“Wait, where was I? Oh yeah. I’m 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.—”

“We’ll give you a Lamborghini,” Nigel said.

I casually took a bite of brisket quesadilla, which I didn’t remember ordering, and which may have actually been Nigel’s. It was delicious.

“First off, Nigel, I don’t like being interrupted. Second, I obviously already own a 1990 Lamborghini Diablo, so…”

“I’m talking a 2021 Lamborghini Aventador SVJ.”

I stopped chewing.

“Fine,” I said. “I’m listening. What color?”

“Red.”

I jumped up, sending chicken tenders and Bourbon Street shrimp wontons flying everywhere.

“Red! Red?! RED???!!! The Two-Time drives black, and black only!”

“But—but we already bought the car—I barely even have the money to cover this lunch!”

“I don’t care!” I growled. “Take it back. Take it back or I won’t save literature.”

“Fine,” he sighed.

“And I want a thirty-eight-foot offshore racing boat. And a matching trailer. And I want that connected to a 2021 Lamborghini Urus. All blacked out. And with an official Dr Disrespect Logo Decal™ on the side. But it’s cool, I’ll have my guy handle that last part. You can reimburse me.”

PREFACE YAYAYAYA!

Yayayaya!

INTRODUCTION OKAY, I’LL WRITE THIS BOOK

So here I am, one day later, sitting in my multimillion-dollar state-of-the-art top-secret complex, surrounded by twenty doggie bags of leftover riblets and nachos, writing this book.

Nigel, who I guess is my editor or something—wait, are they allowed to change these solid-gold words? Is that even legal?—said something about finally sharing with the world the Doc’s deepest, most intimate secrets. The untold history of my mysterious, legendary origins and my rise to unparalleled dominance. My treasured philosophies of life, victory, and wiping your ass while still sitting down. Grooming tips for how you too can achieve the perfect mullet-mustache combo (hint: you can’t). And he really, really wants to know what, exactly, I’m a doctor of.

But let’s be real here.

I’m gonna write whatever I want, and you and Nigel and the Champions Club and pretty much the whole world are gonna love it.

You really think I need his Lambos? I already own a warehouse full of ’em! You think I care about his racing boat? I have an entire fleet! You think I needed that free lunch from App Lebeés? I made a call on my flip phone twenty minutes ago and now I own the whole chain. (Turns out it’s not French or very fancy, but I’m making them add an accent over the “e” just for the hell of it.)