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JURASSIC PULP (a parody mash-up thing)

Hi, I've written a bonkers mash-up of Jurassic Park and Pulp Fiction. Please check out the sample chapters below. For more information visit:

Warning: Contains strong language

Jurassic pulp

Jurassic Pulp front cover

==1... THE CLUB ==


Two men in suits descended stairs and entered a basement bar. They paused in the doorway and checked their watches. It was 8am and the place was quiet. A barman was wiping down a table in the far corner. He looked up and acknowledged them. ''re early.' He waved at the bar. 'Take a seat...I'll be right over.'

The two men said nothing. They had stern faces and were dressed in black suits, skinny black ties and white shirts. One man was black, with a ball-shaped afro, boot-shaped sideburns and a handlebar moustache. That was Jules. The other man was white, with shoulder-length black hair that was greased back over his ears. That was Vincent.

They crossed the dance floor and waited by the bar. Vincent examined the neatly arranged bottles, whilst Jules ran his eyes over the building.

The barman came over, walking quickly. He picked up a phone behind the bar and pressed a number. 'They're here, Mr Wallace.' He hung up and turned to Jules and Vincent. 'Mr Wallace will be out in a few minutes. Get you guys a drink?'

Vincent shook his head. Jules didn't even respond.

A few moments later, a pair of double doors swung open. A black man stepped through them. He was the size of a truck with a gleaming bald head and gold hoop earrings. He had a mixing bowl under his right arm and was wearing an apron over his suit. This was Mr Wallace.

'Motherfuckers,' he said, in a voice as deep and slow as lava. 'Get your asses over here.'

Marsellus Wallace was a businessman, at least, that's what it looked like on paper. In truth he was a criminal kingpin, with his fingers in a great number of illegal pies and pastries all over LA. Rumour was that he was a multi-millionaire. How many millions, nobody knew, and nobody outside of the IRS really cared, so long as they kept getting paid. And Jules and Vincent had been on the payroll for a long time now. Their work for Mr Wallace was varied. It sometimes involved putting muscle on someone, collecting debts, sending a message, or even just running errands like picking up Mrs Wallace's dry cleaning. So long as they did it with respect and without fuss, there were no problems and everyone got paid.

Jules and Vincent took a seat. Marsellus Wallace, all 300lbs of him, squeezed into a chair opposite them. They watched as he stirred the bowl with a wooden spoon.

'Black forest gateaux,' explained Marsellus. 'It's Leroy's birthday. This needs plenty of air.'

Jules and Vincent nodded. When Marsellus wasn't being a criminal kingpin he was a keen amateur baker, and he'd won several rosettes at local fetes. Rumours he'd threatened to kill the judges if he'd lost were misplaced, so he said.

Marsellus turned the cake mixture slowly. 'I need you to go out of town for a few days. I have an investment...I wanna know it's protected.'

Both Jules and Vincent sat up. This sounded like a bigger job than normal. When anyone says "out of town" you know it's going to be something big and Marsellus had contacts all along the West Coast, even stretching as far out as the Nevada desert.

'These are dark times,' continued Marsellus. 'A man's got to be wise with his money, and his money got to be wise. I decided to invest some of mine in a pioneering new resort. I'm told it will be one of kind. Something the world has never seen before. And Marsellus Wallace likes to be ahead of everyone. I bought a piece, so people can say Marsellus saw the future...but right now...I ain't seen shit. I have an associate that hasn't been particularly forthcoming with details...and my ass is tired of waiting.'

He adjusted the bowl under his arm and leaned forward. 'What I want to know is he cheating me? Or is this resort a world wonder like he says.' He paused. 'With this resort, my associate said he spared no expense...I want to know where every dime went.'

Vincent lit up a cigarette. 'Where's the resort?'

'Costa Rica.'

Costa Rica? said Jules. 'Whoa, when you said "out of town" I thought you meant 'Cisco, or maybe New York...but this is some real international James Bond shit.'

Vincent leaned forward. 'Mr Wallace, we normally drive to our jobs. Are you expecting us to drive down there or have we got to go to a travel agent or—'

'I think what Vincent is getting at,' interrupted Jules, 'is that we pay our own fuel. Will this be on expenses?'

'Relax...' said Marsellus. 'The arrangements are covered, you'll be going to Costa Rica by private jet then a chopper will take you to the island.'


'My associate has leased an island from the Costa Rican government. His people came to me looking for investment to develop it. That was six years ago.'

Jules and Vincent looked at one another. This was big. Private jets. Choppers. Private islands.

Marsellus continued. 'I sent my associate a message. Told him I was tired of waiting. Said I'd pull my money, or have some brothers pull off his legs. No surprise, I get a call telling me to come and visit the resort myself...but as you know, Marsellus Wallace don't fly. So, you are going to be my eyes and ears.' He clicked his fingers. The barman hurried over with some paperwork and handed it to them.

'You fly out tonight...' said Marsellus, '...back here Sunday. Whatever happens, call me tomorrow at 7pm LA time. If you have a concern I want to hear it whilst you have my associate in the room. I wanna know where every dime spent.'

Jules and Vincent took the paperwork and stood up.

Marsellus Wallace waved them away, adding 'I should have a new soufflé for your ass to try when you get back.'

==2... FLIGHTS ==

Jules and Vincent stood by the landing strip with their suitcases. It was just after 9pm and their plane was due to arrive any minute. Jules was eating a fairy cake Marsellus had given him. Vincent had already eaten his and was looking up at the sky smoking a cigarette. He shook his head. 'Costa Rica?'

'I know,' said Jules, with a mouthful of cake. 'It's a motherfucking long way to go. I didn't want to tell Marsellus, but my girlfriend was kinda expecting me around this weekend. She ain't gonna be none too pleased when she calls me and finds I'm kicking back in Costa Rica.'

'What did Marsellus say his associate was called?'

'John Hammond. Some old English multi-millionaire business tycoon.'

'How'd he make his money?'

'Shit, I don't know. How does anyone make any real money? He's known as a tycoon but I bet he got some dirt in his closet, how else would he be involved with Marsellus?'

A plane approached. A Learjet. It descended gracefully and came to a smooth stop in front of them. The engines whirled loudly. The door to the cabin opened and out stepped a short man dressed in a cotton white shirt and trousers. He had powder-white hair and a beard. He hobbled down the steps with a cane.

'Jesus,' Vincent muttered under his breath. 'Marsellus has been doing business with Colonel Sanders.'

Jules snorted. 'Don't let looks fool you. Marsellus says this dude is slipperier than the floor of the mens' room in an old folks' home.'

'Gentlemen!' cried the old man as he hobbled over. 'So pleased to meet you. John Hammond.' He held out a hand.

Jules shook it. 'Jules Winnfield.'

Vincent did likewise. 'Vincent Vega.'

The old man looked up at them both with a grin. 'It's such a shame Mr Wallace couldn't make it. I think he would've loved our little resort.' He gestured at the plane. 'Shall we?' adding with a giggle, 'Can't be on yank soil too long or they'll try and arrest me!'

Jules gave Vincent a puzzled look and walked towards the jet.

They were soon airborne. The men sat comfortably, facing each other. Vincent noticed the old man's feet didn't reach the floor when he was sat down. He was swinging them back and forth like a child.

'I do so hope you'll enjoy this little holiday,' grinned Hammond.

'Let's get this straight,' said Jules. 'We ain't on vacation here. Our boss, your investor – Mr Wallace – has put a lot of money into this resort of yours, and he wants to know his investment is safe. Now, in forty-eight hours, if we go back to him and say he's bought a shit-sandwich, you and your short little legs are in trouble.'

'In forty-eight hours, Julius, I'll be accepting your apology.'

Vincent leaned forward. 'Mr Hammond, we don't mean no disrespect. It's just—'

Hammond held up a hand. 'Vincent, your boss is perfectly entitled in wanting to know what he's gotten himself into. We've kept him in the dark.'

'In the dark?' snorted Jules. 'Motherfucker don't even know what the resort is called. You're dressed head to toe in white. You could be opening "Klan World" for all he know.'

Hammond laughed. 'I'm sure you'll find everything satisfactory...we've spared no expense.'

'So he said.'

'Now, do make yourselves comfortable, we have a short flight to Texas and then it's a four-hour flight down to San Jose. We'll meet the others there, and then it's about two hours by helicopter to the island.'

'The others?' said Vincent.

'Experts,' beamed Hammond. 'People whose opinions matter a great deal. I want to show you that Mr Wallace has nothing to fear.'

==3... DR. MALCOLM ==

It had gone midnight when the plane landed at Houston. Warm air rushed into the cabin as Hammond went out to greet someone. He returned a few minutes later with a tall guy, dressed entirely in black, with curly black hair and thick rimmed specs. The new passenger flashed Vincent and Jules a grin as he boarded. Vincent gave a courteous nod. He didn't know who the guy was, but given the way he was dressed, he probably represented another investor, maybe The Mob. Vincent was caught by surprise when Hammond introduced him as Dr. Ian Malcolm.

Doctor? Vincent watched Malcolm take a seat next to Hammond. 'You're a surgeon or something?'

Malcolm gave Hammond a glance and started chuckling.

Vincent frowned. 'Did I say something funny?'

'Dr. Malcolm is a scientist,' beamed Hammond. 'A mathematician.'

'Chaotician,' corrected Malcolm.

'Is that a fact?' said Vincent, who didn't know if he was impressed or not. 'I thought you was a hood.'

A hood? Malcolm laughed. 'You mean like a gangster? Oh, I'm sure John wishes I was – he'd find me easier to argue with.'

'We don't argue,' said Hammond. 'We disagree.'

Malcolm patted Hammond's arm. 'There's nothing to disagree about. I know your resort will fail.'

Hammond pulled his arm away. 'Codswallop!'

'How do you know it will fail?' asked Vincent. 'Have you seen it?'

'I don't have to see it,' grinned Malcolm. 'The numbers speak for themselves. I've done all the math.'

Jules whistled. 'Check out the brains on the boffin here. You're one confident motherfucker.'

'Oh, I can afford to be.' Malcolm popped some gum into his mouth. 'Numbers don't lie.'

Jules raised an eyebrow. 'Really? You see...I don't believe in numbers. I believe in instincts.'

'How right you are!' chimed Hammond.

Vincent turned to face his partner. 'Don't believe in numbers? What the fuck's that supposed to mean?'

'It means…I don't believe in numbers,' repeated Jules. He turned his dark eyes on Malcolm, sizing him up. 'You're into math, right? Say I give you a puzzle to solve.'

Malcolm waved his hand. 'Shoot.'

Jules measured his words carefully. 'Let's say I give you the number ten, and I ask you to divide it by three, what does that give you?'

Malcolm grinned. '3.333—'

'Now, you multiply that answer by three...what number you got?'


Jules leaned forward and in a low voice said, 'That the number you start with? Do you get ten?'


Jules held up a finger. 'Almost.' He turned to look at Vincent. 'And that is why I don't trust numbers. They cheat. Stuff goes missing. They don't always add up.'

Vincent frowned. 'So, what you saying, Jules? You know more about math than Doctor Malcolm?'

'I'm saying this rock-star motherfucker here, confident in his numbers, but he ain't even seen the resort yet, so he's got no clue whether it's gonna fail or not.'

'Absolutely right,' agreed Hammond, who was leaning with his chin on his cane, studying the conversation.

Malcolm grinned. 'Jules, right?'

Jules nodded.

Malcolm adjusted his specs. 'I hope you're right, I really do, because my mathematical models are so complex and exact, I already know how many words this story has left.'

'Whoa, that's meta,' said Vincent.

==4... DR. GRANT & DR. SATTLER ==

The plane wheels hit the San Jose tarmac with a loud screech. The jet slowed and taxied to a stop. It had gone 4am local time, but the air was still hot and sticky. The four men made their way down the steel plane steps to a waiting buggy. They climbed on and passed under harsh floodlights as they were driven across the airfield.

'The helicopter ride won't take too long,' beamed Hammond, holding on to his hat against the wind. 'It will give you a chance to meet Dr. Grant and Dr. Sattler.'

'More doctors?' said Vincent. 'What's this island got a tropical plague or something?'

'Haha,' Hammond laughed. 'Very good.'

The buggy brought them round to a big blue helicopter with InGen stencilled on its side. A man with ear-defenders approached Hammond and said something. Hammond nodded and turned to the group. 'They are already on board. C'mon.' He got up and hobbled towards the helicopter.

Vincent slicked his hair back behind his ears. More doctors? He was bored of doctors. And why did the old man need so many of them anyway? Was his health that bad? He'd have to tell Marsellus about that. The last thing you want is your investment to disappear when the man holding it decides to have a long lie down.

As Vincent climbed into the helicopter his eyes fell on a long pair of legs in hot pants. He looked up to see they belonged to a beautiful blonde in a red crop top. Next to her sat a man wearing denim and aviator shades.

As Vincent took his seat Hammond made introductions. 'This is Dr. Alan Grant.' The man in denim gave a polite nod. 'And this is Dr. Ellie Sattler.' The blonde gave a coy smile and waved.

Vincent grinned back. Jesus…if this Sattler was Hammond's doctor, his heart wouldn't last long. A pair of legs that fine – the man could be dead before Sunday.

The helicopter was soon in the sky and heading out eastward over the ocean. On the horizon dawn was starting to colour the clouds. The passengers made small-talk. The topic turned to personnel and exactly how many more guests Hammond had invited on this weekend trip.

'Not many,' said Hammond, 'just a very select group for this weekend. No lawyers. No kids. Just us and the staff.'

'No lawyers?' said Jules.

'No,' said Hammond. 'I find them so meddlesome. I have one called Gennaro, a constant thorn in my side. Good chap on paper, but in real life, I couldn't trust him to go to the toilet without getting himself eaten by a tyrannosaur.'

'That's an odd expression,' said Ellie.

'It's an old Scottish saying, dear,' said Hammond, who suddenly had a slight Scottish lilt to his accent, that hadn't been there before, and probably wouldn't be there again, but would pass unnoticed anyway for the rest of the trip. 'I doubt it translates.'

'Why didn't you invite any kids?' asked Jules. 'On the plane earlier, you said that the resort would be fly with kids.'

'It will, Julius, have no doubt about that. We will have a full family test weekend when the park is completely finished. I thought I'd keep this weekend low-key. Strictly business amongst men.'

Ellie frowned.

'And women,' added Hammond.

Vincent nodded. 'That's fine with me. If there's one thing I can't handle it's kids.'

Hammond grinned. 'Good. I'm glad that's settled then. So, Tim and Lex won't be appearing, and let's never speak of them again.'

'Who?' asked Jules.

'Ah!' Hammond pointed at the window. 'There she is!'

Everyone turned to look. There on the horizon, a lush green island rose out of the ocean. 'Buckle up!' grinned Hammond. 'We'll be landing soon and it can get a wee bit choppy.' He turned to Ellie and licked his lips. 'Let me help you with your belt, dear.'



The helicopter made its descent beside a massive waterfall and landed on a helipad. Jules looked at Vincent and nodded approvingly. Marsellus had told them that Hammond had repeatedly said he'd spared no expense. This water-feature was a good start. Jules hoped the rest of the resort was as pimp.

'Come along now,' said Hammond, leading the way with his cane. Two open-top jeeps were parked ready for them. Drivers held the doors open. Jules and Vincent climbed into the first car with Hammond. Doctors Malcolm, Grant and Sattler got in the second, much to the disappointment of Vincent, who quite wanted to have a longer look at Dr. Sattler's legs.

The cars started off, rolling down a dirt road surrounded by thick green jungle. Vines and branches hung above them. 'You own all this?' asked Vincent.

'Yes,' said Hammond, 'for the next hundred years at least. I've leased it from the Costa Rican government. It's all very complex, so the lawyers tell me, but it's ours to do with as we please. Part of the reason for locating here in fact – the Costa Rican government is far less hands-on than you blasted Americans.'

Less hands-on? Jules frowned. 'What kinda resort is this?'

'Whatever you got here,' said Vincent, 'I bet they've already got it in Amsterdam.'

Hammond starting laughing. 'Amsterdam, very good.'

The car powered on. Jules leaned back and whispered in Vincent's ear. 'Keep your motherfucking eyes open. I think this old guy is crazy.'

==6... DINOSAUR ==

The jungle ended abruptly and the cars emerged into a bright green valley that sloped down towards a tree lined lake.

'Stop the car!' cried Hammond.

The driver slowed the jeep to a stop. Hammond climbed out.

'Why the fuck have we stopped here?' said Vincent.

'I guess the old man's gotta drain the snail.'

'Out here?'

'Man, when you get to his age, I bet nothing works.' Jules glanced back and saw Hammond talking to the other car.

'I'm telling you,' said Vincent, 'if this resort is nothing but an old folks' home with a golf course, Marsellus is gonna spit.' He yawned. Flying through the night had made him tired. He closed his eyes and leaned back. He felt the warm glow of sunshine on his face.

Jules was feeling tired too. His eyelids hung heavy. He was close to dozing off when there was colossal ground-shaking thump.

'What the fuck was that?' drawled Vincent, still with his eyes closed.

Jules was silent. He was no longer sleepy. His eyes were wide open, so wide in fact, his eyeballs risked falling out altogether. 'Vincent...' he whispered.



'Jules, can't a man get five minutes to sunbathe in peace?' A darkness fell across Vincent's face. It was as if the sky had been blocked with cloud.

'Man, even the weather is against me—' Vincent opened his eyes. He froze. Then he blinked several times. It was no cloud that blocked the sun, it was something else. Something big. Something so completely irrational Vincent shook his head and blinked several times to make sure he wasn't asleep, because what he was looking at didn't make any sense to his senses. It was a giraffe like creature with a fifty foot neck and a body ten times the size of an elephant. It chewed the top of a nearby tree lazily.

'Jules...' said Vincent.

'I know...' replied Jules. 'I know...let's just be cool.'

'Be cool? It's a fucking dinosaur!'

'I know what it is, Vincent! And it's kinda fucking with my mind too!'

'What the fuck is it doing here? Is it real?'

'We can both see it, motherfucker – so yeah, I think it's real!'

'We'll see about that,' Vincent drew his gun and pointed it up at the beast's head.

'Whoa!' Jules went to push the gun away, but Vincent had already pulled the trigger. The bullet zinged wide, but the bang caused the dinosaur to rear up on its hind legs and bellow. 'What'd you do that for?' barked Jules. 'Now Godzilla's pissed off!'

Hammond came hobbling back to the car. 'Don't shoot! Don't shoot! It's okay...'

'Okay?' said Vincent. 'It's a fucking dinosaur, on what day of the week is that okay?'

Hammond waved him down. 'Relax, dear boy. Trust me, he can't harm you.' He took off his glasses and cleaned them with a hanky. 'Some of the others can though.'


'Yes...this is why we've had so much secrecy. We've been breeding them.'

'Breeding dinosaurs?' said Vincent.

'Yes,' grinned Hammond. He threw his arms wide. 'Welcome…to Jurassic Park!'

As if on cue there was a fanfare of trumpets from somewhere; a couple of those inflatable wavy men you see at funfairs mushroomed from behind bushes; ticker-tape started to rain down and the dinosaur, acknowledging its cue, gave a roar and rose onto its hind legs again, tearing leaves from the highest branch of the treetop. Everyone looked up in wonderment, apart from Jules. He sat in the jeep shaking his head. 'Marsellus ain't ever gonna believe this shit.'



As his guests continued to stare in open-jaw amazement, Hammond commented absently. 'We've clocked the T-rex at thirty miles-per-hour.'

'T-rex?' said Vincent.

Jules looked up. 'Say that again?'

Hammond chuckled and gave a toothy grin. 'We have a T-rex!'

Jules's nostrils flared. His eyes bulged. 'Say…that…again! I dare you...I double-dare you, motherfucker!'

'We have a T-rex!'

'Oh, man…' Jules shook his head and mumbled something to himself.

Vincent looked left and right across the field. 'So this is where Mr Wallace's money's been going? You've been building yourself dinosaurs?'

'Yes,' grinned the old man.

'What the fuck did you do that for?' cried Jules.

Hammond turned away from them and looked off to the horizon, a steely look of determination in his old eyes. 'We wanted to make living attractions so outstanding they'd be the marvel of the entire world.'

Vincent shook his head. 'Look, Mr Hammond, we respect you, as a businessman and all, but our boss wants easier ways to make money.'

'Easier ways?' Hammond turned around. 'This is the only way.'

'Bullshit,' said Jules.

'It is,' affirmed Hammond. 'How else can you make real money?'

'Computers,' said Vincent. 'Computers make money.'

'Computers,' scoffed Hammond. 'My dear boy, computers are just a fad. Look at Apple... a vibrant company ten years ago, now lagging so far behind Microsoft they won't last to see the 21st century, let alone define it!' He shook his head at their folly. 'No, the only way to make money is through entertainment, patentable entertainment.'

'Bullshit,' repeated Jules. 'I don't see no Wall Street motherfuckers trading dinosaurs.'

'That's because we are ahead of the curve!' chimed Hammond. 'You are standing in the most exclusive resort on Earth. Set up and ready to go…and it's free from the meddling authorities.'

'What was that?'

'Nothing. Nothing.'

Jules shook his head. 'Marsellus ain't gonna believe this shit.'

Hammond laughed and spun his cane. 'Now, let me show you how we did it.'

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Dot Gumbi.

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