Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair

Do you find me sadistic?

You know,

I'll bet I could fry an egg on your head right now.

If I wanted to.

You know, kiddo.

I'd like to believe you're aware enough, even now,

to know that there's nothing sadistic in my actions.

Well, maybe towards those other jokers.

But not you.

No, kiddo.

At this moment...

This is me at my most masochistic.

Bill.

It's your baby.

Coming!

Sarah, I cannot believe you are early.

What you gonna do now, huh?

What you got?

I got your ass! Remember that?

Remember?

Okay. Come on, bitch.

Come on. Bring it on.

Mommy, I'm home.

Hey, baby.

How was school?

Mommy, what happened to you and the TV room?

That good-for-nothing dog of yours got his ass

in the living room and acted a damn fool.

- That's what happened, baby. - Barney did this?

Baby, now, you can't come in here.

There's broken glass everywhere, and you could cut yourself.

This is an old friend of Mommy's I ain't seen in a long time.

Hi, honey.

I'm (! ? @ !). What's your name?

Her name is Nikki.

Nikki.

Such a pretty name for such a pretty girl.

How old are you, Nikki?

Nikki,

asked you a question.

I'm 4.

4 years old?

You know, I had a little girl once.

She'd be about 4 now.

Now, baby, me and Mommy's friend

got some grown-up talk to talk about.

You go in your room.

I want you to leave us alone till I tell you to come out.

Okay?

Nikkia!

In your room. Now.

You want some coffee?

Yeah. Sure.

This Pasadena homemaker's name

is Jeanne Bell.

Her husband is Dr. Lawrence Bell.

But back when we were acquainted, four years ago,

her name was Vernita Green.

Her code name was Copperhead.

Mine, Black Mamba.

Do you have a towel?

Yeah.

Thanks.

You still take cream and sugar, right?

Yeah.

So I suppose it's a little late for an apology?

You suppose correctly.

Look, bitch, I need to know

if you're gonna start any more shit around my baby girl.

You can relax for now.

I'm not gonna murder you in front of your child, okay?

That's being more rational

than Bill led me to believe you were capable of.

It's mercy, compassion, and forgiveness I lack.

Not rationality.

Look.

I know I fucked you over.

I fucked you over bad.

I wish to God I hadn't, but I did.

You have every right to want to get even.

No, no, no, no, no.

No.

To get even, even Stephen,

I would have to kill you, go up to Nikki's room, kill her,

then wait for your husband, the good Dr. Bell, to come home

and kill him.

That would be even, Vernita.

That'd be about square.

Look, if I could go back in a machine, I would.

But I can't.

All I can tell you is that I'm a different person now.

Oh, great.

I don't care.

Be that as it may,

I know I don't deserve your mercy or your forgiveness.

However, I beseech you for both on behalf of my daughter.

Bitch, you can stop right there.

Just because I have no wish to murder you

before the eyes of your daughter

does not mean that parading her in front of me

is gonna inspire sympathy.

You and I have unfinished business.

And not a goddamn thing you've done

in the subsequent four years,

including getting knocked up, is gonna change that.

So when do we do this?

It all depends.

When do you want to die?

Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow?

How about tonight, bitch?

Splendid. Where?

There's a baseball diamond where I coach Little League

about a mile from here.

We meet there around 2.30 in the morning,

dressed all in black, your hair in a black stocking.

And we have us a knife fight.

We won't be bothered.

Now, I have to fix Nikki's cereal.

Bill said you were one of the best ladies he saw

with an edged weapon.

Fuck you, bitch.

I know he didn't qualify that shit.

So you can just kiss my motherfucking ass, Black Mamba.

Black Mamba.

I should have been motherfucking Black Mamba.

Weapon of choice?

If you want to stick with your butcher knife, that's fine.

Very funny, bitch.

Very funny!

It was not my intention to do this in front of you.

For that, I'm sorry.

But you can take my word for it.

Your mother had it coming.

When you grow up, if you still feel raw about it...

I'll be waiting.

Come on out to Dallas.

This is Rockabilly Rhythms on KTRN, Wichita Falls.

And next, we got some record.

Very own wild man, Charlie Feathers.

Well, give me the gory details, Son Number One.

It's a goddamn massacre, Pop.

They wiped out the whole wedding party, execution style.

Give me a figure.

Nine dead bodies.

And we're talking the whole shebang.

Bride. Groom.

Reverend.

Reverend's wife.

They even shot that old coloured fella that plays the organ.

It would appear to me somebody objected to this union

and wasn't able to hold their peace.

Good gravy, Marie.

What'd I tell you, Pop?

It's like a goddamn Nicaraguan death squad.

You better shit-can that blasphemy, boy.

- You're in a house of worship. - Sorry, Pop.

Well, this is definitely the work of professionals.

I'd guesstimate Mexican Mafia hit squad.

Four, maybe five strong.

How can you tell?

Well, a sure and steady hand did this.

This ain't no squirrelly amateur.

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-looking 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 fuck'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 shit!