Tim Dorsey (1961–2023)

Serge’s latest obsession is with the film Easy Rider – as it applies to Florida, “the nation’s pace car of dysfunction.” It doesn’t apply, but Serge makes it so by touring the state in search of a 60s vibe in a specially designed motorcycle – with a sidecar for Coleman, who can’t handle a kickstand. In keeping with his self-assigned role as vigilante against extreme bad manners Serge inventively takes down a crooked gang of small town civic leaders that have been dabbling in show more money laundering and other fraud. show less

The Serge Storms series by Tim Dorsey is bananas. Serge is insane and usually off his meds. His eternally stoned sidekick Coleman is either going along with whatever Serge wants or randomly messing up Serge's well laid plans. Usually, these books are some version of Serge's love of Florida and its history.

This time around the story is set mainly in LA and Hollywood where a massively overbudget film is getting no closer to being finished and the studio owners and their Japanese investors are show more increasingly frustrated with the director.

Then the lead actress gets kidnapped, and an innocent young screenwriter is accused of the crime, but he didn't do it.

The rest gets even crazier than the usual Serge and Coleman adventures. The twists keep twisting and keeping track of who is conning who is nearly impossible but also hilarious.

Very dark humor and remember that Serge is technically not a serial killer. He just keeps coming across people who need killing. show less

Serge Storms, the hyper Floridaphile, takes a cemetery tour of the state in a muscle car, which starts with he and his stoner bud Coleman riding out a hurricane in the Keys. For the tour he adopts the persona of Captain Florida, not to be confused with the Florida Man phenomenon, which Serge has a few choice words about.

Of course he engages in his usual creative extermination of people that need to be exterminated. The usual coffee-induced Serge madness is interspersed with witty social show more commentary: “Technology outpaced our evolution,” said Serge. “All of humanity falls along a spectrum of love to hate, and the people bunched up on the shitty end are now defined by too much spare time and keyboards.”

Serge analyzes Golden Corral chocolate fountains as socio-economic markers, reveals himself as an aficionado of economy motel room art and engages in finger painting and kindergarten level craft activities with Coleman. He also addresses the hate groups that were picketing veteran’s funerals and real estate scammers, hence a couple of the exterminations. show less

This book had its shining moments, and the underlying story, or backstory, was actually pretty great, but I didn't believe that it was presented all that well. Serge too was good, not great, and Coleman was more annoying than usual.

The backstory turns out to be fairly simple, and I loved that. But to get there the story was all over the place. As I mentioned above, I don't think the narrative did it justice, nor, ultimately, the amazing cast of characters. It took forever, until the very show more end, to see how it was all tied together; if this was a whodunit then maybe that would have worked, but in this case just made the story over-the-top wacky.

I liked that Serge went to California and took his arcane movie history to Hollywood. I thought all of that was well presented, and taking a jab at the esoteric lifestyle surrounding the film industry was also very good.

In any case, we still get some vintage Dorsey through the eyes of Serge like...

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A '71 Buick Riviera was stuck in a sea of traffic on U.S. 192. A hundred cars moving a few blocks a time, traffic light to traffic light, all red.

The light turned green. A minute later, the Riviera began moving slowly. The same light turned red again.

Serge smacked the steering wheel. "I can't tell you how crazy this kind of traffic makes me. Why are all these people going this way?"

Coleman drained a beer and crumpled the can. "We're going this way, too."

"But they're making lifestyle mistakes. We're driving for truth."

[And.]

The Chrysler made a pair of lefts. The black Grand Marquis remained a half-dozen lengths back. Serge raced up an entrance ramp to the freeway. He slammed to a stop.

Coleman grabbed the dash. "What happened?"

Serge pointed up beside the car. "Ramps in California have traffic lights."

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It has been so long since I had to navigate through hell that I had totally forgotten that some people actually accept living in places that put traffic lights on the interstate entrance. Lifestyle mistakes to the Nth degree. And I always thought the same as Serge watching people parked on the I405, I have always wondered why the people that go north in the morning didn't find jobs in the south, and vise verse. Nope that would make too much effing sense.... show less