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Pulp Fiction
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: Not the same thing, the same ballpark.
Jules: It ain't no ballpark either. Look maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but touchin' his lady's feet, and stickin' your tongue in her holyiest of holies, ain't the same ballpark, ain't the same league, ain't even the same fuckin' sport. 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: Given a lot of 'em?
Jules: Shit yeah. I got my technique down man, I don't tickle or nothin'.
Vincent: Have you ever given a guy a foot massage?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: How many?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: Would you give me a foot massage? I'm kinda tired.
Jules: Man, you best back off, I'm gittin' pissed.
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