Craft Fiction

Jules: This was Craft Beer! You know what "craft beer" is?

Vincent: Yeah, I think so. That means the beer came down from Heaven..
Jules: Yeah, man, that's what it means. That's exactly what it means! The beer came down from Heaven.
Vincent: I think we should be going now.
Jules: Don't do that! Don't you fucking do that! Don't blow this shit off! What we just drank was a fucking craft beer!
Vincent: Chill the fuck out, Jules, this shit's just beer.
Jules: Wrong! Wrong, this shit isn't just beer.
Vincent: Do you wanna continue this theological discussion in the car, or at the jailhouse with the cops?
Jules: We should be fuckin' dead now, my friend! We just drank a craft beer, and I want you to fucking acknowledge it!
Vincent: Okay man, it was a craft beer, can we leave now?

Later...

Jules: I just been sittin' here thinkin'.

Vincent: About what?

Jules: The craft beer we drank.

Vincent: The craft beer you drank. I drank a good beer.

Jules: Do you know what a miracle is?

Vincent: An act of God.

Jules: What's an act of God?

Vincent: I guess it's when God makes the impossible possible. And I'm sorry Jules, but I don't think what happened this morning qualifies.

Jules: Don't you see Vince, that shit don't matter. You're judging this the wrong way. It's not about what. It could be God sent the beer, he changed Coke into Pepsi, he found my fuckin' car keys. You don't judge this shit based on merit. Whether or not what we experienced was an according-to Hoyle miracle is insignificant. What is significant is I felt God's touch. God got involved.

[Don't take this too seriously. I'm enjoying the ongoing discussion, as well as indulging myself with hyperbole (it is the day after the superbowl after all.) I also apologise for murdering Tarantino's dialogue. Remember, craft beer is where you find it...]