Quentin Tarantino: And we’re back from our break. Thank you to our sponsor Acme Plastic Sheeting — Making torture clean-up-free since 1969!
Mary Ann, our homemaker from Van Nuys, had just put her circle in the upper left square thanks to Inglourious Basterd’s Colonel Hans Landa coming through for her.
Col. Landa: That’s a bingo!
Now it’s back to Martin, a used car salesman from Pasadena, who finds himself in a tough spot.
Martin: Thanks, Q! I think —
QT: Don’t call me Q.
Martin: Oh. I guess I’ll go with Pulp Fiction’s Jules Winnfield in the lower left to block.
QT: Okay, Jules, to keep Martin in the game—if you were in France and wanted to order your favorite McDonald’s sandwich — the quarter pounder with cheese — what would you call it?
Jules: I guess I’d call it dinner.
(audience howls with laughter)
Jules: Actually, Martin from Pasadena, this is your goddamn lucky day! I was just talking about this very fucking thing, and I can state without hesitation or equivocation that Frenchie calls it a Royale with Cheese. You’re welcome.
QT: Martin, what do you think? You gonna roll with Jules’s answer?
Martin: Jeez, he sounds pretty confident, but wouldn’t they say the word “cheese” in French, too? I’m going to have to disagree.
QT: Sorry, Martin, Jules was exactly right — a Royale with Chee —
Jules: You goddamn motherfucker.
Jules: Don’t “what” me you ignorant piece of shit. Did I or did I not tell you?
Martin: Yes, but —
Jules: Holy fucking Christ are you about to question me again?
Martin: I just…
(Jules glowers at Martin)
Martin: What? Don’t take it personally.
Jules: You… (takes a deep breath) You just called me a motherfucking liar to my face on national television and you don’t think I should take that fucking shit personally?
Martin: What? It’s just a game.
(Jules continues to stare)
Jules: Say “what” one more time motherfucker!
Martin: I… wh —
(Jules shoots Martin six times in the head and chest)
QT: I think he was saying “why” that time, Jules.
QT: Fortunately, we have alternate contestants backstage, so here’s Peter, a new car salesman from Pasadena, to step into Martin’s shoes. Not literally, Pete, haha, they are kind of a mess now.
But back to Mary Ann. You have three ways you can go for the win here — Back to Jules, Reservoir Dog’s Mr. Blonde, or long time Hollywood Squares regular Wally Cox. No, wait, Kill Bill’s Black Mamba has decapitated Wally.
Black Mamba: He looked at me funny.
QT: Fair enough. So, Mary Ann — Jules or Mr. Blonde?
(Jules shifts his dead-eyed gaze from Martin’s bullet-riddled corpse to Mary Ann)
Mary Ann: M-M-Mr. Blonde. Mr. Blonde. I’ll take Mr. Blonde.
QT: All right… for the win — Mr. Blonde, can you name the song by Stealers Wheel that reached number six in the U.S. in 1973?
Mr. Blonde: Damn, lady, they sure want you to win some prizes. Name it? It’s only my favorite song to dance to. One hundred percent positive it’s Stuck in the Middle With You. Boom.
QT: Mary Ann?
Mary Ann: Boy, I don’t know. I’m really more a country music girl, but I feel like if it was that popular I would have heard of it, so I’m going to disagree.
Mr. Blonde: Oh my god. You stupid bitch. You stupid, stupid bitch. Did I not just tell you I was one hundred percent sure? Weren’t you listening? You stupid bitch whore. You know what? You don’t want to listen? (He pulls a straight razor from his boot) You don’t need those ears.
(Mr. Blonde scrambles down the front of the giant tic-tac-toe set. When he steps on the desk in the bottom middle square, Inglourious Basterd Donny Donowitz swings his baseball bat and shatters Mr. Blonde’s knee)
Donny: Mr. Blonde, huh? Sounds like some Nazi Aryan shit to me.
Mr. Blonde: AAAAAAAAAHHHH! I’ll be back for you, asshole, after I get my ears!
(Mr. Blonde drags himself toward the contestants)
QT: That’ll do it for today’s show, as Mary Ann, Peter, and the studio audience race for the exits, trying to elude our three dozen samurai-warrior-trained ushers.
Pulp Fiction’s Vincent Vega: Ah man, I shot Zsa Zsa Gabor in the face.
QT: Stay tuned next for Quentin Tarantino’s Hateful Eight Thousand Dollar Pyramid!