I pulled down my 3D prototype specs, and for the first time I looked him in the eye.

“The name-ame-ame is Doctor-octor-octor Disrespect-ect-ect-ect.”

With the subtle wrigglings of a snake, I slid behind the control panel of my chopper.

George Lukas called after me, “Huh? I couldn’t understand you with all that reverb! Wait—there’s paperwork and W-9s and liability waivers! Don’t you want your script?”

Details. Maybe important to lesser men, but not to me. As my Kamov Ka-27 rose into the hot, smoky air, one sound rang out above the rumble of the engines, the whir of the blades, and the thumping bass of my own blasting theme music:

“Yayayaya!”

Anyway, I completely destroyed the shoot in two days.

Turned out these pussies wanted me to use fake ammo, fake air-to-surface missiles, fake cluster bombs, fake napalm—fake fake fake fake—for all my action scenes. I mean, the Doc doesn’t fake anything, man. And he definitely doesn’t fake high-tech mass destruction.

So I told them I’d fake it. Then I used the real stuff anyway.

All the cameras? Demolished. All the trailers? Obliterated. Mark-Paul Gosselaar? MIA. And the pissing Cupids? Pretty sure they pissed themselves in the split second before I incinerated them with my multi-warhead hypersonic missiles.

I had to pay for it all, which was fine, because I’m rich. And George Lukas was pretty pissed at me. Might’ve had something to do with the arm he lost, maybe. But it was all totally worth it. I had a hell of a good time. And guess what?

The few hours of footage they shot before I blew the shit out of everything ended up being the biggest hit in the history of Snapchat. Got a couple billion views. Won a dozen Webbys, whatever those are, plus five Emmys, all for special effects and hair and mustache styling. Got nominated for an Oscar but didn’t win—which I count as a win because we weren’t even a movie.

And just like that, same as in the rest of my life, I was a champion. A Hollywood megastar.

I got hired to star in the new(est) Knight Rider movie for this smash-hit new platform called Quibi. Bankrupted the whole operation when I blew up their entire fleet of advanced, talking AI Lamborghini Huracáns on the very first day.

I mean, what did they expect? Everyone knows I only drive black. So what if they were billion-dollar cars with next-gen 6G quantum-computing techno-brains that may have qualified as sentient beings and/or taken over the world like Skynet in The Terminator. They were all fucking red. They deserved to be eviscerated!