T.S. Quint:
How much did you smoke?
Jay:
All it took was a phat, chronic blunt. These guys were lightweights.
T.S. Quint:
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. Quint:
Let's hope there is a next time.
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 12:45
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