disney daylight.

Damn!

Yeah.

Apparently in Europe,

seeing a woman's tits

is like an everyday thing.

So she's just sitting up there

waving at the kids.

Families huddle around

taking her picture.

Hair up in a bun?

You better believe it.

Eh, this black motherfucking

hairy-ass n*gger's

gotta get his ass down there,

I'm telling you that right now.

Sh*t!

Look out!

(TREYS SCREECH)

(THUMP!)

You hit something.

Yeah, no sh*t, Sherlock.

Get that f***in' bug

off the hood of my car.

Ugh!

(QUIRKY MUSIC)

Uh-oh. No page numbers.

F***ing bug, huh. We should have

a grenade for this type of sh*t.

Maybe we just spray him

with your Jeri curl.

Say, man, this is real hair, OK'?

Helps a n*gger's hair relax.

You wouldn't know

nothing about that sh*t.

Why don't you relax?

How many of them up there, man?

The whole place

is probably crawling with them.

And only sends two of us'?

Well, you know Monticello.

Damn, we should have a f***in' Uzi.

(DOG BARKS)

WOMAN:
Will you stop that...

Is that the revolutionary

new pesticide you been working on?

Eh, man, that's gonna get this brother

out of this bullshit exterminating suits

into an Armani suit.

I might even end up with a Porsche.

Like most fly n*ggers.

Eh, Julius,

it's a f***in' doughnut.

This is a lethal puff pastry.

Within the walls

of this flaky golden crust

is a Bavarian cream

laced with DDT.

Enough to exterminate

a whole tenement.

Lay one of these suckers

on the kitchen counter,

you wake up the next morning,

it's like f***ing cockroach Jonestown.

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