Jules: Whoa, 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: It´s not. It´s the same ballpark.
Jules: Ain´t no fuckin´ ballpark neither. Now look, maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but, you know, touchin´ his wife´s feet, and stickin´ your tongue in her Holiest of Holies, ain´t the same fuckin´ ballpark, it ain´t the same league, it ain´t even the same fuckin´ sport. Look, foot massages don´t mean shit.
Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage?
Jules: [scoffs] 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 and everything, I don´t be ticklin´ or nothin´.
Vincent: Would you give a guy a foot massage?
[Jules gives Vincent a long look, realizing he´s been set up]
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: You give them a lot?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: You know, I´m getting kinda tired. I could use a foot massage myself.
Jules: Man, you best back off, I´m gittin´ a little pissed here.