Musing on Q

Over the last couple of weeks, I rewatched the "Kill Bill" movies. We own the DVDs. They're strange and funny and gory beyond belief and amazing and weird and awesome.

They remind me of when I first saw "Pulp Fiction," which we also own but which I saw again on cable the other night. Greg and his friend, Dwayne, had gone to see the movie when it first came out and they told me I had to see it too.

We sat in the theater (me in the middle, of course) and I was doing fine with the story until the scene when Bruce Willis and Ving Rhames end up in the basement of the pawn shop.

If you haven't seen it, the store owner and his friend, the cop, are rapists and into S&M. They do einey-meeny-miney-moe to pick one of the guys, who are tied and gagged, then head into the back room and start to rape Ving Rhames.

I remember turning to Greg and whispering, "what the hell is this?"

I didn't do that with the "Kill Bill" movies. I had an idea what to expect and they didn't disappoint. Anyone for a sliced off arm spraying gallons of blood?

I didn't think so. Gotta be in the mood for it.