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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

But in case you don’t, that’s also not six inches. It’s not seven inches. It’s not eight inches. It’s not nine inches. It’s not ten inches. It’s not eleven inches. It’s not twelve inches. It’s not thirteen inches. It’s not fourteen inches. It’s not fifteen inches. It’s not sixteen inches. It’s not seventeen inches. It’s not eighteen inches. Did I mention it’s not eighteen inches? Well, it’s worth repeating, because eighteen inches is still definitely not the same as thirty-seven inches.

It’s also not nineteen inches. It’s not twenty inches. It’s not twenty-one inches. It’s not twenty-two inches. It’s not twenty-three inches. It’s not twenty-four inches. It’s not twenty-five inches. It’s not twenty-six inches. It’s not twenty-seven inches. It’s not twenty-eight inches. It’s not twenty-nine inches. It’s not thirty inches. It’s not thirty-one inches. It’s not thirty-two inches. It’s not thirty-three inches. It’s not thirty-three inches. (You still there? WAKE THE FUCK UP!) It’s not thirty-four inches. It’s not thirty-five inches. It’s not thirty-six inches. It’s not—whoops, almost screwed that up.

Because it’s true: thirty-seven inches is, in fact, thirty-seven inches.

And that’s how high I was about to jump. From a standing start. Not from a run, not from a trampoline, not from a basket toss. Just a straight-up vertical leap of thirty-seven mother-effing inches.

At least, according to my estimate.

We’re Back, Baby!

Dude, I nailed it.

Grabbed the edge of the balcony, pulled myself up in the middle of that electric inferno, ran over to Hannn’s shadowy throne, and finally saw what deep down I’d known all along—Lord Hannn was nothing but an advanced prototype AI Sony Intel-Inside™ Hyper-Core i27-530000K 40-thread 11.9 GHz quantum-processor robot.

That’s right. He was a fucking computer.

A really cool one, but still. A computer.

I reached back into the shadows with my mighty hands, grabbed all Hannn’s computerized guts, and yanked them out of the wall. It was pretty fucking awesome too, because it wasn’t just wires and shit—this was like advanced stuff, like Bishop-from-Aliens stuff, so there was all this green goo spitting out from all these tubes, and all these weird humanoid groaning sounds, and I could hear Hannn going, like, “Help me! I’m melllllting! Gurgle gurgle.”

Yeah, honestly, if you ever get the chance to destroy a super-high-tech AI quasi-android, I totally recommend it.