Nick the Greek: Weed?
Tom: Nah, it's not normal weed. Some ****ed-up skunk, class A, can't-think-let-a-lone-move shit.
Nick the Greek: Doesn't sound good to me.
Tom: Well, neither me, but it depends what flicks your switch, and the light is on and burning brightly for the masses. ... Anyway, do you know anyone?
Nick the Greek: I know a man, yes.... Rory Breaker.
Tom: Not that mad-man with an Afro. I don't want anything to do with him.
Nick the Greek: You won't have to, just get me a sample.
Tom: Ahh, no can do.
Nick the Greek: What's that? A place near Katmandu? Meet me halfway, mate.
Tom: Look, it's all completely chicken soup.
Nick the Greek: It's what?
Tom: It's kosher. As Christmas.
Nick the Greek: The Jews don't celebrate Christmas, Tom.
Tom: Well, never mind that. We're gonna need some artillery too. Couple of sawn-off shot-guns
Nick the Greek: This is a bit heavy. This is London, not the Lebanon, who do you think I am?
Tom: Think you're Nick the Greek.
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