Surfer Dude Quotes

You can read minds, and you didn't tell me?” Link stared at me like he just found out I was the Silver Surfer. He rubbed his head nervously. “Hey, man, all that stuff about Lena? I was yankin’ your chain.” He looked away. “Are you doin’ it now? You're doin’ it, aren't you? Dude, get out of my head.” He backed away from me and into the bookshelf. “I can't read your mind, you idiot.

I'd blurted out the question only to keep him from noticing that I was working my hands free, but the Warden behind me, some young brown-haired surfer dude, yelled a warning. "She's getting loose!" Narc.

From morning until sunset — and sometimes by moonlight — the surfer dudes ride waves onto shore worried about nothing more than impressing the gorgeous girls watching them. Sometimes those bikini-clad California sweethearts let a boy get to second base to a romantic Leslie Gore or Connie Francis song. If she's really in-love, and trusts him not to tell his buddies, she'll let him round third and wave him home. When that happens, it usually isn't long before Nautica is all abuzz about an impending beach wedding.

It’s not about the powers, man; it’s that we aren’t kids anymore. Look what we’ve been through. Look what we’ve done. Look at yourself, surfer dude. We’ve done something none of our parents have even come close to. We didn’t take over their boring world; we took over a world about a thousand times tougher. If we walk out of this alive, we won’t have to bow our heads to anyone.

Is Julian really Irish?” Cameron asked Blake as he looked down at his drink. “I have no fucking idea,” Blake answered in frustration. “I’ve never heard him use that one. I’ve heard British, Boston, Spanish, Kurdish, French, Texan, and surfer dude, but never Irish. Might mean it’s the real one, if he never used it,” he said in a distant, rambling tone. Cameron blinked at him. “Surfer... dude?” Blake waved his hand around. “You know, ‘Chillax, bra, we just gotta harvest some dead presidents’ kind of shit.

Steve Carver-the guy with the faux-surfer hair-and Amanda's best friend, Nicole,are chosen.Rashmi and I groan in a rare moment of camaraderie.Steve pumps a fist in the air.What a meathead. The selecting begins,and Amanda is chosen first. Of course. And then Steve's best friend.Of course. Rashmi elbows me. "bet you five euros I'm picked last." "I'll take that bet.Because it's totally me." Amanda turns in her seat toward me and lowers her voice. "That's a safe bet, Skunk Girl. Who'd want you on their team?" My jaw unhinges stupidly. "St. Clair!" Steve's voice startles me. It figures that St. Clair would be picked early. Everyone looks at him, but he's staring down Amanda. "Me," he says, in answer to her question. "I want Anna on my team,and you'd be lucky to have her." She flushes and quickly turns back around,but not before shooting me another dagger.What have I ever done to her? More names are called. More names that are NOT mine. St. Clair goes to get my attention,but I pretend I don't notice. I can't bear to look at him.I'm too humiliated. Soon the selection is down to me, Rashmi,and a skinny dude who, for whatever reason,is called Cheeseburger. Cheeseburger is always wearing this expresion of surprise, like someone's just called his name, and he can't figure out where the voice is coming from. "Rashmi," Nicole says without hestitation. My heart sinks.Now it's between me and someone named Cheeseburger. I focus my attention down on my desk, at the picture of me that Josh drew earlier today in history. I'm dressed like a medieval peasant (we're studying the Black Plague), and I have a fierce scowl and a dead rat dangling from one hand. Amanda whispers into Steve's ear. I feel her smirking at me,and my face burns. Steve clears his throat. "Cheeseburger.

Live to acquire knowledge and experience, not money and possessions. Most importantly: Have Fun and Enjoy the Ride.

It took about fifteen weeks—a little more than three months—for Dr. Ham to change my inner narrative from a hateful whip-bearing tyrant to a chill(er) surfer dude. Like love and bankruptcy, it happened slowly, then all at once. Right now, I’m making breakfast. I woke up late, I accidentally missed a call this morning, it’s eleven A.M., and I have work to do. But I’m not rushing. I’m sautéing potatoes and onions and peppers together and frying eggs and chopping cilantro for some breakfast tacos. I assemble them carefully and then crumble cotija on top. They are delicious. I decide I’ll get to washing up when I get to it. I’ll get to everything when I get to it. The world will keep turning. The tacos are delicious, and I take my time eating them. And then I’m marvelling: Oh, wow. Maybe this life I’ve got is going to be spectacular, after all.

The Catholic philosophy is that not only does shit happen, but it’s all your fault because you’re such an awful sinner.” “The protestant faith I grew up with is like the surfer dude of religions,” Claire said. “We’re all ‘hey man, just be cool, and like, don’t hurt anybody; but if you do, just say ‘my bad, bro’ and it’s all good.

Dude,” he said, adopting the modified surfer patois that binds together much of the more youthful cadre of senior management. “You can’t take me out. This place is nothing without a planning operation that understands and is dedicated to the day to day. Give me a chance to exercise my chops and demonstrate my added value. Besides, I’m no lawyer. I’m no beancounter. I’m a Wharton grad, did six years at KPMG. I was instrumental in the transaction that produced this acquisition, for chrissake. At some point we’re going to need to grow revenue, not just cut costs. That’s when what I do really kicks in.

Oh, come on, dude! Spit it out,” I said. My body was shaking with anxiety and anticipation. “Yeah. Come on, nerd boy,” said Otis.

reached up and pushed the King’s hand away. “Dude, you need to chill.

stakes. This is nerve wracking!” “Dude, chill. Are you a surfer, or an uptight villager kook?

He imagined a reality show host selling Los Angeles to a live audience: “Are you a surfer dude hitting the waves? You’ll fit right in. How about a hipster starting a gluten-free cookie brand or a new church? Of course. And is there a place for a young family raising small children? You bet. How about a retired couple wanting to play bingo all day? Indeed. High-powered executives? Yes! Lawyers, doctors, agents, and managers? Best place to thrive. Gym buffs, starlets, chefs, yoga teachers, students, writers, healers, misfits, trainers, nurses? Right this way, please. Are you into cosplay, improv, porn, Roller Derby, voyeurism, cemetery movie screenings, food truck drag racing, AA, relapse, rehab, open mic, plastic surgery, wine tastings, biker meetups, karaoke, clubbing, S and M, or escape rooms? Come on over!” Every race, religion, nationality, gender, sexual orientation, and food preference was well represented within Los Angeles County, and this is what Oscar loved most about his city;

It’s probably an insult to your proud feminism, too.” “Dude, you have no idea.” He pauses. “Did you just call me ‘dude?’” “I grew up in San Diego. If you’re not properly programmed with surfer slang by your senior year in high school, they don’t let you graduate.