T.S.: Jesus, how much did you smoke?
Jay: All it took was a phat, chronic blunt. These guys were lightweights.
T.S.: How much do I owe you?
Jay: My treat. As long as you promise that the next time you pop your old lady, you make her call you "Jay." Snootchie Bootchies.
T.S.: Let's hope there is a next time.
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