Pulp Fiction 2: Pulp Fictioner
Jules stared blankly at his meal, almost like a cat staring at a plate of unsatisfying meaty chunks, but not as beautiful.
"My God, what is this!" he shouted at the very top of his average sized lungs. "I asked for a burger! A tasty burger! This is a chicken leg, motherfucker!"
The waiter shook in his work boots. Except as a waiter, he should not have been wearing boots in the first place; he was seriously just ASKING for trouble.
"Oooooo, I'm sorry, sir. I thought you requested the chicke-"
Blam! Jules' pistol shot right through the waiter's chest.
The waiter screamed, "Aieeeeee-eee-eee!" and then died because he was shot in the chest and that is quite difficult to recover from.
"I don't want no chicken, you racist fool" his spit was flying almost everywhere! The sheer calamity! Marcellus was sitting opposite Jules at the table. At this point in time, Marcellus recalled when Jules had spat all over his Christmas turkey. That was NOT Marcellus' favourite Christmas.