Or maybe, just maybe, the fact that you’re even thinking something that stupid shows just how awful your short, unathletic, tiny-vertical-leap mentality really is. Maybe you proved, right now, just how much you really need DOMINEX, BY DOC.
Because let me tell you what’s gonna happen when you purchase DOMINEX, BY DOC and that carboard box full of shit arrives at your doorstep. Let me tell you what’s gonna happen when you strap those adjustable six-foot-eight stilts onto your legs, when you put on that extra-long pair of pants and you attach those turbo-loaded compound springs to the bottom of your shoes. Let me tell you what’s gonna happen when you buckle your fat ass into your Mirdle—and honestly, even if you’re skinny, I highly recommend it, it’s just that comfortable—and you zip yourself into your Advanced Prototype Foam-Rubber Muscleman Bodysuit.
First, you’re gonna trip and fall on your face. Because honestly, getting the hang of stilts is harder than it looks.
But then, after you pick yourself up and wipe the blood off your lip, you’re gonna walk out that door and for the very first time in your pathetic, pudgy and/or skinny life, you’re gonna know what it feels like to be physically, athletically dominant over everyone else.
You’re gonna stride down that sidewalk staring down at every man, woman, and child who passes by, and you’re gonna think, “Hahaha, I’m taller than you.” You’ll marvel at how much smaller they seem from your tall-person’s vantage point—like ants, really. Or losers.
You’ll blink your eyes at the clouds swirling around your head at such a high altitude, you’ll gaze at the mountaintops and catch your breath in the thinner air, and you’ll think, “So this is what it means to transcend the pathetic limitations of short people.”
You’ll stare at these humans who are so much smaller than you, and you’ll realize that they’re not just little—they’re also flabby and out of shape. With your stunning, molded physique, things you never even noticed before will suddenly really fucking piss you off.
The obvious love handles bubbling beneath some doofus’s pink polo shirt. The subtle rounded slope of a coward’s shoulders. The two-inch tribal tattoo encircling a weakling’s pathetic arm. All of it will feel like an offense to nature, to perfection, and most important, to yourself.
You’ll squeeze your firm foam-rubber biceps, you’ll thump your fists against your carbon-reinforced artificial pecs, you’ll caress the grooves of your square, plastic abdominal muscles, and you’ll say to yourself, “Thank God I’m not those people.”
And then, just when you think you can’t feel more satisfied, just when you think you can’t feel more like a winner, more like a champion, you’ll see something in the distance.
Maybe it’ll be a light post. Maybe it’ll be a basketball hoop or a tall, rusty old sign at an abandoned gas station. Maybe it’ll be a shiny red apple at the tippity-top of a tree.
Who knows what it’ll be—I’m not a psychic—but whatever the hell it is, it’ll be high up. Real high up. Way over your head. And you’re gonna want to reach up and touch it.
But instead of looking at it and walking past with a loser’s sigh like usual, for the first time ever, you’re gonna stop and smile. You’re gonna put your feet together—that’s right, you won’t even need a running start!—and you’re gonna do a vertical leap.
And you’re gonna snatch that apple, and you’re gonna feel damn good about yourself.
And when you land back on the ground—only briefly, because athletic, jacked-up Adonises like you aren’t destined to remain earthbound for long—you’re gonna eyeball that high-up place you just reached and say, “Man, I bet that was a good ten feet in the air! Taking into consideration my above-average wingspan and superior height, I bet that was a thirty-seven-inch vertical leap!”
You’ll be wrong. Because only the Two-Time has a thirty-seven-inch vertical, but still—it’ll be an impressive vertical.
And for that hour or two, or at most a single afternoon, you, an average person, will finally know what it’s like to be physically exceptional. For that small window of time, you’ll understand what it means to have a champion’s mindset.
The impact will be real, if short-lived. You’ll get a raise at your job without doing an ounce of work. A pretty girl will smile at you. Your enemies will fear you. Your friends will respect you. You’ll dunk a basketball.
Then it’ll be over.
I know. You want it to go on forever, right? Or at least longer than an afternoon. But it can’t, and it’s for your own damn good.
Because the fact is, there’s only so much physical perfection, only so much athletic power, only so many vertical leaping inches an average brain in an average body can handle.
Hit your mind with too much Doc too fast, and you’ll go crazy! You’ll be like the fucking Lawnmower Man.
You’ll stare down at all the tiny people walking below you and start feeling dizzy. You’ll touch your perfectly sculpted lats and your brain will glitch. You’ll jump so high you’ll burn your fingers on the sun.
So for your own safety, for your own sanity, once you’ve enjoyed your single afternoon of Doc-like physical superiority, I want you to take off your DOMINEX, BY DOC kit and destroy it. Or ship it back to me, at your own cost, so I can resell it to someone else.
It’s enough that you’ve experienced, even briefly, what it feels like to exist in my perfect body. To know for a single afternoon what it means to think like a winner and live like a champion.
Savor that memory. Cling to it. And console yourself with the incredible gift I’m about to give you—part 2 of “The Kumite Except for Video Games and Also It’s Real.”
CHAPTER 11 THE KUMITE EXCEPT FOR VIDEO GAMES AND ALSO IT’S REAL
Part Two: The Champions Club, Baby!
All right, so in case you need a reminder—who are we kidding, of course you need
