Chapters (22)
- Dedication
- AUTHOR’S NOTE I’LL NEVER WRITE THIS BOOK
- PREFACE YAYAYAYA!
- INTRODUCTION OKAY, I’LL WRITE THIS BOOK
- CHAPTER 1 MY MULTIDIMENSIONAL BIRTH
- CHAPTER 2 LET’S SET A RECORD, BABY!
- CHAPTER 3 THE TWO-TIME
- CHAPTER 4 GROOMING WITH THE DOCTOR
- CHAPTER 5 ALL RIGHT, I’M BACK
- CHAPTER 6 THE DOC’S FIRST SPONSOR
- CHAPTER 7 THE SECOND TIME I DROVE A LAMBORGHINI (AND HOW YOU CAN DRIVE ONE TOO)
- CHAPTER 8 THE SECRET BEHIND WHAT, EXACTLY, I’M A DOCTOR OF
- CHAPTER 9 THE KUMITE EXCEPT FOR VIDEO GAMES AND ALSO IT’S REAL
- CHAPTER 10 THE ATHLETICISM—WOW!
- CHAPTER 11 THE KUMITE EXCEPT FOR VIDEO GAMES AND ALSO IT’S REAL
- CHAPTER 12 THE RIGHT FLIP PHONE FOR YOU
- CHAPTER 13 HOLLYWOOD DOMINATION—AND DOC’S DISILLUSIONMENT
- CHAPTER 14 WHAT I’M THE DOCTOR OF
- CHAPTER 15 THE END???
- EPILOGUE FROM THE DESK OF NIGEL P. FARNSWORTH III
- AFTERWORD DID YOU REALLY THINK I’D GIVE THAT PUNK EDITOR THE LAST WORD IN MY BOOK???
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Then, right as the posh, arrogant sales dude walks over—you’ll have to fight him off because you look like such a boss in that solid-gold-plated medallion—I want you to say super loud into your flip phone, “Tell Mendoza that if he doesn’t raise the bid by five mil, the deal is off!”
When the sales dude gets to you, hold up a finger in his face like you need a minute. Make sure it’s not your middle finger. Into the phone be like, “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”
Then snap the phone shut, look the posh sales dude dead in the eye, and go, “Sorry, you know how Swiss bankers can be.” Laugh and slap him on the back way too hard.
When he asks what car you’re looking for, say, “I don’t know. What day is it?” Then when he tells you, say, “I knew that.” Then when he looks at you funny, say, “The most expensive one you got.” When he looks at you funny again, be like, “The 2021 Lamborghini Aventador SVJ, black-on-black-on-onyx-coal-death-black, just like I said five minutes ago, you skinny punk.”
And if that doesn’t make the right impression, you may be a lost cause.
7. Slip Him the Mickey
I know, I know. “Slip him the mickey” sounds a little more late-night Cinemax than what it means.
But it’s just an old-timey phrase people used back in the 1600s when they wanted to put a poisonous illegal substance in a Lambo salesman’s drink to induce a massive nosebleed.
Anyway, now that your posh slick salesman knows that you’re a legit, high-net-worth customer who’s totally a winner, he’s gonna ask you if you want something to drink. They’ll have an espresso machine because Lamborghinis are Italian, and Italians love espresso almost as much as envelopes of cash.
So you’re gonna be like, “Yeah, make it a double espresso.”
Now, you and I both know that espressos actually taste like shit. We’re real American men who drink Folgers with Splenda and non-dairy creamer. But that’s not what’s important now. Now we need you to order that espresso, and we absolutely need you to make sure he’s drinking one too.
So say something cool, like “I never drink my double espresso alone. So you better drink one too.” Bonus points if you end with “Capiche?”
While your guy is getting your drinks, position yourself next to a vase full of orchids. Lambo dealers love vases full of orchids because they look expensive. As soon as he gets back, knock over the vase, scream, “YOU STUPID PUNK!” and while he’s desperately cleaning up the mess, take his drink and pour in all of the illegal poisonous compound. Espresso is so disgusting, he won’t notice any difference.