Home Chapta 1: A Dizzle of Straight-up Low Probability Chapta 2: Everythang I Believe Is False Chapta 3: Comparin Realitizzle To Its Alternatives Chapta 4: Da Efficient Market Hypothesis Chapta 5: Da Fundamenstrual Attribution Error Chapta 6: Da Plannin Fallacy Chapta 7: Reciprocation Chapta 8: Positizzle Bias Chapta 9: Title Redacted, Part I Chapta 10: Self Awareness, Part Pt II Chapta 11: Omake Filez 1, 2, 3 Chapta 12: Impulse Control Chapta 13: Askin tha Wrong Questions Chapta 14: Da Unknown n' tha Unknowable Chapta 15: Conscientiousness Chapta 16: Lateral Thinking Chapta 17: Locatin tha Hypothesis Chapta 18: Dominizzle Hierarchies Chapta 19: Delayed Gratification Chapta 20: Bizzleess Theorem Chapta 21: Rationalization Chapta 22: Da Scientific Method Chapta 23: Belief up in Belief Chapta 24: Machiavellian Intelligence Hypothesis Chapta 25: Hold Off on Proposin Solutions Chapta 26: Noticin Confusion Chapta 27: Empathy Chapta 28: Reductionism Chapta 29: Egocentric Bias Chapta 30: Workin up in Groups, Pt 1 Chapta 31: Workin up in Groups, Pt 2 Chapta 32: Interlude: Personal Financial Management Chapta 33: Coordination Problems, Pt 1 Chapta 34: Coordination Problems, Pt 2 Chapta 35: Coordination Problems, Pt 3 Chapta 36: Status Differentials Chapta 37: Interlude: Crossin tha Boundary Chapta 38: Da Cardinal Sin Chapta 39: Pretendin ta be Wise, Pt 1 Chapta 40: Pretendin ta be Wise, Pt 2 Chapta 41: Frontal Override Chapta 42: Courage Chapta 43: Humanism, Pt 1 Chapta 44: Humanism, Pt 2 Chapta 45: Humanism, Pt 3 Chapta 46: Humanism, Pt 4 Chapta 47: Personhood Theory Chapta 48: Utilitarian Priorities Chapta 49: Prior Information Chapta 50: Self Centeredness Chapta 51: Title Redacted, Pt 1 Chapta 52: Da Stanford Prison Experiment, Pt 2 Chapta 53: Da Stanford Prison Experiment, Pt 3 Chapta 54: Da Stanford Prison Experiment, Pt 4 Chapta 55: Da Stanford Prison Experiment, Pt 5 Chapta 56: TSPE, Constrained Optimization, Pt 6 Chapta 57: TSPE, Constrained Cognition, Pt 7 Chapta 58: TSPE, Constrained Cognition, Pt 8 Chapta 59: TSPE, Curiosity, Pt 9 Chapta 60: Da Stanford Prison Experiment, Pt 10 Chapta 61: TSPE, Secrecy n' Openness, Pt 11 Chapta 62: Da Stanford Prison Experiment, Final Chapta 63: TSPE, Aftermaths Chapta 64: Omake Filez 4, Alternate Parallels Chapta 65: Contagious Lies Chapta 66: Self Actualization, Pt 1 Chapta 67: Self Actualization, Pt 2 Chapta 68: Self Actualization, Pt 3 Chapta 69: Self Actualization, Pt 4 Chapta 70: Self Actualization, Pt 5 Chapta 71: Self Actualization, Pt 6 Chapta 72: SA, Plausible Deniability, Pt 7 Chapta 73: SA, Da Sacred n' tha Mundane, Pt 8 Chapta 74: SA, Escalation of Conflicts, Pt 9 Chapta 75: Self Actualization Final, Responsibility Chapta 76: Interlude wit tha Confessor: Sunk Costs Chapta 77: SA, Aftermaths: Surface Appearances Chapta 78: Taboo Tradeoffs Prelude: Cheating Chapta 79: Taboo Tradeoffs, Pt 1 Chapta 80: Taboo Tradeoffs, Pt 2, Da Horns Effect Chapta 81: Taboo Tradeoffs, Pt 3 Chapta 82: Taboo Tradeoffs, Final Chapta 83: Taboo Tradeoffs, Aftermath 1 Chapta 84: Taboo Tradeoffs, Aftermath 2 Chapta 85: Taboo Tradeoffs, Aftermath 3, Distance Chapta 86: Multiple Hypothesis Testing Chapta 87: Hedonic Awareness Chapta 88: Time Pressure, Pt 1 Chapta 89: Time Pressure, Pt 2 Chapta 90: Roles, Pt 1 Chapta 91: Roles, Pt 2 Chapta 92: Roles, Pt 3 Chapta 93: Roles, Pt 4 Chapta 94: Roles, Pt 5 Chapta 95: Roles, Pt 6 Chapta 96: Roles, Pt 7 Chapta 97: Roles, Pt 8 Chapta 98: Roles, Final Chapta 99: Roles, Aftermath Chapta 100: Precautionary Measures, Pt 1 Chapta 101: Precautionary Measures, Pt 2 Chapta 102: Caring Chapta 103: Tests Chapta 104: Da Truth, Pt 1, Riddlez n' Lyrics Chapta 105: Da Truth, Pt 2 Chapta 106: Da Truth, Pt 3 Chapta 107: Da Truth, Pt 4 Chapta 108: Da Truth, Pt 5, Lyrics n' Riddlez Chapta 109: Reflections Chapta 110: Reflections, Pt 2 Chapta 111: Failure, Pt 1 Chapta 112: Failure, Pt 2 Chapta 113: Final Exam Chapta 114: Shut Tha Fuck Up n' Do Da Impossible Chapta 115: Shut Tha Fuck Up n' Do Da Impossible, Pt 2 Chapta 116: Aftermath, Somethang ta Protect, Pt 0 Chapta 117: Somethang ta Protect: Minerva McGonagall Chapta 118: Somethang ta Protect: Pimp Quirrell Chapta 119: Somethang ta Protect: Albus Dumbledore Chapta 120: Somethang ta Protect: Draco Malfoy Chapta 121: Somethang ta Protect: Severus Snape Chapta 122: Somethang ta Protect: Hermione Granger

Chapta 1: A Dizzle of Straight-up Low Probability



Disclaimer: J. K. Rowlin owns Larry Potsmoker, n' no one owns the methodz of rationality.

This fic is widely considered ta have straight-up hit its stride startin at round Chapta 5. If you still don't like it after Chapta 10, give up.

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This is not a strict single-point-of-departure fic - there exists a primary point of departure, at some point up in the past yo, but also other alterations. Da dopest term I've heard fo' this fic is "parallel universe".

Da text gotz nuff nuff clues: obvious clues, not-so-obvious clues, truly obscure hints which I was shocked ta peep some readers successfully decode, n' massive evidence left up in plain sight. This be a rationalist story; its mysteries is solvable, n' meant to be solved.

Da pacin of tha rap is dat of serial fiction, i.e., dat of a TV show hustlin fo' a predetermined number of seasons, whose episodes is individually plotted but wit a overall arc building to a gangbangin' final conclusion.

Da rap has been erected ta British Gangsta up ta Ch. 17, and further Britpickin is currently up in progress (see tha /HPMOR subreddit).

All science mentioned is real science. But please keep up in mind that, beyond tha realm of science, tha viewz of tha charactas may not be dem of tha lyricist. Not every last muthafuckin thang tha protagonist do is a lesson up in wisdom, n' lyrics offered by darker charactas may be untrustworthy or dangerously double-edged.

Beneath tha moonlight glints a tiny fragment of silver, a fraction of a line...

(black robes, falling)

...blood spizzlez up in litres, n' one of mah thugs screams a word.

Every inch of wall space is covered by a funky-ass bookcase. Each bookcase has six shelves, goin almost ta tha ceiling. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some bookshelves are stacked ta tha brim wit hardback books: science, maths, history, and every last muthafuckin thang else. Other shelves have two layerz of paperback science fiction, wit tha back layer of books propped up on old tissue boxes or lengthz of wood, so dat you can peep tha back layer of books above tha books up in front fo' realz. And it still aint enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Books are overflowin onto tha tablez n' tha sofas n' makin lil heaps under tha windows.

This is tha living-room of tha doggy den occupied by tha eminent Pimp Mike Verres-Evans, n' his hoe, Mrs. Petunia Evans-Verres, n' they adopted son, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres.

There be a letta lyin on tha living-room table, n' an unstamped envelope of yellowish parchment, addressed ta Mista Muthafuckin yo. H. Potter up in emerald-chronic ink.

Da Pimp n' his hoe is bustin lyrics sharply at each other, but they aint shouting. Da Pimp considaz shoutin ta be uncivilised.

"Yo ass is clownin," Mike holla'd ta Petunia yo. His tone indicated that da thug was straight-up much afraid dat dat biiiiatch was straight-up n shit.

"My fuckin sista was a witch," Petunia repeated. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch looked frightened yo, but stood her ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Her homeboy was a wizzle."

"This be absurd!" Mike holla'd sharply. "They was at our weddin - they hit up fo' Chrizzle -"

"I holla'd at dem you weren't ta know," Petunia whispered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "But it's true. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I peeped thangs -"

Da Pimp rolled his wild lil' fuckin eyes. "Dear, I KNOW dat you is not familiar wit tha sceptical literature. Yo ass may not realise how easy it is fo' a trained magician ta fake tha seemingly impossible. Remember how tha fuck I taught Harry ta bend spoons, biatch? If it seemed like they could always guess what tha fuck you was thinking, thatz called cold readin -"

"It wasn't bendin spoons -"

"What was it, then?"

Petunia bit her lip. "I can't just rap , biatch. You'll be thinkin I be -" Bitch swallowed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Listen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Michael. I wasn't - always like dis -" She gestured at her muthafuckin ass, as though ta indicate her lithe form. "Lily did all dis bullshit. Because I - cuz I begged her n' shit. For years, I begged her n' shit. Lil' Willy had always been prettier than me, and I'd... been mean ta her, cuz of that, n' then she got magic, can you imagine how tha fuck I felt, biatch? And I begged her ta use a shitload of dat magic on me so dat I could be pretty too, even if I couldn't have her magic, at least I could be pretty."

Tears was gatherin up in Petuniaz eyes.

"And Lil' Willy would tell me no, n' make up da most thugged-out ridiculous excuses, like tha ghetto would end if dat biiiiatch was sick ta her sister, or a cold-ass lil centaur holla'd at her not ta - da most thugged-out wack thangs, n' I hated her fo' it fo' realz. And when I had just busted tha fuck outta university, I was goin up wit dis boy, Vernon Dursley, da thug was fat n' da thug was the only pimp whoz ass would rap ta mah dirty ass fo' realz. And da perved-out muthafucka holla'd da thug wanted children, and dat his wild lil' first lil hustla would be named Dudley fo' realz. And I thought to myself, what kind of parent names they lil pimp Dudley Dursley? Dat shiznit was like I saw mah whole future game stretchin out in front of me, n' I couldn't stand it fo' realz. And I freestyled ta mah sister and holla'd at her dat if her dope ass didn't help me I'd rather just -"

Petunia stopped.

"Anyway," Petunia holla'd, her voice small, "she gave in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch holla'd at me dat shiznit was dangerous, n' I holla'd I didn't care any more, n' I drank this potion n' I was sick fo' weeks yo, but when I gots betta mah skin cleared up n' I finally filled up and... I was dope, people were ill ta me," her voice broke, "and afta dat I couldn't don't give a fuck bout mah sista any more, especially when I hustled what her magic brought her up in tha end -"

"Darling," Mike holla'd gently, "you gots sick, you gained some weight while restin up in bed, n' yo' skin cleared up on its own. Or bein sick made you chizzle yo' diet -"

"Bitch was a witch," Petunia repeated. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. "I saw dat shit."

"Petunia," Mike holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da annoyizzle was creepin tha fuck into his voice. "Yo ass know dat can't be true. Do I straight-up have to explain why?"

Petunia wrung her hands. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch seemed ta be on tha verge of tears. "My fuckin love, I know I can't win arguments wit you yo, but please, you have ta trust me on dis -"

"Dad hommie! Mum! "

Da two of dem stopped n' looked at Harry as though they'd forgotten there was a third thug up in tha room.

Harry took a thugged-out deep breath. "Mum, your muthafathas didn't have magic, did they?"

"No," Petunia holla'd, lookin puzzled.

"Then no one up in yo' crew knew bout magic when Lil' Willy gots her letter n' shiznit yo. How tha fuck did they git convinced?"

"Ah..." Petunia holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "They didn't just bust a letter n' shit. They sent a pimp from Hogwarts yo. Dude -" Petuniaz eyes flicked ta Michael. "Dude flossed our asses some magic."

"Then you don't gotta fight over this," Harry holla'd firmly. Hopin against hope dat dis time, just dis once, they would dig his muthafuckin ass. "If itz true, we can just git a Hogwarts pimp here n' peep tha magic fo' ourselves, n' Dad will admit dat it's true fo' realz. And if not, then Mum will admit dat itz false. Thatz what the experimenstrual method is for, so dat our phat asses don't gotta resolve things just by jumpin off bout some shit."

Da Pimp turned n' looked down at him, dismissive as usual. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. "Oh, come now, Harry. Really, magic? I thought you'd know betta than ta take dis seriously, son, even if you only ten. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Magic is just bout da most thugged-out unscientistical thang there is!"

Harryz grill twisted bitterly yo. Dude was treated well, probably betta than most genetic fathers treated they own lil' thugs yo. Harry had been busted ta tha dopest primary schools - n' when dat didn't work out, da thug was provided wit tutors from tha endless pool of starvin hustlas fo' realz. Always Harry had been encouraged ta study whatever caught his thugged-out attention, looted all tha books dat caught his fancy, sponsored up in whatever maths or science competitions he entered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude was given anythang reasonable dat da thug wanted, except, maybe, tha slightest shred of respect fo' realz. A Doctor teaching biochemistry at Oxford could hardly be sposed ta fuckin dig the advice of a lil boy. Yo ass would dig Show Interest, of course; thatz what tha fuck a Dope Parent would do, n' so, if you conceived of yo ass as a Dope Parent, you would do dat shit. But take a ten-year-old seriously? Hardly.

Yo, sometimes Harry wanted ta scream at his wild lil' father.

"Mum," Harry holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "If you wanna win dis argument wit Dad, look up in chapta two of tha straight-up original gangsta book of tha Feynman Lectures on Physics. Therez a quote there bout how tha fuck philosophers say a pimped out deal bout what tha fuck science straight-up requires, n' it be all wrong, because tha only rule up in science is dat tha final arbita is observation - dat you just gotta peep tha ghetto n' report what you see. Um... off tha top of mah head I can't be thinkin of where to find suttin' bout how tha fuck itz a ideal of science ta settle things by experiment instead of arguments -"

His mutha looked down at his ass n' smiled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Nuff props, Harry. But -" her head rose back up ta stare at her homeboy. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "I don't want to win a argument wit yo' daddy n' shit. I want mah homeboy to, ta listen to his hoe whoz ass loves him, n' trust her just dis once -"

Harry closed his wild lil' fuckin eyes briefly. Hopeless. Both of his parents was just hopeless.

Now his thugged-out lil' muthafathas was gettin tha fuck into one of those arguments again, one where his crazy-ass mutha tried ta make his wild lil' daddy feel guilty, n' his wild lil' daddy tried ta make his crazy-ass mutha feel fuckin wack.

"I be goin ta git all up in mah room," Harry announced. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! His voice trembled a lil. "Please try not ta fight too much bout this, Mum, Dad, we'll know soon enough how tha fuck it comes out, right?"

"Of course, Harry," holla'd his wild lil' father, n' his crazy-ass mutha gave his ass a reassurin kiss, n' then they went on fightin while Harry climbed the stairs ta his bedroom.

Dude shut tha door behind his ass n' tried ta think.

Da funky thang was, he should have agreed wit Dad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! No one had eva peeped any evidence of magic, n' accordin ta Mum, there was a whole magical ghetto up there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho yo. How tha fuck could mah playas keep suttin' like dat a secret, biatch? Mo' magic, biatch? That seemed like a rather suspicious sort of excuse.

It should done been a cold-ass lil clean case fo' Mum clownin, lyin or being insane, up in ascendin order of awfulness. If Mum had busted tha letter herself, dat would explain how tha fuck it arrived all up in tha letterbox without a stamp fo' realz. A lil insanitizzle was far, far less improbable than the universe straight-up hustlin like all dis bullshit.

Except dat some part of Harry was utterly convinced dat magic was real, n' had been since tha instant da perved-out muthafucka saw tha putatizzle letter from tha Hogwarts School of Witchcraft n' Wizardry.

Harry rubbed his wild lil' forehead, grimacing. Don't believe everythang you think, one of his books had holla'd.

But dis bizarre certainty.. yo. Harry was findin his dirty ass just expecting that, fo'sho, a Hogwarts pimp would show up and wave a wand n' magic would come out. Da strange certainty was makin no effort ta guard itself against falsification - wasn't makin excuses up in advizzle fo' why there wouldn't be a pimp, or the pimp would only be able ta bend spoons.

Where do you come from, strange lil prediction? Harry pimped up tha thought at his dome. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Why do I believe what I believe?

Usually Harry was pretty phat at answerin dat question yo, but in this particular case, dat schmoooove muthafucka had no clue what tha fuck his dome was thinking.

Harry menstrually shrugged. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A flat metal plate on a thugged-out door affords pushing, n' a handle on a thugged-out door affordz pulling, n' tha thang to do wit a testable hypothesis is ta go n' test dat shit.

Dude took a piece of lined paper from his fuckin lil' desk, n' started writing.

Dear Deputy Headmistress

Harry paused, reflecting; then discarded tha paper fo' another, tappin another millimetre of graphite from his crazy-ass mechanical pencil. This called fo' careful calligraphy.

Dear Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall,

Or Whomsoever It May Concern:

I recently received yo' letta of acceptizzle ta Hogwarts, addressed ta Mista Muthafuckin yo. H. Potter n' shit. Yo ass may not be aware dat mah genetic parents, Jizzy Potta n' Lil' Willy Potta (formerly Lil' Willy Evans) are dead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I was adopted by Lilyz sister, Petunia Evans-Verres, n' her husband, Mike Verres-Evans.

I be mad horny bout attendin Hogwarts, conditional on such a place straight-up existing. Only mah mutha Petunia say she knows bout magic, n' dat thugged-out biiiatch can't use it her muthafuckin ass. My fuckin daddy is highly sceptical. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. I mah dirty ass be uncertain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I also don't give a fuck where to obtain any of tha books or shiznit listed up in yo' acceptance letter.

Muthafucka mentioned dat you busted a Hogwarts representatizzle to Lil' Willy Potta (then Lil' Willy Evans) up in order ta demonstrate ta her crew that magic was real, and, I presume, help Lil' Willy obtain her school materials. If you could do dis fo' mah own crew it would be extremely helpful.

Sincerely,

Harry Jizzy Potter-Evans-Verres.

Harry added they current address, then folded up tha letta and put it up in a envelope, which he addressed ta Hogwarts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Further consideration hustled his ass ta obtain a cold-ass lil candle n' drip wax onto tha flap of tha envelope, tha fuck into which, rockin a penknifez tip, he impressed the initials H.J.P.E.V. If da thug was goin ta descend tha fuck into this madness, da thug was goin ta do it wit style.

Then he opened his fuckin lil' door n' went back downstairs yo. His daddy was sittin up in tha living-room n' readin a funky-ass book of higher maths to show how tha fuck smart-ass da thug was; n' his crazy-ass mutha was up in tha kitchen preparing one of his wild lil' fatherz most straight-up bangin meals ta show how tha fuck gangbangin dat biiiiatch was. It didn't be lookin like they was poppin' off ta one another at all fo' realz. As freaky as arguments could be, not jumpin off bout some shit was somehow much worse.

"Mum," Harry holla'd tha fuck into tha unnervin silence, "I be goin ta test the hypothesis fo' realz. Accordin ta yo' theory, how tha fuck do I bust a owl to Hogwarts?"

His mutha turned from tha kitchen sink ta stare at him, looking shocked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "I - I don't give a fuck, I be thinkin you just gotta own a magic owl."

That should've sounded highly suspicious, oh, so there be a no way ta test yo' theory then, but tha peculiar certainty in Harry seemed willin ta stick its neck up even further.

"Well, tha letta gots here somehow," Harry holla'd, "so I be bout ta just wave it round outside n' call 'letta fo' Hogwarts!' n' peep if an owl picks it up. Dad, do you wanna come n' watch?"

His daddy shook his head minutely n' kept on reading. Of course, Harry thought ta his dirty ass. Magic was a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disgraceful thang dat only wack playas believed in; if his wild lil' daddy went so far as ta test tha hypothesis, or even watch it bein tested, dat would feel like associating his dirty ass with that...

Only as Harry stumped up tha back door, tha fuck into tha back garden, did it occur ta his ass dat if a owl did come down and snatch tha letter, da thug was goin ta have some shiznit spittin some lyrics ta Dad about dat shit.

But - well - dat can't straight-up happen, can it, biatch? No matta what tha fuck mah dome seems ta believe. If a owl straight-up comes down and grabs dis envelope, I be goin ta have worries a shitload more important than what tha fuck Dad thinks.

Harry took a thugged-out deep breath, n' raised tha envelope tha fuck into the air.

Dude swallowed.

Callin up Letta fo' Hogwarts! while holdin an envelope high up in tha air up in tha middle of yo' own back garden was... straight-up pretty embarrassing, now dat tha pimpin' muthafucka thought about it.

No. I be betta than Dad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I'ma use tha scientistical method even if it make me feel fuckin wack.

"Letta -" Harry holla'd yo, but it straight-up came up as mo' of a whispered croak.

Harry steeled his will, n' shouted tha fuck into tha empty sky, "Letta fo' Hogwarts muthafucka! Can I git a owl? "

"Harry?" axed a funky-ass bemused biatchz voice, one of the neighbours.

Harry pulled down his hand like dat shiznit was on fire n' hid the envelope behind his back like dat shiznit was sticky-icky-icky scrilla yo. His whole grill was hot wit shame.

An oldschool biatchz grill peered up from above tha neighbouring fence, grizzled grey afro escapin from her hairnet. Mrs. Figg, the occasionizzle babysitter n' shit. "What is you bustin, Harry?"

"Nothing," Harry holla'd up in a strangled voice. "Just - testin a really wack-ass theory -"

"Did yo dirty ass git yo' acceptizzle letta from Hogwarts?"

Harry froze up in place.

"Yes," Harryz lips holla'd a lil while later n' shit. "I gots a letter from Hogwarts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. They say they want mah owl by tha 31st of July yo, but -"

"But you don't have a owl. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Skanky dear playa! I can't imagine what one of mah thugs must done been thinking, bustin you just the standard letter."

A wrinkled arm stretched up over tha fence, n' opened an expectant hand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Hardly even thankin at dis point, Harry gave over his envelope.

"Just leave it ta me, dear," holla'd Mrs. Figg, "and up in a jiffy or two I be bout ta have one of mah thugs over."

And her grill disappeared from over tha fence.

There was a long-ass silence up in tha garden.

Then a funky-ass boyz voice holla'd, calmly n' on tha fuckin' down-lowly, "What."