Violence. Speed. Momentum. Dr DisRespect (websites to read books for free TXT) 📖

problem with how incredibly seriously I take my grooming.

They say things like “Doc, true champions only focus on winning,” or “Real men don’t care about hair product,” or “Bro, stop combing your mustache, you’re about to drive your Lambo into that helpless pedestrian!”

And I say, “You don’t know a damn thing about winning,” and “I’m the manliest man you’ll ever meet in your pathetic, unattractive life,” and “That old lady with her little dog shoulda got the hell out of my way.”

Because here’s the thing.

It’s not enough to only win, all right? You gotta win and you gotta look good doing it.

Think about it. Imagine you go to a tournament—and it can be any kind of tournament, okay? It can be video games, javelin throwing, Parcheesi, whatever—and you somehow manage to win. But when you do, you’re not looking good.

So you get up there on that pedestal when it’s all over to accept your medal, and guess what? No one wants to celebrate you. No one wants to take pictures of you. No one wants to talk about you or write about you or even look at you.

Why would they? You look like hot garbage! Your haircut is sensible and utilitarian. Your face is covered with razor bumps or gross pubey stubble. Your teeth are yellow and you smell like the wrong end of a dog. The truth is, you lost this thing before you played a single round.

Now imagine that I, Dr Disrespect, the Two-Time himself, am at this same tournament. And imagine—now, brace yourself here, because I’m about to say something ridiculous—imagine I actually come in second.

I know this makes no sense and you probably got a migraine just trying to think about it. My computer actually overheated when I typed it, like I literally just had to restart my Dell Inspiron prototype with Intel 980000 processing and WordPerfect 5.1 emulator, that’s how completely, totally stupid it is to ever think of me coming in second in anything. Including javelin throwing or Parcheesi, because I’m excellent at both of those.

But anyway, for the sake of argument, let’s pretend I did.

So at the medal ceremony I’m standing next to you, the “winner,” on my slightly lower pedestal (not that it really matters, because I’m eleven inches taller than you, but whatever), about to get my slightly smaller second-place trophy.

Technically my award is inferior to yours, right? Technically my accomplishment is less than yours—you, the skinny, scraggly, pimply, sweaty winner.

But what happens when everyone sees me? What happens when the media takes in the sumptuous waves of my jet-black hair spilling over my broad, sculpted shoulders? What happens when all the fans get a look at my mustache, a.k.a. Slick Daddy, a.k.a. the Ethiopian Poisonous Caterpillar, with its aerodynamic lines and fearful symmetry?

What happens is that the camera bulbs flash and the video rolls, the line for selfies and autographs gets longer and longer, cars stop in the road and helicopters shelter in place, choruses of children sing hymns to my mullet, men from faraway lands give Slick Daddy exotic nicknames like Kaderin Dudak Kılı, which means “Lip-Hairs of Fate” in Turkish, or La Moustache Inconvenante, which I haven’t gotten around to translating yet but I’m pretty sure is, like, Swahili or something.

Now, you tell me—who really won?

Also keep in mind that while we’re standing next to each other, I use my superior athleticism to play keep-away with your first-place trophy and you can’t do a thing about it except swing your arms uselessly while I palm your forehead like a basketball.

Who really won? That’s right, you did. But no one cares!

And that’s why these grooming tips are so fucking important.

PROPER MULLET CARE

Look, I’m the last person who’s surprised that mullets are making a comeback right now. If anything, I’m surprised it took people thirty years to catch on.

Just this morning I spotted Tom Cruise, Leonardo DiCaprio, and the guy from the Dos Equis Most Interesting Man in the World commercials. They were all grabbing a latte together at the Starbucks in front of my multimillion-dollar Top Secret Command Center, and they were all rocking mullets.

So I was like, “Hey, boys, nice hair.”

And they were like, “Yeah, Doc, we’re copying you.”

And I was like, “Respect.”

But know this—it takes a lot of time and effort to get your mullet ready for public viewing, all right? I’ve been tending to the liquid black steel tumbling down my back since I was a lion’s cub in the art of hair styling. This shit ain’t easy, or else everybody would be doing it. It’s an art form.

Now, if I see you walking around out there with a shitty-looking mullet, it’ll make me puke—so if you’re gonna try this, I want you all in. Don’t do it for you, do it for me.

1. Length

The ideal length of the back of any man’s hair should just reach the third vertebra on his thoracic spine. That’s the T3, for my fellow doctors out there. Not your T2, not your T4, and definitely not your T5. You’re not the Feral Kid from Mad Max 2.

If you don’t already know exactly where that is—and you should!—just use your fingers to count the nubs on the back of your neck. If you can’t feel any nubs, that means you need to get your out-of-shape neck to the gym immediately.

Now, I can’t emphasize this enough: it’s very important to get this length exactly, precisely right. I’ve personally conducted dozens of in-depth scientific experiments to get the perfect length of the male mullet for critical mullet-utilizing actions, including:

a) whipping the ends of your hair in your enemy’s face right after you make a witty comeback in an argument

b) proper flow and waviness when dancing to “Poison” by Bell Biv DeVoe

c) covering your eyes during a nap

d) hiding essential items behind your neck, like a switchblade comb, a zip gun, or the keys to your Lamborghini Diablo

e) world domination

2. Conditioner

The right conditioner is essential for maintaining an elite level of shine, sparkle, richness, and texture in your mullet.