Pineapple Grenade Quotes

“A prosthetic leg with a Willie Nelson bumper sticker washed ashore on the beach, which meant it was Florida.


Then it got weird.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“And they ask what’s a convenient time to call back, so I say, ‘I don’t know. The police are still looking for him. Somehow he got the home address of a telemarketer and they found a bloody clawhammer. Where do you live?”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“Or when you keep a sex-addiction meeting under surveillance because they’re the best places to pick up chicks.” Serge looked around the room at suspicious eyes. “Okay, maybe that last one’s just me. But you should try it. They keep the men’s and women’s meetings separate for obvious reasons. And there are so many more opportunities today because the whole country’s wallowing in this whiny new sex-rehab craze after some golfer diddled every pancake waitress on the seaboard. That’s not a disease; that’s cheating. He should have been sent to confession or marriage counseling after his wife finished chasing him around Orlando with a pitching wedge. But today, the nation is into humiliation, tearing down a lifetime of achievement by labeling some guy a damaged little dick weasel. The upside is the meetings. So what you do is wait on the sidewalk for the women to get out, pretending like you’re loitering. And because of the nature of the sessions they just left, there’s no need for idle chatter or lame pickup lines. You get right to business: ‘What’s your hang-up?’ And she answers, and you say, ‘What a coincidence. Me, too.’ Then, hang on to your hat! It’s like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get. Most people are aware of the obvious, like foot fetish or leather. But there are more than five hundred lesser-known but clinically documented paraphilia that make no sexual sense. Those are my favorites . . .” Serge began counting off on his fingers. “This one woman had Ursusagalmatophilia, which meant she got off on teddy bears—that was easily my weirdest three-way. And nasophilia, which meant she was completely into my nose, and she phoned a friend with mucophilia, which is mucus. The details on that one are a little disgusting. And formicophilia, which is being crawled on by insects, so the babe bought an ant farm. And symphorophilia—that’s staging car accidents, which means you have to time the air bags perfectly”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“Son of a bitch!” “What is it?” asked Coleman. “Our flight’s delayed!” “But only fifteen minutes,” said Coleman. “I’ve seen this movie before. ‘Fifteen minutes’ is code for ‘at least three to five hours.’ They know the plane’s stuck in Pittsburgh, where they wrestled another drunk pilot to the runway, but they don’t want an open passenger revolt, so they incrementally string us along fifteen minutes at a time, until you’re across the international date line.” Serge paced in front of the departure screen. Fifteen minutes later, Serge grabbed Coleman and pointed. “Sweet Jesus! They just added another fifteen minutes!”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“Anger is sweeping the country! Tea bags from sea to shining sea! Voters everywhere exploding from frustration!” “Why?” “Because the facts don’t support their beliefs.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“There’s a new dawn in America! It isn’t enough just to disagree with your opponent anymore. True patriots hate their fucking guts!”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“We don’t simply say something that’s untrue. We make statements so insane that there’s no possible intelligent response. Like arguing with some old fart in a rocking chair who claims we never landed on the moon. Any educated person can only laugh. Meanwhile, we’ve just won over all the non-moon-landing votes.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“Millions of people across our great land who want nothing more than to be left alone and pursue their own happiness of believing mean-spirited bullshit. Except society has evolved away from ignorance. And that’s where we come in.” “How?” “We make being shitty feel good again.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“All politics is marketing. And in marketing, there are but two variables: product and salesmanship.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“Rain is the last thing you want when you're chasing someone in Miami. They drive shitty enough as it is, but on top of that, snow is a foreign concept, which means they never got the crash course in traction judgment for when pavement slickness turns less than ideal. And because of the land-sea temperature differential, Florida has regular afternoon rain showers. Nothing big, over in a jiff. But minutes later, all major intersections in Miami-Dade are clogged with debris from spectacular smash-ups. In Northern states, snow teaches drivers real fast about the Newtonian physics of large moving objects. I haven't seen snow either, but I drink coffee, so the calculus of tire-grip ratio is intuitive to my body.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“Actually an impromptu mini-master plan, not to be confused with the fleeting notion, half-baked idea, or emergency room spin-story for a masturbation mishap.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“The last door on the second story was the exception. Fresh gold letters:

MAHONEY & ASSOCIATES, PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS.

Mahoney sat inside. The only associate was the fifth of rye residing in his bottom desk drawer.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“an aggressively encouraged obsessive-compulsive”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“Serge nodded. 'And I respect your opinion because you smoke marijuana. You're chemically biased against violence and job applications.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“How hard can it be to follow five black SUVs?” Serge leaned over the steering wheel. “Except we’re in Miami.” “So?” “Miami drivers are a breed unto their own. Always distracted.” He uncapped a coffee thermos and chugged. “Quick on the gas and the horn. No separation between vehicles, every lane change a new adventure. The worst of both worlds: They race around as if they are really good, but they’re really bad, like if you taught a driver’s-ed class with NASCAR films.” He watched the first few droplets hit the windshield. “Oh, and worst of all, most of them have never seen snow.” “But it’s not snow,” said Felicia. “It’s rain. And just a tiny shower.” “That’s right.” Serge hit the wipers and took another slug from the thermos. “Rain is the last thing you want when you’re chasing someone in Miami. They drive shitty enough as it is, but on top of that, snow is a foreign concept, which means they never got the crash course in traction judgment for when pavement slickness turns less than ideal. And because of the land-sea temperature differential, Florida has regular afternoon rain showers. Nothing big, over in a jiff. But minutes later, all major intersections in Miami-Dade are clogged with debris from spectacular smash-ups. In Northern states, snow teaches drivers real fast about the Newtonian physics of large moving objects. I haven’t seen snow either, but I drink coffee, so the calculus of tire-grip ratio is intuitive to my body. It feels like mild electricity. Sometimes it’s pleasant, but mostly I’m ambivalent. Then you’re chasing someone in the rain through Miami, and your pursuit becomes this harrowing slalom through wrecked traffic like a disaster movie where everyone’s fleeing the city from an alien invasion, or a ridiculous change in weather that the scientist played by Dennis Quaid warned about but nobody paid attention.” Serge held the mouth of the thermos to his mouth. “Empty. Fuck it—”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“Hard to imagine now, but remember back when there was only one phone company, and long-distance minutes were droplets of gold? And you’d be traveling out of state and call home to let the folks know you made it okay, and say, ‘I’d like to place a person-to-person call to I. M. Safe’? . . .”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“need a volunteer to get me in a choke hold. You, in the second row, come up here. Now choke me . . . That’s not choking. I can still breathe. That’s . . . better . . .” “Ahhhhh!” The agent jumped back, grabbing his hand. “Forget all the fancy jujitsu stuff,” said Serge. “Just remember the Rule of the Pinkie. Someone grabs you, don’t fight the whole hand. Simply bend back the pinkie. Wherever the pinkie goes, the rest of the hand will follow.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“A man ran by cupping hands to his nose. “I’ll sue you for every last penny.” Serge faced Mahoney again. “Whose office is that?” “The Guy Who Punches People.” “You call him that because he has a temper?” “No,” said Mahoney. “It’s what he does. Here’s his business card.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“In the 1965 James Bond movie Thunderball, the skydiving frogmen are supposed to be jumping into the Bahamas, but downtown Miami is in the background.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade

“Where’s the rule that says you can’t just unilaterally declare yourself a spy and snoop around for no reason? That’s the whole key to life: Fuck explaining yourself to people. Plus Miami is the perfect place, absolutely crawling with self-employed, freelance agents in dummy corporations ready to join any government that can’t have direct involvement with an illicit operation. I’ll just act suspicious until the highest bidder comes along.”
― Tim Dorsey, Pineapple Grenade