BooksBarbecue
Back Violence. Speed. Momentum.
Chapters (22)
  1. Dedication
  2. AUTHOR’S NOTE I’LL NEVER WRITE THIS BOOK
  3. PREFACE YAYAYAYA!
  4. INTRODUCTION OKAY, I’LL WRITE THIS BOOK
  5. CHAPTER 1 MY MULTIDIMENSIONAL BIRTH
  6. CHAPTER 2 LET’S SET A RECORD, BABY!
  7. CHAPTER 3 THE TWO-TIME
  8. CHAPTER 4 GROOMING WITH THE DOCTOR
  9. CHAPTER 5 ALL RIGHT, I’M BACK
  10. CHAPTER 6 THE DOC’S FIRST SPONSOR
  11. CHAPTER 7 THE SECOND TIME I DROVE A LAMBORGHINI (AND HOW YOU CAN DRIVE ONE TOO)
  12. CHAPTER 8 THE SECRET BEHIND WHAT, EXACTLY, I’M A DOCTOR OF
  13. CHAPTER 9 THE KUMITE EXCEPT FOR VIDEO GAMES AND ALSO IT’S REAL
  14. CHAPTER 10 THE ATHLETICISM—WOW!
  15. CHAPTER 11 THE KUMITE EXCEPT FOR VIDEO GAMES AND ALSO IT’S REAL
  16. CHAPTER 12 THE RIGHT FLIP PHONE FOR YOU
  17. CHAPTER 13 HOLLYWOOD DOMINATION—AND DOC’S DISILLUSIONMENT
  18. CHAPTER 14 WHAT I’M THE DOCTOR OF
  19. CHAPTER 15 THE END???
  20. EPILOGUE FROM THE DESK OF NIGEL P. FARNSWORTH III
  21. AFTERWORD DID YOU REALLY THINK I’D GIVE THAT PUNK EDITOR THE LAST WORD IN MY BOOK???
  22. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lying in the dust, Steve looked up at me and squinted. “Who—who are you?”

Which was kinda weird, because we all went to the same school, and my mom was actually their teacher, so they really should’ve known my name, but it was a powerful moment and I was sick of my old weak identity anyway, so I just went with it. I chose a new name. A name forged in the flames of the sun, born in the cry of the hawk, and suckled on the sweet teat of Victory.

“The name is Dr Disrespect.”

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

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

Steve frowned. “Why are you making that funny echo noise with your mouth?”

“Shut up,” I said. “Or I really will shove this Commodore 64 up your butt.”

At that very moment, I felt my jawline harden and square up, my voice grow deeper by 2.3 octaves, and the first young tendrils of Slick Daddy sprout on my upper lip. Shit, I think my mullet even grew another couple inches in the back.

The punks ran in fear. I picked up the mysterious, fateful Commodore 64 to take home as my mighty prize. And then some old fat dude stuck his head out a door in the alleyway and screamed at me.

“Yo, you gotta pay for that fucking thing!”

Turns out I’d fallen right outside a CompuLand loading dock, and my mystical miracle machine was just part of a big new shipment. Not really sure how I missed that, because there was a giant CompuLand sign right above the door, but whatever.

The old me would’ve apologized and begged forgiveness, but the new me just flipped him off and stole it. Which was doing him a favor anyway, because the box was a gory mess and he really should’ve been selling Super Nintendos or IBMs or something. I mean, it was 1992, for shit’s sake.

Back home, I plugged the computer into our TV, this dusty old black-and-white RCA. I hooked up the joystick that I’d also stolen, and I turned it on.

As I started to play my very first game of Contra, I could feel the electricity running through my body. I could sense the spirit of the warrior twitching in my twitchy abdominals, and I could hear my destiny of greatness calling to me in the wind.

“Woooleee-woooo! Wooooddleeeeee-wooooooo! Woo-wooo!”

That’s what destiny sounds like, man.

Immediately I dominated.