Violence. Speed. Momentum.
Page 6
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. It might look to you like my hair is pure, jet-black beauty. But the truth is it’s actually a thousand different shades of black. Some layers of my hair are onyx black, some are ebony black, some are charcoal black. Some are slate black, some are carbon black, some are coal black. Some are Vantablack, some are licorice black, some are blackness-of-space black. Some are black-hole black, and some are just really, really, really, really, really dark black.
There’s also black-leather-jacket black, and black-pearl black, and black-mirror black. And blackstrap-molasses black, and squid-ink black, and storm-cloud black, and night-shadow black.
Like a million different facets of a thousand-carat black diamond, they are all layered and intertwined and cascading in a perfect symphony of liquid perfection.
And the conductor of that symphony? The conductor is my conditioner: Pert Plus.
It is actually a shampoo-conditioner combo, so it saves me five minutes in the shower every morning.
Pert Plus has this priceless, secret, all-natural ingredient you can only find in the most hidden depths of the rain forests of South America, called dihydrogenated tallowamidoethyl hydroxyethylmonium methosulfate. I’m pretty sure it was discovered by Magellan in, like, some rare Tibetan water lily. Then Pert Plus bought up the world’s supply.
Every morning, smear that green, gooey goop into that scalp of yours, work it into a rich, hydrating, foamy lather, and watch while Pert Plus and its precious dihydrogenated tallowamidoethyl hydroxyethylmonium methosulfate clean and condition and highlight every single shade of luminous, glorious, sackcloth-sun black, volcanic-sand black, wetsuit black, or Vulcan-zombie black in your hair.
Unless you’re a blond, which is a hair color for punks. I don’t know why you’d even bother to wash that.
3. Combing
With hair as thick and bulletproof as mine, I don’t actually have to comb it or blow-dry it. And I damn well don’t have to perm it. It just kind of naturally falls into place with the perfect level of wavy undulation right after I shower.
So combing my hair isn’t really about actual maintenance or adjustment—it’s about looking really fucking cool. That’s why only one tool will do: the switchblade comb. But here’s the thing, all right? There are very specific, very precise ways to handle a switchblade comb, and if you get it wrong, honestly, what’s the fucking point of life?
1) Okay, so first off, you wanna make sure you have a switchblade comb and not a switchblade knife. I don’t have time to hear you bitch about your weak clotting.
2) Next, there’s flipping it open. Before you press that button, make sure—make absolutely 100 percent fucking certain—that the comb is facing OUT and AWAY from your palm. You don’t know how many attempts I’ve seen TOTALLY SCREWED UP when some idiot tried to flick the comb open and it just half popped out directly into their palm, and then they fumbled it and had to kind of toss it from one hand to another, and maybe they even dropped it on the floor, and immediately all the girls went home with headaches.
3) Third, there’s timing. If you want to be running that thing across your hair with rhythm, you gotta anticipate, all right? You gotta know exactly when you need to pop that baby open on the two so you can have it cocked and ready to run through your hair on the four.
4) Last—and this is most important of all—there’s placement of the comb itself. Because here’s the thing. If you have cool hair, if it really is as thick and masculine and wavy as a tortoiseshell, you don’t really want to actually touch your hair with the comb. You just want to give the illusion that you’re almost combing your hair.
You get that? Not even the illusion that you’re combing. The illusion that you’re almost combing. It’s the air kiss of real men.
So to do that, you want to keep a distance of 1.3 centimeters between the edge of the comb and your hair at all times. I repeat, AT ALL TIMES.
Okay. Now we’re gonna put this all together and actually give it a try. We’re gonna do an on-rhythm meta-illusional switchblade-comb run through your long, thick, wavy, perfectly conditioned multilayered black hair.
Get that switchblade comb in your hand and… Deejay, drop it:
Bump-tsshhh.
Bump-tsshhh-tsshhh.
[Blade pop now!]
“They call him Doc!”
[Hair comb now!]
YES!
Excellent work! You did it on rhythm, with—
Whoa.
WHAT THE FUCK???
You forgot rule one of using a switchblade comb! Make sure it’s NOT a real switchblade!
Fuck, now there’s blood everywhere, and a chunk of your glorious new hair is just kind of lying there on the floor with like pieces of skin and some dandruff.
Though if I’m being fair, you still would’ve been good if you’d just followed rule four and kept the blade exactly 1.3 centimeters away from your hair. With that amount of blood, my guess is you shivved yourself at least half an inch deep.
But hey—take that little chunk of hair and guts with you. Maybe the surgeon can sew that shit back on. Shame to ruin such a good-looking mullet.
PROPER MUSTACHE CARE
; All right, so the truth is that unlike mullets, mustaches still haven’t exactly seen a revival.I And hey, who am I to judge? If you want a face like a baby, a woman, or a hairless cat, go ahead: free country. Not every dude is man enough to pull off a badass ’stache like Magnum, P.I., or Billy the Kid or Freddie Mercury or myself. If you’re not on that level, I give you props for admitting it.
By now you know that’s bullshit and I don’t give you props for anything. But it’s not too late to turn your life around, and by reading my book you’ve already taken an important first step.
Second step is to finally grow a decent goddamn mustache.
1. Style
You don’t choose the right mustache for your face. It chooses you.
Now, I’m not saying that the spirit of Slick Daddy actually came to me in the night when I was a young, hairless, prepubescent superstar-in-waiting and whispered, “Doc… Doc… I’m here to show you the ideal mustache length and shape to complement your stunning square jaw and your proud warrior nose and your perfectly symmetrical face structure. Now, wake up and draw it on the official Dinobots stationery next to your bed so you know exactly how to sculpt me, Slick Daddy, when you get old enough for that kind of thing.”
But if I did choose to say something like that, that’d probably be pretty close to the spirit of what Slick Daddy would’ve told me, and I probably would’ve drawn a masterpiece of mustachioed art on my official Dinobots stationery.
And I’m actually using that original drawing—or, you know, would be if it really existed—to get Slick Daddy and his appearance trademarked, copyrighted, and patented all at the same time. So if you want to copy my mustache, you legally aren’t allowed to, unless you pay me a licensing fee of $129.95 at InterdimensionalChampionsClub.gg.
But, you know, there are plenty of other styles out there that are just okay, and I just know that at least one of them wants to choose your face.
So here’s what you’re gonna do.
You’re gonna stand in front of a mirror, and you’re gonna stare hard at that mug of yours, okay? Right at that naked spot above your upper lip. And you’re gonna listen. Just listen.
Now, this might take a while, all right? You might be standing there two, three days. You might not be able to eat food or drink water, and you might have to wear an adult diaper.
But that’s fine. That’s ideal, in fact. Because sooner or later you’re gonna hear a voice—just like I might have—and that voice is gonna whisper something to you.
Something like “handlebar” or “walrus” or “pencil” or “horseshoe.”
That voice is your mustache choosing you. Or it’s a fasting hallucination. But probably it’s your mustache choosing you.
And you’re gonna do whatever your mustache tells you to do, no matter how insane—with three important exceptions:
a) The Hitler Mustache: Most unpopular guy in recorded history, and honestly, if your mustache is whispering the name of any genocidal dictator, you should probably do an Amish beard instead.
b) The Charlie Chaplin Mustache: Great guy, but too weirdly close to the Hitler ’stache, so best to avoid.
c) The Slick Daddy Mustache™®© (patent pending): Unless you pay the $129.95 licensing fee at InterdimensionalChampionsClub.gg.
2. Razor
Look, the Two-Time doesn’t use just any razor.
The brilliant mustache scientists at Schick developed for me and me only a special Mach 23 Prototype Razor XL-3000 with twenty-three—yeah, twenty-three—blades on it for the closest possible shave in the history of humanity on Earth or in space.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, because you’re not as clever as you assume. You’re thinking, “Doc, Schick doesn’t even make the Mach line of razors, that’s Gillette.”
But that’s checkers to my chess.
See, I was about to give Gillette the honor of crafting a one-of-a-kind custom razor for Slick Daddy, but they couldn’t figure out how to put more than nineteen blades on a single razor, and that’s fucking unacceptable.
So I went to my boys at Schick and, yeah, even they were kind of confused by why I needed so many blades on a single razor, but I pointed at Slick Daddy and was like, “Fellas, you think a mustache this cunning, this deadly, doesn’t know exactly what he wants? Are you really trying to tell me the Ethiopian Poisonous Caterpillar deserves fewer than twenty-three blades? Are you?”
They totally saw the flawless logic in my argument, and they also saw me cracking the knuckles of my huge, powerful, rocklike fists, so they were like, “You got it, Doc!”
Now the only razor that touches this sensitive yet stunningly square jaw is my Mach 23 Prototype Razor XL-3000 and its twenty-three blades of pure titanium, coated with diamond carbonite for maximum precision and sharpness to get within one-millionth of one-thousandth of one-hundredth of one nanometer of my skin.
Or in other words, the precise width of a single atom at the very bottom of my ball sack. Which actually is a pretty big fucking atom.
And just in case I get bored while I’m shaving—and because I’m really good at multitasking—each prototype razor is fitted with prototype Bose Micro speakers so I can listen to Bell Biv DeVoe’s “Poison,” plus a prototype mini 4K VR Sony plasma-screen so I can watch reruns of Knight Rider, plus an experimental prototype mini Nokia flip phone so I can take a call to close a monster deal, all while keeping my face baby-butt smooth.
Because these priceless prototype razors are engineered with exceptional custom bespoke Schick technology, each one is totally good enough for a single shave. After I’m done I throw it away and open up a new one.
A little pricey, yeah, but when you’re the greatest gaming superstar of all time, a luxury like that isn’t just a luxury—it’s a necessity that’s also really luxurious.
Oh, and for a normal guy like you? You can just buy a bag of a thousand Bics for like two bucks or whatever. Honestly, that shit’s all the same anyway, right?
3. Nickname
Let’s be real here for a sec, all right? Can you handle the realness?
The realness is this: Giving your mustache a cool nickname is just as important as making it look good. Maybe even more so.
Think about it. Looking great doesn’t mean much if people aren’t talking about your looking great. And who’s gonna talk about your mustache if it has a shitty nickname or none at all?
Now, if you got a mustache named Slick Daddy—which, again, you never will because it’s trademarked, copyrighted, and patent pending—then everyone’s gonna want a piece of that thing.
Just say the words “Slick” and “Daddy” and you immediately think of a world-champion mustache that’s perfectly groomed, thick, dominant, black, and attached to a man of towering height, sweet wraparound shades, and the latest technology in flip phones.
Seriously, just say it a few times out loud. No, honestly, like right now.
You feel that vibration? It makes you want to dance with the wolf and fly with the eagle.
It makes you ask, “What makes this guy tick? Would he ever be interested in what makes me tick?”
But here’s some more realness for you, all right? Coming up with a nickname for yourself ain’t easy. It takes the heart of a warrior, the cojones of a rhino, and the soul of Don Draper.
Matter of fact, Slick Daddy really did come to me in my dreams in the middle of the night to whisper his nickname in my ear. He had a voice like gravel soaked in scotch, and he spoke in a commanding way that pierced the inner reaches of my being.
Besides Slick Daddy, the only other person who ever nicknamed himself successfully was the late, great, ever-eternal Black Mamba, Kobe Bryant. And we both know you’re not on his level, come on now.
But don’t worry, you’re in luck.
Not only am I a super-nice, perfect, modest champion, but I also happen to be really, really good at coming up with cool nicknames. So just this once—just this once!—my genius creative mind is gonna do all the work for you.
/> Below are two columns, Column E and Column N, because those are the letters I felt like. Pick one word from Column E and one word from Column N. Doesn’t matter which two you choose.
Put ’em together and BOOM, you got a brand-new, custom-built, badass nickname for your mustache, just like that. Hundred percent guaranteed.
Shit, I’m good.
COLUMN E
COLUMN N
DEADLY
COBRA
KILLER
SNAKE
KILLINGEST
PYTHON
DEATHLY
VIPER
MURDERING
SPATULA
DEATH-MAKING
MICROWAVE
SPICY
SAUSAGE
LEFTOVER
PIZZA
EMPTY
BRITA
COLD
BEERS
BROKEN
TOASTER
Okay! Inspired work, if I do say so myself.
Just remember that it’s always Column E first, then Column N. Never the other way around, because that would be ridiculous. Except maybe Cobra Killer, which is kind of sick.
Foreign Nickname Bonus Content
If you want some foreign nicknames for your mustache—and Slick Daddy seriously must have about twenty spanning all seven continents, all seven seas, and both polar ice caps (off the top of my head there’s the Ethiopian Poisonous Caterpillar [obvs], the Spanish Picante Chile Con Carne, the Irish Swarthy Leprechaun, and the Russian Это Как Гугл Переводчик Работает ПриветII)—well, then, you pretty much have to be a major international super-celebrity like me.