And that was just it for me, you know?

Like, all right, so you’ve got a clinically weak fart. I mean, it’s lame, it sucks, but whatever—it happens. But then to apologize for it???

NO.

Up on the big silver screen—or in syndicated television and various infomercials—these guys all seemed larger than life. They were men to be respected. To be admired. They were heroes! Almost—almost—as cool as me!

But in real life? They were average human beings who apologized for below-average farts.

I became disillusioned, to say the least. For the very first time in my life.

I’d accomplished everything I’d ever set out to accomplish. I’d climbed the highest mountains. I’d flown through the clouds and the smoke with the eagles. I’d hunted with the wolves and swum with the stingrays. I’d won every tournament, I’d beaten every challenge, I’d destroyed every so-called champion.

I’d had not just one origin story but three. I’d won the Blockbuster Video Game Championship—twice, in 1993 and 1994. I’d foiled the founders of Oogle, who turned out to be totally evil. I’d obliterated the world’s oldest crime syndicate, then established my own league of warriors called the Champions Club. And I’d become the greatest, most authentic, most real Hollywood star of all time, single-handedly rebooting Airwolf and Knight Rider and even giving Jean-Claude Van Damme a place to live.

I’d dominated every step of the way. And they were big steps, because I have massive feet.

But now? What was there? What was left to challenge me?

Nothing, that’s what.

Shit, I almost forgot. I guess Nigel the Editor did call me up and ask me to write a book to save literature. That was something. But now I’ve obviously done that too.

You’re welcome, literature.

So the Two-Time has officially accomplished everything there is possible to accomplish on the face of this earth. It’s time. Time to really retire.

Oh yeah. There is one more thing.

I. In this dimension—and this dimension only—Razor Frank and I speak the same language, but we have no idea what it is.

CHAPTER 14 WHAT I’M THE DOCTOR OF

Now, I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking, “Oh, Doc, of course the last thing you’re gonna do is rescue Nigel the Editor from the evil clutches of the Brotherhood and save the day like the badass hero you are!”

As usual, you’re completely wrong.

I would’ve been willing to overlook all his sloppiness, all his arrogance, all his “indeed’s and “forsooth’s and his other pseudointellectual BS. I would’ve forgiven the way he crapped on my “yayaya” world record and gave me shit about selling my high-class merch. I would’ve forgiven—but I wouldn’t have forgotten, because the Doc never forgets.