Dr DisRespect - Violence. Speed. Momentum.

Gallery Books

An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright 2021 by Piazza Labs LLC

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Gallery Books hardcover edition March 2021

GALLERY BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or .

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

Interior design by Michelle Marchese

Jacket design and Illustration by Thorsten Denk

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Disrespect, Dr, author.

Title: Violence. Speed. Momentum. / Dr Disrespect

Description: First Gallery Books Hardcover Edition. | New York : Gallery Books, [2021]

Identifiers: LCCN 2020044991 (print) | LCCN 2020044992 (ebook) | ISBN 9781982153878 (Hardcover) | ISBN 9781982153892 (eBook)

Subjects: LCSH: Disrespect, Dr | Video gamersUnited StatesBiography.

Classification: LCC GV1469.3 .D57 2021 (print) | LCC GV1469.3 (ebook) | DDC 794.8092 [B]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020044991

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020044992

ISBN 978-1-9821-5387-8

ISBN 978-1-9821-5389-2 (ebook)

I dedicate this book to you, my dear readers. Hahahaha. Totally kidding.

I dedicate this book to my mustache, Slick Daddy, whos silky and masculine and better looking than all of you put together.

AUTHORS NOTE ILL NEVER WRITE THIS BOOK

Millions of people tell me every day that I should write a book about me.

Help us, Dr Disrespect, they beg. Youre the only thing we care about in the universe. We wont read another word about anything until you write something about yourself. Please, please tell us the secrets of your lore. All we want is to truly understand you!

I smile.

Im a six-foot-eight freak of nature with a thirty-seven-inch vertical leap, the Two-Time, Back-to-Back 199394 Blockbuster Video Game Champion, and the most dominant international gaming superstar in the history of the world, I say. Truly understanding me is impossible. Now leave, before I smack you in the mouth with my flip phone.

They say, Are you being serious right now?

I say, Maybe I am, maybe Im not. Maybe I dont even know. Either way, Im never telling you, you skinny punk kid.

At that point, the millions of people run for their lives.

But the jokes on them, because the Two-Time would never, ever do anything to hurt his flip phone. And the truth is, I already have dozens of books under my belt, including volumes 1, 3, 4, and 7 of the Knight Rider paperback series, which I wrote in my spare time under the nom de plume Paul G. Fitzgerald. All New York Times bestsellers.

Of course, none of those books is strictly autobiographical, though the character Michael Knight and Jean-Claude Van Dammes actual personality were both loosely based on myself (lawsuits pending). And obviously the ravenous public is still desperate to know more about me.

So I wasnt surprised when some guy named Nigel called me up from Simon & Schuster wanting to meet about publishing an exclusive tell-all memoir. I even told him Id take the meeting, not because I gave a crap what he had to say, but because it was a lunch meeting and I thought itd be funny to order a lot of expensive shit on his tab.

I landed my jet-black Kamov Ka-27 attack chopper on the roof of the restaurant, this posh, exclusive club in midtown Manhattan Nigel recommended called App Lebes, which I think is French or Swahili or something.

Well, Nigel, I said as I eyed the restaurants sumptuous neon lighting and inhaled the aroma of rich fried onions and meat, if youre aiming to impress, you made a good start.

He stood. He was skinny, he was pasty, he was wearing tweed. Ill be honestit felt a little on-the-nose for someone in the book biz to be wearing tweed. Its like, why not toss in a monocle and a bow tie while youre at it, you know? But whatever. So I started to give him one of my firm handshakes, but he and his fingers were so delicate and intellectual I was afraid I might crush them and miss out on my free lunch.

Indeed, Nigel said nervously, sorry about that, we had to cut back on our expensesum, why are you wearing sunglasses inside?

I snorted in contempt. My sunglasses were Google prototype scopes with built-in Sony 3D LCD technology and night vision, allowing me to scan even the darkest recesses of this dark, fancy restaurant for potential ambush by my thousands of enemies. But I didnt want to embarrass the dude, so instead I just said:

I dont know. Why arent you doing squats every day?

What? he said.

I laughed and ordered the boneless wings, chicken wonton tacos, brewpub pretzels with beer cheese dip, and a double helping of Neighborhood Beef Nachos.

You, uh, must be hungry, he said.

Nope, I answered.

Doc, he started, then paused. Heywhat are you a doctor of, exactly? Ive always wanted to know.

Right, I said. You and everyone else on the planet. Now, whats up? My chopper is waiting.

Doc, Im going to level with you. Were in trouble. People just arent reading anymore. Shakespeare, the Bible, the Knight Rider paperback serieswere publishing all the great classics, but no one cares. We need something fresh, something new, something electric to save literature. We need you, Doc.

I think he said something like that, but I dont know. I was too busy ordering the loaded chicken fajita plate with extra lime wedges, a full rack of double-glazed baby back ribs, and the double-crunch shrimp.

Um, you going to eat all that? Nigel said.

Look, man, I said. Ive heard it all before. Blah, blah, Western civilization is nothing without you, Doc. Blah, blah, blah, youre the Chaucer, the James Patterson, and the Dolph Lundgren of gaming rolled into one. I dont have time to save your pathetic humanities, okay? Im too busy soaring with the eagles, Im too busy climbing the mountain of success to the tippity-top, Im too busy

I paused briefly to order the riblet platter, the eight-ounce top sirloin (extra bloody, because I knew it would gross out Nigel), the balsamic chicken apple salad (because Im a beast but not a fucking monster), and the Triple Chocolate Meltdown for dessert.

Wait, where was I? Oh yeah. Im too busy plunging down the waterslide of victory, all six-foot-eight inches of me Vaselined from head to tippy-tippy toe, with my bulletproof mullet dripping like black steel down my back, and my powerful mustache, a.k.a. Slick Daddy, a.k.a. the Ethiopian Poisonous Caterpillar, a.k.a.