Round three had started, and now I was just yelling stuff because I liked the way it felt.

“More RPM! More revolutions per minute! Per mullet! Per majesty! Pure SPEEEEEEEED!”

People were starting to worry about my sanity. But fuck it, this was the new me—and it was working. I thought Sensei Billy’s eyeballs just might pop out of his pimply head.

“MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE!” I demanded.

And then, right when he was most distracted, right when he was most confused, right when he was about to diarrhea in his sweatpants, I took my shot. I unleashed Raiden’s flying-torpedo move.

“Wajeee wajaa jayyyyy!” Raiden screamed as he shot through the air.

(Some claim he’s saying “Your mother’s from LA!” or “Get back in the car!” Others say it’s Japanese. But they’re all idiots and I’m right.)

Sensei Billy tried desperately to block me—but he was a tenth of a second too late.

Raiden slammed into Sub-Zero, smashing him into the wall. Sub-Zero stumbled, dizzy, and I hit him with the flying torpedo again and again.

“FINISH HIM!” the announcer commanded.

But this very last time, I held back. I decided not to use Raiden’s fatality, because I’m a gracious opponent and classy sportsman.

Totally kidding!

I blasted Sub-Zero’s head into a billion little pieces, reached my hands up to the sky, and shot lighting at the gods with a final mighty shout.

“Fuck,” Sensei Billy said.

“Talk, talk, talk,” I said. “All that matters is victory.” It was ironic because of before.

The crowd cheered, obviously. They wanted to lift me on their shoulders but I didn’t think it would look cool. Sensei Billy sighed, ran his switchblade comb through his dirty hair one last time, and handed it to me.

“You were the son I never had,” he said. “Or at least the son I shouldn’t have until I can support myself financially. Now go and never come back.”

I took the comb, shrugged, and turned to leave. I was done with this place. I had bigger, better things to dominate.

“Wait!” he said. “I never did get your name.”

“Really?” I said, stopping. “After all this time?”

“Kinda weird, right?” he said.

“The name,” I said, “is Dr Disrespect.”

For some weird, supernatural reason there was this amazing, badass reverb when I said it. So it sounded like:

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

“Cool echo noise,” Sensei Billy said.

“I know,” I said.

I gave him a firm handshake. When all was said and done, he had been a worthy competitor.

Then I went home and immediately washed that damn comb—like literally boiled it in Mr. Clean—because, man, his hair was filthy. It’s the same switchblade comb I use to this day. At least in Dimension R.

And just like that, the Doctor was born.

MY ORIGIN IN DIMENSION #;K@1}`