Kill Bill: Vol. 1 Page #2

This is the work of a salty dog.

You can tell by the cleanliness

of the carnage.

Now, a kill-crazy rampage,

though it may be,

all the colours are kept

inside the lines.

If you was a moron,

you could almost admire it.

Who's the bride?

Don't know.

The name

on the marriage certificate

is Arlene Machiavelli.

That's a fake.

We've been calling her "The Bride"

on account of the dress.

You can tell she was pregnant.

Man would have to be a mad dog

to shoot a goddamn good-Iooking gal

like that in the head.

Look at her.

Hay-coloured hair.

Big eyes.

She's a little

blood-spattered angel.

Son Number One?

Yeah?

This tall drink of cocksucker

ain't dead.

I might never have liked you.

Point in fact, I despise you.

But that shouldn't suggest

that I don't respect you.

Dying in our sleep is a luxury

that our kind

is rarely afforded.

My gift to you.

For f***'s sake.

Hello, Bill.

What's her condition?

Comatose.

Where is she?

I'm standing over her right now.

That's my girl.

Elle, you're going to abort

the mission.

What?

We owe her better than that.

Oh, you don't owe her sh*t!

Will you keep your voice down?

You don't owe her sh*t!

May I say one thing?

Speak.

Y'all beat the hell

out of that woman.

But you didn't kill her.

And I put a bullet in her head.

But her heart

just kept on beating.

Now, you saw that yourself

with your own beautiful

blue eye, did you not?

We've done a lot of things

to this lady.

And if she ever wakes up,

we'll do a whole lot more.

But one thing we won't do

is sneak into her room

in the night like a filthy rat

and kill her in her sleep.

And the reason

we won't do that thing

is because that thing

would lower us.

Don't you agree, Miss Driver?

I guess.

Do you really have to guess?

No.

I don't really have to guess.

I know.

Come on home, honey.

Affirmative.

I love you very much.

I love you, too.

Bye-bye.

Thought that was pretty

f***ing funny, didn't you?

Word of advice, shithead.

Don't you ever wake up.

At this moment, this is me

at my most masochistic.

Bill, it's your baby.

Oh, my baby.

Four years.

Four years.

The price is $75 a f***,

my friend.

You getting your freak on

or what?

Oh, yeah, boy.

Yeah.

Now, here's the rules.

Rule number one.

No punching her.

Nurse comes in

and she got a shiner

or less some teeth, jig's up.

So no knuckle sandwiches

under no circumstances.

By the way,

this c*nt's a spitter.

It's a motor-reflex thing.

But spit or no, no punching.

- Now, are we clear on rule one?

- Yeah.

Good. Now, rule number two.

No monkey bites. No hickeys.

In fact, no leaving no marks

of no kind.

After that,

it's all good, buddy.

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