Hidden behind boxes of throwing stars, a totally different kind of illegal merchandise. Thousands of small, lifelike plastic action figures. Each with its own blood-red tactical jacket. Each with its own pair of mirrored Sony prototype specs. Each with its own perfectly square jaw and flowing black-diamond mullet and little mini Slick Daddy.

That’s right. The illegal merchandise was me.

Unauthorized, knockoff, bootlegged Dr Disrespect action figures to be trafficked in black-market toy stores in every country on the planet.

I picked one up. It was an awesome idea, but the workmanship was shoddy. The paint was scratched, my little mane of hair had no luster, and the Ethiopian Poisonous Caterpillar looked like it had retreated into a cocoon. And yeah, I just came up with that metaphor right now.

Worst of all—like worse than anything I could possibly imagine, including death by super-piranha—the Brotherhood planned to sell them all without giving me a cut. Not one thin dime.

I know this because they’d foolishly left their illegal global marketing and distribution plan on one of the boxes, an informative PowerPoint titled “Selling Our Bootleg Dr Disrespect Dolls to Millions Without Paying Him One Thin Dime!”

Wait a second.

DOLLS???

DR DISRESPECT COULD NEVER BE A DOLL! HE COULD ONLY BE AN ACTION FIGURE WITH MAXIMUM VIOLENCE—WOW—MAXIMUM SPEED—WOW—AND MAXIMUM MOMENTUM—WOW!!!

Yeah. That doll thing was officially the worst part of all, and my mission was now crystal clear:

I was gonna take down the Brotherhood, baby.

The next morning I strode to the entrance of the mighty KEFVGAAIR arena of combat. The air was hot with thunder and smoke. The walls were shaking with the vibrations of thousands of screaming fans. Just Plain Usman walked up.

“By the way,” I growled. “I’m in.”

You shoulda seen the look on his face—he totally didn’t see that coming.

“You’re in!?” he whispered. “Excellent! If we attack as soon as we reach the stage, we can—”

I laughed long and hard.

“First, I’m winning KEFVGAAIR,” I said. “Then, we take out the Brotherhood.”

And so the tournament began.

Obviously such an elite level of incendiary competition can only be captured by a badass Jerry Bruckheimer–esque Rocky IV–style action MONTAGE.

I recommend listening to “Poison” by Bell Biv DeVoe, pretty much anything by Peter Cetera from the eighties, or the now-classic “Doc Theme Song” while you read the following bullets, for dramatic effect. Deejay, give the readers a helping hand.

Bump-tsshhh.

Bump-tsshhh-tsshhh.

“They call him Doc!”