One of the minor plot points of the movie Pulp Fiction, is that the wallet carried by Jules Winnfield is adorned with three powerful words…
Bad. Motha. Fucka.
When Jules first mentions this to the Tim Roth character, he seems to think it’s a joke. When prompted, he finds the wallet, and seems a bit bemused by the fact that this man, THIS MAN, carries with him something that looks like an eighth grade summer camp project… Then he remembers the gun pointed at his balls.
In any case, I’ve wondered for several years now…
Who Else is Qualified to Carry the Bad Mothafucka Wallet?
Well, I’m glad you asked, bitches… Sit your asses down, and don’t spam my damn topic or I shall be forced to revoke your L.A. priveleges.
Mind if I borrow some of your frosty beverage?
Do they speak English in What?
ENGLISH, MOTHAFUCKA, DO YOU SPEAK IT?
Sorry… Sidetracked. Bygones… Counting backward on my incredibly overambitious idea, all the way to Number One!
Bad Mothafucka #100: Prickle the Dinosaur
I know what you’re thinking. And you’re right. It IS true what they say about men with big… dorsal fins. Prickle is most notorious for being a cohort of Gumby, the Clay Boy, and Pokey the Big Ass Former Italian Pornographic Star Horse. His place within the Gumby Pantheon is that of the God Mars, The War Bringer.
While surrounded by silly morphing clay children, Prickle brings 3 things to the table…
#1: Voice characterization.
While every other Gumby character sounds like a ten year old sucking helium, Prickle sounds like Archie Bunker after a bad day at the plant. He’s got no time for bullshit, and isn’t afraid to say it. Prickle cuts to the point.
#2: He ain’t cuddly
Them spines is Razor bleedin’ sharp. In a world made of goop, he’s the blade of truth and liberty.
#3: This exchange:
Pokey, Gumby, and Prickle are in the big city, amazed by the diversity and strangeness of it all. They’re on an elevator, alone, unable to call for help.
A menacing stranger enters, with a large vicious looking cur on a leash. The dog growls, the stranger approches… Gumby and Pokey shrink to the back of the elevator car.
Prickle… steps… forward… smoke rolling from his mighty nostrils. He quickly lets fly a bolt of pure hellfire from his flaming snout.
Prickle – “Call off your dog, Mister… BEFORE I FRY HIM!”
Bad. Motha. Fucka.
(Next Time: Sleeper speeding, People Bleeding.)