It was 3:24, Sunday afternoon. I'd just finished my weekend beat, trolling Lamar Street in search of possible musical mischief. Maybe it was the earsplitting screams that came first...or was it the gunshots? I can't remember. The next thing I knew, I'd come upon the bullet-riddled body of the beloved Dr. Octagon. The (soon-to-be) former rapper of eccentricities and wonderfully creative samples was swimming in a pool of his own blood, gasping for his few remaining breaths. Fortunately, there was a suspect. A certain Dr. Dooom had been spotted in the vicinity, breaking out the dopest rhymes this side of Dr. Octagon's Dr. Octagonecologyst. As I quickly cornered the suspect, Dr. Dooom launched into a vicious tirade about body parts with "Apartment 223," made biting personal jabs on "You Live at Home With Your Mom" and spewed succulent self-indulgence with "I Run Rap." This mastermind was indeed a contender for Octagon's coveted position of hip-hop rhymer extraordinaire. With my brow furrowed, I questioned whether this was really a murder, or rather just a finely crafted plot to change identities? Dr. Dooom's superb handling of all things bizarre (everything from gastric juices and french toast to fat asses and body bags) had a very Octagonesque quality about it. The outrageously fresh subject content was complemented with track after track of engaging break beats.

While fierce questioning of Dr. Dooom's lawyer, Funky Ass Records, resulted in vehement denials as to any similarities between Dooom and Octagon, and absolutely no recognition of the name "Kool Keith," my suspicions were firmly sowed. Had Dr. Octagon met his match? Had Dr. Dooom released one of the best rap albums of 1999, or was there something fishy going on here? You best check the evidence yourself by scrutinizing the amazing, definitely disturbing, shock-rap evidence on First Come, First Served.