Violence. Speed. Momentum.

by Dr DisRespect

  “Okay, you’re gonna have to stop, because I’m just that shocked you’re not a total moron.”

  He ran the switchblade comb through his hair. “Talk, talk, talk,” he said. “Your talk is worthless! All that matters is victory. Come, we play!”

  He got his mom to let us practice after the arcade’s normal hours. I guess that was pretty cool, but I still wouldn’t mop his damn floor. Instead he tutored me as I played Sub-Zero versus the computer, over and over again. I mastered the timing of Sub-Zero’s every move, his ice blast and his sliding kick—I mean, honestly, he only had two special moves in the very first Mortal Kombat, so that part wasn’t super hard. I gained patience in executing each block and punch and kick, learning not to overload the game with my incredible speed. And I perfected his glorious fatality, tearing the skull and the wriggly-squiggly spinal cord from one opponent after another.

  Finally, after at least one hour of more or less pretty consistent practice…

  “Holy shit!” I said. “I don’t know about you, Sensei Billy, but I’m really, really impressed with myself. Like, I am good on a cosmic level. Probably the best. Definitely better than you. I think I’m ready for some prime-time competition.”

  “No!” he shouted. “Your skill is good, yes. Your speed is good, yes. But you still talk too much! And it’s not even cute in a ‘precocious little child’ way! It’s just annoying! You’re not ready!”

  “Nah, I’m totally ready.”

  He sighed.

  “Whatever.”

  The next day after school I got to Pinball Pedro’s and went straight back to that sweaty corner of champions. His face grim, Sensei Billy put down a stack of prize tickets even bigger than the first one—absolutely huge, enough to buy one of those shoe-phones you got with a subscription to Sports Illustrated. A crowd gathered around, all my bros were there—it felt like the whole arcade was watching, waiting to see the little ten-year-old get humiliated yet again.

  But unlike last time, I didn’t even sweat it. Unlike last time, I barely even cared. I knew I would dominate. And that’s exactly what I did.

  With Sub-Zero as my fighter, I tore through one so-called opponent after another: Liu Kangs, Sonya Blades, other Sub-Zeros, it didn’t even matter. I’d knock ’em sky-high with an uppercut, get them with a slide move before they could even hit the ground, then attack again before they had a chance to recover. I was fucking relentless. And I’d finish them off with spine rips that somehow felt more bloody, more violent, and more triumphant with every single fatality. With each kill a new ponytail went limp, another pudgy tummy quaked with fear, another grown man went crying back to his mommy—which was easy, because they all still lived with their parents.

  And I? I grew a little taller with each win, my voice got a little deeper, my hair grew a little longer, my face became a little more chiseled. My stack of tickets grew bigger and bigger.

  Finally it was over. Or at least that was what Sensei Billy thought.

  “Well done, my young grasshopper,” he said. “You now have more prize tickets than anyone in history. You can finally buy a Sanyo Personal Compact Disc Player. Your victory is complete.”

  I smiled. And damn, I looked good.

  “But it’s not complete,” I said. “I still have one more opponent to destroy.” I pointed right at him. Just in case it still wasn’t clear, I whispered the word “You.”

  “What!” he shouted. “You dare challenge me in my own dojo?”

  “It’s your mother’s.”

  “Nonetheless,” he said. “You dare?!”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m grateful for the training you gave me, especially once you stopped trying to make me mop the floor. But you and I both know there can only be one champion. We will fight not for prize tickets, and not even for honor, because I honestly don’t think you have any.”

  “Fair.”

  “No, we will fight for… your switchblade comb.”

  The crowd gasped. My old crew was basically shitting themselves. Razor Frank said something in Zhuang and I thought, “I really need to learn some Zhuang one of these days.” Even Sensei Billy’s mom was all fired up—she started passing out free Cokes and Sunny D to everyone. She was sick of her son’s lazy ass.

  “Fine,” Sensei Billy said. “Yet again, you talk too much. This time, it will be your undoing.”

  “Nah,” I said. “Because I understand something you never will. Winning isn’t just about timing or speed or technique…”

  I put in a quarter to start a new game, scrolled past Sub-Zero, and chose my fighter—Raiden.

  “It’s about being really, really good at talking shit.”

  His eyes flashed in anger, and just like that, I was in the dude’s head.

  Round one of the best-out-of-three match began, and the action was more intense than anything I, or probably any elite warrior in the history of mankind, had experienced before. He chose Sub-Zero as his fighter, of course. And although it was a pretty badass move for me to select Raiden, that limited me to simple punches and kicks and blocks, because Sensei Billy and I both knew the tell to my special flying-torpedo move. If I even tried it, he’d just block me and beat my ass.

  Plus—and I hate to admit this—the dude was fucking good. His reflexes, his tactics, his kinetics were all off the charts. Nothing seemed to rattle him. He was totally locked in. Pure focus, pure concentration. Pure silence.

  And that was my in.

  “Are you really gonna do that? Like, that’s your actual move right now?”

  He was right in the middle of a combo attack—actually pretty nice—but out of the corner of my eye I saw him flinch.

  “Shit, so damn predictable!” I shouted. “Look, look, look—I bet I know what you’re gonna do now, I can totally read your mind, you’re gonna do an ice blast… now!”

  I mean, Sub-Zero only had two special moves, the slide and the ice blast, so it wasn’t exactly brain surgery—but that didn’t matter right now.

  “You did it!” I howled. “YOU DID IT! See, I knew you were gonna do it. I knew it! I can read your mind, dude!”

  His hand slipped on the joystick, and I got in a combo attack of my own.

  “I saw that!” I said. “Your fucking hands are sweating!”

  “Hey, watch the language!” his mom shouted from the back.

  “Sorry, Mrs. C!” I called.

  Then to him: “Honestly, I have no idea what your mom’s name is, but I was feeling ‘Mrs. C’ so I just went with it. Hey, does that stringy thin mustache of yours just look like pubes, or did you actually have that, like, surgically transplanted from your nether region?”

  This guy got so annoyed, he actually reached up to check his damn mustache—and at that moment I caught him with an uppercut that sent him flying, blood spurting and spraying everywhere.

  “FINISH HIM!” the announcer commanded.

  And that’s what I did.

  I’d won the first round, but I still had to win another to get best out of three. And then, yeah, I went and lost round two.

  Don’t ask for details. There’s nothing interesting about losing.

  “I meant to lose that one,” I said, smirking. “Seriously, I totally did. I just did it to mess with ya.”

  And you know what? I said it so seriously, with such amazing, ridiculous confidence, with such massive, gigantic ten-year-old balls, that somewhere deep down I could tell he believed me. Shit, I almost believed myself.

  “More speed! More violence! More intensity! More momentum!” I bellowed.

  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}`

  So yeah, my Dimension #;K@1}` origin is pretty simple, all right?

  I was born on this dying alien planet, and my parents launched me into space right before the whole place exploded. Then I landed on Earth and was adopted by these really, really rich parents who were both killed by these robbers in a dark alley after the opera, then I got bit by a radioactive spider, then my uncle got murdered by another robber when I was giving pro wrestling a try. Then I went to this secret island called Themychlamydia, where I was the daughter of Hippolyta with a cool prototype lasso, and I had the violence of Athena and the speed of Aphrodite and the momentum of Hera, and then I got this green power ring from some alien dude. Oh yeah, and I could talk to fish and I was all ripped and muscly and Hawaiian and spoke fluent Dothraki.

  Then I was like:

  “The name is Dr Disrespect.”

  Except for some weird, supernatural reason that I totally couldn’t guess or understand, it had this badass reverb when I said it. So it sounded like:

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

  And with that, the Doctor was born.

  I. Maybe you even heard of another origin story where I got my start in a small room with an old 1800s antique desk and a $300 Hewlett-Packard computer. Did it happen? Did it not happen? Is any of this real? OF COURSE IT IS. Every. Last. Word. Boom—that was just a fourth dimension. Yeah, try to keep up.

  CHAPTER 2

  LET’S SET A RECORD, BABY!

  Did you think this was gonna be one of those stupid old-school books where you just sit around and do passive things like “read words” and “be entertained”?

  Because if you did, you should probably just close this book and go back to your simple sheeplike life of grazing the tasty fields of mediocrity right now.

  On second thought, I don’t want you returning the book for a refund. I mean, let’s not get crazy here.

  But you should know that what we’re about to embark on together will demand a higher level of excellence and dominance and stone-cold-killer ruthlessness than you, dear reader, have ever experienced.

  That’s right, we’re about to break a world record.

  And not just any world record. We’re talking about possibly the oldest, most sacred record ever established in the annals of history: the record for the most people screaming my custom, legally trademarked Dr Disrespect Battle Cry™ “yayaya” at one time, across the Earth, for at least a minute and a half.

  Now, I know what you’re thinking.

  You’re thinking, “Doc, but I just checked the Guinness Book of World Records, and I don’t see any record listed for the number of people screaming your custom Dr Disrespect Battle Cry™ ‘yayaya’ at one time, across the Earth, for at least a minute and a half, or actually anything that even, like, sounds like that at all.”

  And my answer is that making history has nothing to do with small-minded facts and everything to do with greatness.

  Also, you’re looking at the wrong edition of the Guinness Book of World Records. There was a special edition released in Japan in 1972, and it very specifically states that the record for the number of people screaming my Dr Disrespect Battle Cry™ “yayaya” at one time, across the Earth, for at least a minute and a half, was set in March of that year with 1,322,417 people. It’s a really rare book, like a collector’s item, and I’m lucky I found a copy.

  Cool, so here’s what we’re gonna do. At the count of three, we’re all gonna start screaming the “yayaya’s. I’ll type them out for you on my prototype Dell Inspiron with WordPerfect 5.1 emulator. And make sure you read every last “ya,” because I’m timing it perfectly to get to one minute and thirty seconds.

  All right, ready? Okay, one-two-three-go!

  Yayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayay
ayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayaya yayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayayaya—

  FUCK.

  Man, I’m so sorry, you guys. We were super, super close there, like seven seconds away. But I just started getting all these urgent notes from Nigel the Editor on AOL Instant Messenger.

  This right here is an official…

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