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Dedication

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

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

AUTHOR’S NOTE I’LL 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. “You’re the only thing we care about in the universe. We won’t 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.

“I’m a six-foot-eight freak of nature with a thirty-seven-inch vertical leap, the Two-Time, Back-to-Back 1993–94 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 I’m not. Maybe I don’t even know. Either way, I’m never telling you, you skinny punk kid.”

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

But the joke’s 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 Damme’s 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 wasn’t 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 I’d take the meeting, not because I gave a crap what he had to say, but because it was a lunch meeting and I thought it’d 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 Lebeés, which I think is French or Swahili or something.