Samuel L. Jackson at The 7th annual George Lopez Celebrity Golf Classic in Burbank, CA. (May 5, 2014) -Photo: Fame/Flynet, Getty, INFphoto, Pacific Coast News, Splash News, WENN
“Mr. Lopez, aren’t you Mexican?”
Bitch if you’re going to ask me about the Matrix movies, some shit is about to go down.
The tourney grand prize? A new kidney.
That Bad Motherfucker wears a pink polo shirt with a blue jumper shit and white hat? “Fuck that Nigga is Chanky!”
Tell us about your new movie, Mr. Fishburne.
“That wasn’t me, woman! I was never in Aven- I was in Avengers, wasn’t I? Sorry, reflex.”
“Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherfucking interviewers on this motherfucking golf course!”
Why is he dressed like he is about to play golf with old, rich, white guys?
Instead of playing golf, they’re all going to get shit-faced and pass out on the greens.
Surrounded by skinny white women, at a golf classic, which is sponsored by Sabra brand hummus. This is the epitome of “white,” and I think that man may need to be rescued.
I’ve loved this guy ever since he was in Amos ‘n’ Andy.
“I loved you in Pulp Fiction!”
“Yeah, ’bout time someone got that shit right.”
“No one else could have played Marcellus Wallace so well!”
I believe you have me mistaken for Kim Kardashian.
“You’re going to stick your big black what in my face? Oh. Microphone. Go on girl.”
If my answers frighten you, then you should cease asking scary questions.
“Mr. Jackson…What’s your handicap?”
“Being a black man at this golf course who isn’t part of the wait staff.”
Pharrell Williams, Where did you get yours?
Say what again, I dare you. I double dare you, bitch. Say what one more goddamn time!
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