The Riptide Ultra-Glide Quotes

“Armageddon reigns, and survival on this planet gets down to brass tacks, the last three left standing will be cockroaches, viruses and probate attorneys. Fade to black, check please.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“The number one directive of any decent Master Plan is unlimited sub–Master Plans.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“That’s fear talking,” said Serge. “Fear’s a bullshit artist.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“What kind of lists?” “You know: best of, worst of, one hundred reasons why making lists prevents you from doing something meaningful. Let’s start”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“Oh, I’m with the government all right,” said Serge. “But when I say ‘with,’ I mean in the context of I’m in favor of it because otherwise there are no streets or postage stamps, and everyone wanders the woods carrying their own mail and looking at the sun to know when to eat until there’s an eclipse and everyone’s blind. That’s why you should vote.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“But what do you think all that shooting was about?” “It’s U.S. 1,” said Serge. “So it doesn’t have to be about anything.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“The pair sat relaxed and stared toward U.S. 1 at nothing in particular. Coleman rested his joint on the edge of the window and popped a beer. “This is the life.” “You said it, buddy.” Serge uncapped a bottle of water. “Florida, a full tank of gas, and no appointments.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“You’re like the guy in those Dos Equis beer ads: ‘He is the most interesting man in the world . . . Children’s tearless shampoo still makes him cry.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“He’s coming off the bridge,” said Serge. “The rocks will start soon.” “Rocks?” “It’s local tradition, and another reason I love the Keys.” Serge stood and put on his sneakers. “It’s our version of when those people went out to the overpasses and waved at O. J. Simpson during the slow-motion chase. Except in the Keys, when there’s a high-speed pursuit on TV heading south, the locals line the road and wait for the car to come off the bridge to Key Largo. Last time was around Christmas.” “You’re right.” Coleman pointed at the TV again. “They’re lining the side of the road. They’re throwing rocks.” “And we’re at Mile Marker 105, so that gives us about three minutes.” Serge tightened the Velcro straps on his shoes. “Let’s go throw rocks.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“Chasing is in police DNA memory, like Labradors running after sticks,” said Serge. “They probably don’t even know why they do it. They just put the lights on and go, and a while later the partner who isn’t behind the wheel says, ‘Why are we stopping?’ ‘Something inside just told me to because there’s a really cool crash up ahead. It’s weird; I can’t explain it.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“The brain wasn’t engineered to deal with that rarefied level of dumbness.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“Caught’ is a funny word,” said Serge. “Most criminals catch themselves, like getting stuck at three A.M. in an air duct over a car-stereo store, and the people opening up in the morning hear crying and screaming from the ceiling, and the fire department has to get him out with spatulas and butter. If your arrest involves a lot of butter, or, even more embarrassing, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, then you actually need to go to jail, if for nothing else just some hang time to inner-reflect.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“...they grab you off the street without warning, sack over your head and into the back of a van. Variation on tough love, but incredible success rate...”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“Use sunscreen; don’t do heroin.’ . . . If you could give the entire human race only one sentence of advice, I think you’ve just nailed it.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“I used to play golf,” said Serge. “It’s a frightening game. Forget football or even NASCAR.” He whistled in awe. “Golf takes it to the brink.” “That bad?” “It’s the mental component. They try to hush it up, but the game can destroy the strongest men. Every year, dozens of ugly psychotic breaks. Frustration builds over a lifetime until a tee shot lands in the water of a sadistic island hole, and then a hedge-fund manager hurls all his clubs like tomahawks at the other guys in plaid knickers before stripping off all his clothes and making ‘snow angels’ in a sand trap, prompting a special unit from the pro shop to hustle him away through secret underground doors. Fortunately, I have the perfect emotional composition to excel at golf.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Largely credited to Philo of Byzantium. But since it was compiled in the third century BC, I’m guessing he called it the Seven Wonders of the Modern World. And even back then it pissed people off.” “Why?” “Because Philo did his research at the largest library of the time in Alexandria. And some people got the notion that the fix was in. At the top of the list, the Great Pyramid of Giza in Egypt—no argument there—and at the bottom, the lighthouse at Alexandria. The early Persians are like, ‘I thought we outgrew this hometown bullshit in the Neolithic. I mean, you can’t be serious. That lighthouse? When we’ve got the Apadana Palace of Persepolis? What are we, fucking Mesopotamians over here?”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“Just because I’m your attorney, don’t assume you can come to me with problems.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“Those signs start at the top of the state, between the population centers, facing north on the interstate, nestled among all the other billboards that are only designed to reach out-of-state travelers driving south into Florida. So now you got signs for truck stops, motels with free Wi-Fi, citrus stands, fast food, and pictures of car crashes with jagged red lettering to remind people that they might be in pain from something that happened in Cleveland. I mean how does that work? Are this many people suddenly making major medical decisions on vacation? When you’re driving to Niagara Falls, do you see a hundred miles of billboards for joint-replacement surgery, ‘Call 1-800-HIP-OUCH’? . . . Or is it an impulse thing: ‘Let’s see, I’ve been on the road for hours, so I need to stop for gas, use the restroom, get a Big Mac and develop a drug problem.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“Tampa is now the national insurance-fraud champ. And one of the oldest but still effective methods is the Swoop-and-Squat. The scam artist targets a victim and tails him until conditions are optimal. Then he zooms past and cuts back in front of him and hits the brakes. It’s nearly impossible to avoid a rear-end crash. And under Florida law, the person in back is automatically at fault in the accident because theoretically the person in front has no control over someone following too close. If you’re lucky, they’ll just go for collision damage; if not, they’ll fake whiplash and jam you up for thousands in medical, pain and suffering . . . But I’ve developed a foolproof strategy to not only defeat this tactic, but punish the scofflaw and hopefully illuminate the error of his ways.” “He’s racing past us,” said Coleman. “The Swoop.” “Now he cutting back in. He’s hitting his brakes.” “The Squat.” Serge was already applying his own brakes. “Wow,” said Coleman. “You were right. He was trying to make us crash.” “The fucker,” said Serge. “It’s like Manson all over again.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“We’re dealing with one of the worst kinds of killer.” “What kind’s that?” asked the lieutenant. “Patient.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“Route 27 was the spinal cord of Florida, practically vacant since the interstates, which took them up through towns with main streets that had the same early-evening closing hours since 1957. The only signs of life were the parking lights of local police cars on side streets, waiting for the local delinquents. Clewiston, Sebring, Clermont, Leesburg.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“But when we humans vote for candidates to take away the other guy’s benefits—‘but keep your fucking hands off my Medicare’—we need to lie to ourselves. It makes us special.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“And here’s how I rationalize my rationalizing. God gave us the ability to rationalize so we can stomach all the horrible things we’re required to do every day just to survive the concrete jungle.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“Another tip to weld society together. Give the person up to bat at the ATM plenty of space so they’re not nervous about you peeking at their PIN number or slipping a blade between their ribs the second the money spits out.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“It only fed my post office psychosis. Whenever I’m in one, and almost to the counter, I keep repeating to myself: ‘Please don’t put out the “Position Closed” sign; please don’t put out the “Position Closed” sign; dear God, don’t let him put out the sign; please, please, please, I’m almost to the counter! I made it! I finally made it! He didn’t put out the . . . Wait, what’s he reaching for? . . . Fuck!”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“A little? I’m superimpatient,” said Serge. “But trying to improve. That’s the whole problem with society: We detect countless faults in others, but never work on ourselves. And behavior in long lines brings out the worst. Take the nicest people you’d ever meet, stick them in an ultralong line that’s moving like molasses, and it’s as if they were bitten by a werewolf. Some sweet old lady who volunteers to read to the blind: ‘Look at this dickhead with eleven items in the express lane.’ Supermarkets bring out the worst.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“It’s the big new bridge,” said Serge. “Takes you right across Lake What-the-Fuck.” “Is that another real name?” “No,” said Serge. “That’s what I call it. It’s really named Lake Surprise. But surprise is usually something good that provides delight, like winning the lottery or reaching in the back of the fridge and finding an unexpected jar of olives. But this lake got its name because it pissed people off.” “How’d it do that?” “Another funny story. When Henry Flagler started the Overseas Railroad down the Keys, he looked for the route with the most land, because bridges over water cost more. So he sent out surveyors, and they began laying tracks south from the mainland of Florida, across some little islands and an isthmus to Key Largo. And I can’t believe they built that far before realizing that right in the middle of a big chunk of land was this giant lake, and now they have to build an extra bridge that wasn’t in the budget.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“Florida City?” Coleman dropped a Vicodin. “So that’s what that string of motels is called?” Serge nodded. “Actually a funny story. Used to be called Detroit.” Coleman swigged a pint of Rebel Yell. “Now you’re making fun of me because I’m wrecked.” “Swear to God. You can look it up,” said Serge. “I wouldn’t shit you.” “I know,” said Coleman. “I’m your favorite turd.” “And naming it Detroit wasn’t even an accident, like the other times when two pioneer families set up shop in the sticks and there’s no one else around to stop them, and they’re chugging moonshine by the campfire, ‘What should we call this place?’ ‘Fuck it, I already spent enough effort today running from wild pigs,’ and then you end up with a place called Toad Suck, Arkansas—you can look that up, too. Except modern-day Florida City started as an ambitious land development with hard-sell advertising and giant marketing geniuses behind the project. Then they had the big meeting to concoct a name: ‘I got it! What do people moving to Florida really want? To be in Michigan!”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide

“Unless the South Beach techno-dance clubs outbid them. They don’t have live bands, just DJs up in a booth. And the DJs are now celebrities like Mick Jagger, with their own dance-mix followers who make pilgrimages club to club to hear them turn on the music. When did a stereo become a musical instrument?” Serge leaned forward and clicked on the car radio. “There, I’m an artist. Thousands of women on ecstasy now want to have three-ways with me.”
― Tim Dorsey, The Riptide Ultra-Glide