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!”
The Two-Time enters the ring in super-intense slo-mo. So damn slow and so damn mo you can barely tell I’m moving. Except I am. Oh yeah, I am.
I gaze around the arena, taking it all in. The thousands of fans. The smoke. The flashing camera bulbs. The occasional knife fight. More smoke. My competitors. More smoke. I lower my experimental Sony prototype shades in this super-cool, super-provocative way, just enough so you can see my gleaming brown eyes—and the crowd explodes!
“KEFVGAAIR! KEFVGAAIR! KEFVGAAIR!”
I turn and stare defiantly at Lord Hannn on his shadowy throne. I point to where I think his eyes might be, then I make a throat-slashing motion across my neck. Then I point at his stupid Xbox-controller hand, and I shake my head and make the jerk-off motion, like “You’re a stupid idiot,” and also “Honestly, how do you even jerk off with that thing?”
Quick shot of Carl the Hunchback looking totally terrified on my behalf, like “Oh no he didn’t!” except not as blatantly dated as that expression.
The scoreboard lights up above us, with all the competitors’ names in fiery red neon.
Sweeping scan of the dozens of elite international opponents in their caricatures of ethnic garb—kilts and bagpipes, kimono robes, giant sombreros, berets and baguettes, khaki pants and Sperry Top-Siders. They look awkward—and bloodthirsty.
“KEFVGAAIR! KEFVGAAIR! KEFVGAAIR!”
The rounds tick off on the scoreboard—Round One… Round Two… Round Three—as my reign of dominance begins.
Shots of me pumping my fist, flashing the “I’m number one” sign, and screaming “Yayayaya!” as my competitors howl in impotent rage and spew all these hilariously stereotyped one-liners, like Kangaroo Jack screams, “Did you hear the thunder? I better run, I better take cover!” and Killer Commie Ivan shouts, “Better Red than dead! Pro gamers of the world unite!”
A quick shot of Lord Hannn pounding his Xbox-controller fist in anger. Back in my corner, Carl the Hunchback strokes his chin, like “You know what? I think the kid’s got it!”
Shot of me doing a super-badass karate kick in the air for no good reason.
“KEFVGAAIR! KEFVGAAIR! KEFVGAAIR!”
Final Round! It’s just me and Mr. Miyagi Min-Zhong. Mano a mano. Competitor versus competitor. I look him in the eye and nod. Finally a worthy opponent. This is it. The battle we’ve all been waiting for.
Yeah, I kick his ass. Like, I beat the guy in maybe five minutes, a new KEFVGAAIR record. After it’s over, I give him a firm handshake, because when it’s all said and done, he was a worthy competitor.
Then I lean in and go, “Hey, Min-Zhong, I just want you to know that I value your culture. The idea that they’d conflate a Chinese national with Mr. Miyagi is offensive and reprehensible, especially when everyone knows that Mr. Miyagi was born in Okinawa, Japan, where he was betrayed by his best friend, Sato, and then immigrated to California, where he suffered in an unjust internment camp for Japanese-Americans before bravely serving for the United States in World War II and earning the Medal of Honor. He was a patriot, a karate master, and a proud Japanese-American. He was not a cartoon and neither are you. That said, that whole thing where he tried to catch a fly with chopsticks was pretty dope.”
Then Min-Zhong goes, “Agreed.”
A furious Lord Hannn overturns a random table. It takes him a few tries with that whole missing-hand deal, but he eventually gets it.
Final epic sweeping wide shot as I turn to the massive, roaring crowd and raise my fists in the air. They scream louder than they’ve ever screamed anything in their lives:
“DOC! DOC! DOC!”
My theme song ends with this one undeniable eternal truth:
“The name isssssssssss Dr Disrespect!”
Followed by this totally awesome guitar solo by Slash from Guns N’ Roses. Then—look at that!!—Slash is actually there, in the arena, jamming in the crowd as knife fights break out all around him and everyone holds up their lighter and waves them in the air.
And I’m rocking out with my air guitar in the middle of it all, soaking in all the glory, and yeah, all right, so maybe it’s all a little over-the-top, maybe it’s all like way, way, way too much, but you know what? I’m the world fucking champ, and this is my fucking blockbuster movie montage, so I’ll make it as “too much” as I goddamn want.
“STOP! I COMMAND YOU!”
Still cloaked in shadows, sitting high on his balcony on his golden throne, Lord Hannn ruined the moment with his stupid shouting. I waved for quiet from my thousands of adoring fans.
“Listen up, Hannn,” I said, all calm and arrogant. “I dominated your ancient mysterious gaming tournament exactly like
