"So Vincent," said Jules as drove him and his partner down Grand Avenue on a lazy Sunday morning, "tell me more about Amsterdam, the hash bars."

Vincent thought about it a few seconds. "Well, weed is legal over there, but it ain't 100% legal. You can't just be walking down the street and light up a joint. They want you to do it at certain designated places."

"And those are hash bars?" Jules asked as they came to a soft halt at a stop light.

"Right. If you're the proprietor of a hash bar it's legal to own it, it's legal to sell it... b-but that dudn't matter. You see, in Amsterdam, if the cops stop you, it is illegal for them to search you."

"All right, that's it!" chuckled Jules. "I'm fuckin goin, that's all there is to it!"

"Yeah, my friend, you'd love Europe," Vincent said, grinning, as the car began moving again.

"What were you there for again?" Jules asked.

"Oh, that fucking Little Red Riding Hood," Vincent replied, "the stupid bitch... you remember when she was goin over to her grandma's house with that basket of meth so they could get fucked up together? And she came in on our Big Bad Wolf when he was gettin it on with granny?"

"Aw, yeah," Jules said. "I remember that. Boss wasn't too happy bout that shit."

"Well anyway he had gotten a tip that she was there. He sent me over to collect her. I fuckin found her in France all strung out in a forest over there. Really fucked up. Got a hold of some bad shit. Her pretty little red hood was dirty with her own vomit."

"Ewww." Jules grimaced. "So she was easy pickins, huh?"

"Yup," Vincent said. "After pluggin her I headed on over to the McDonald's for some lunch. Did you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with cheese over there?"

"They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?"

"They got the metric system over there, they wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is."

"Well, what do they call it?"

"Royale with cheese," Vincent replied softly with a touch of the grandiose.

"Royale with cheese!" chuckled Jules. The car came to a halt again, but this time it was because they had reached their destination.

"This is it," Jules said.

Both of them exited the vehicle then swept around to the trunk. Inside was a veritable aresenal of just about any kind of weapon they'd need. They each picked out their favorite. After clicking clips into their weapons of choice, Jules shut the trunk and they both strolled over to the apartment complex.

"So this is where those little piggies live?" Vincent asked.

"Yep," Jules said as he opened the door. He let Vincent go in, then he followed. They were dressed to the nines, decked out in full black suits and ties. They looked like they were headed to an important business meeting. And they actually were, in a sense.

In a sense.

They made their way up the stairs to the right floor.

"Speaking of piggies," Jules said as they marched down the hallway, "I can't believe Big Bad Wolf ate Georgie Porgie just because he massaged his wife's feet."

"Well, the B.B.Dubya, you should know better than to mess with his woman."

"But it was just a foot rub!" Jules pointed out as they arrived at the apartment they'd been looking for. "It's not like he was fuckin her."

"But Jules, you see, foot massages can be very sensual," Vincent said, mimicking rubbing a foot with his hands. "Even if you claim they don't mean anything, they always mean something."

"Bull shit, they can just be a footrub," Jules said as he looked at his watch. "I rub my mama's feet."

"Well let me ask you a question," Vincent said, grinning. "Would you rub a man's feet? Would you rub mine?"

Jules looked at him for a moment, frowning, anger flickering in his eyes. Then finally: "Fuck you, man!"

"See, see!" Vincent said, smiling, basking in his victory as he knocked on the door.

A little piggy answered it slowly and let and let them inside. Vincent and Jules entered with authority, standing tall compared to their door greeter and the other little piggies inside. They looked quite intimidating: Vincent, with his long, black, greasy hair and hard grimace; Jules, with his sinister bright white smile - a sharp contrast to his dark skin - and his curly afro and beard.

"I assume you little piggies know why we're here," Jules said. They nodded meekly. He looked around. "Hey, one of you is missing." He turned to the door greeter. "Where's your friend?"

"He, uh, he decided to go to the market," the little piggy at the door answered nervously. "I decided to stay home."

"Market?!" Jules said, scowling. "Who the fuck goes to the market these days? Who says that? You go to the fucking store. What's up with this 'market' shit?"

"Well, fine, he, he went to the store," the little piggy said, gulping.

"Market," Jules mumbled as he slowly shook his head. He walked over to another little piggy at the table in the living room. He looked like he had been eating a sandwich before being interrupted. Jules examined the sandwich and the little piggy intently.

"I see we interrupted lunch!" Jules exclaimed in a deceptively jolly manner. "What you got there?! Looks like roast beef!"

"Y-yes," the little piggy said nervously. "It's a, uh, roast beef sandwich from Ar-ar-Arby's."

"Mmm, that looks good!" Jules said. Then he turned to his partner. "Does that not look good?!"

"Looks positively tasty," Vincent said. Then he turned to the little piggy sitting on the couch. "So where is it?"

"In, in, in the cupboard," he stuttered. "It's all there."

Vincent strolled over to the kitchen. Jules pointed at the roast beef sandwich. "Do you mind if I try a bite? I haven't eaten today yet and I am famished."

"Sh-sure," the little piggy at the table said. "Hell-help yourself."

Jules sank his teeth into the sandwich slowly, savoring the flavor. "Mmmmm! Thish is good! You got some au jous?" The little piggy quickly reached into a paper bag and produced a little styrofoam container of it. He removed the plastic lid and Jules dipped a corner of the sandwich into it. He took another bite. "MMM! Even better. I haven't had a good roast beef sandwich in a long time."

Vincent called from the kitchen. "Got it!"

"Are we happy?" Jules asked.

"Very," Vincent said, closing a briefcase.

Jules turned to the little piggy on the couch. "Ain't you eatin any roast beef?"

"Uh, no," he said. "I had none. I opted for the salad."

"SALAD?!" Jules exclaimed. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Salad! Over roast beef?! That's the American way, what our founding fathers fought for, the right to eat sliced up or ground up cow between two pieces of bread! Salad!!"

"He, he is, um, a vegetarian," the little piggy at the door said, "he doesn't eat--"

"I DO NOT REMEMBER ASKING YOU A FUCKING QUESTION!" Jules bellowed, scowling at the door piggy. "You speak when you are spoken to, understand that?!"

"L-l-look," stuttered the little piggy at the table, "I am so sorry that things got so messed up with the Big Bad Wolf, we j-just--"

"SORRY?!" Jules interrupted. "You completely forgot about him. I don't think sorry covers it! In fact, tell me, what does he look like?!"


"WHAT DOES HE LOOK LIKE?!" Jules repeated. "Describe him!"

"Well, well, he, uh, he's hairy, uhh," the little piggy stammered.

"And he's got those big teeth," the little piggy on the couch said.

Jules withdrew his gun quickly and aimed at the piggy on the couch. "I DO NOT REMEMBER SPEAKING TO YOU!!!"


The couch piggy lay silent. The piggy at the table began gasping and yelling in horror.

"Shut up!" Jules said, pointing the weapon at him. "Now, tell me, does the Big Bad Wolf wear a dress?!"

"What?!" the little piggy gasped.

"Does he wear makeup?!"


"Answer the questions and DON'T FUCKIN SAY 'WHAT' AGAIN! Does he LOOK LIKE A BITCH?!"



The little piggy yelped in pain and clutched his right shoulder, which was spurting blood.

"Now let me ask the question AGAIN!" Jules exclaimed. "DOES. HE. LOOK. LIKE. A BITCH!?"

"N-n-n-NO!" the little piggy squealed.

"Then why you tryin to fuck him like he was a bitch?!" Jules asked.

"Th-th-th-that wasn't our intention!" the little piggy sputtered. "We only had good intentions. We never--!"

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions!" Jules said. "Anybody ever tell you that?! You ever read the Bible?!" He began slowly backing away from the little piggy.

"Well, n-n-not real--"

"Let me school you on a favorite passage of mine!" Jules yelled, pointing his gun at the little piggy. "And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furrrrrrrrrrious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the LORD, when I shall lay my VENGEANCE UPON THEM!"


As Jules shot his little piggy to death, Vincent had drawn his weapon and blown away the piggy at the door. Soon all the piggies in the room were dead.

"Well," sighed Vincent as the smoke began to clear. "That's that."

"Another day's work," Jules said, putting away his weapon.

"Seems a shame to waste all this perfectly good pork," Vincent said. "How bout we bring some home, have a good pig roast?"

"Count me out," Jules said, grimacing. "I don't eat pork."

"What, are you Jewish?" Vincent asked.

"No, I just don't dig on swine, that's all."

"But bacon tastes good! Pork chops taste good!"

"Sewer rat may taste like punkin pie but I wouldn't know cuz I don't eat the filthy motherfucker. Pigs live and eat in shit. I will not eat an animal that doesn't have enough sense to disregard its own feces."

"But dogs eat their own feces from time to time," Vincent pointed out.

"A dog ain't filthy, but they definitely dirty. And besides, I don't eat dog, either. A dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way."

"So by your rationale, if a pig has personality, it ceases to be a filthy animal."

"We gotta be talkin about some charmin motherfuckin pig. Like that Arnold on Gree--!"



Another little piggy had jumped out of the back room and began firing at them with two guns, one in each hoof. Miraculously, he had missed with every shot! Jules and Vincent looked behind them at the bullet holes in the wall, then at themselves, then at the little piggy.

The little piggy looked down at his empty guns and his eyes bulged.

Jules and Vincent aimed their weapons at the little piggy just as it turned to run. They fired, but only got it in the ass as it burst out the door. They could hear him squealing all the way down the hall.

"Damn!" Vincent said.

"It's a miracle!" Jules exclaimed.

"Looks like that little piggy is goin 'wee wee wee' all the way home," Vincent said as he put away his gun again.

"Filthy motherfucker."

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