“What is [insert name here]? Does it taste good?”
“You have more zeal than good taste, Martín. The disease afflicting you has a name, and that is Grand Guignol: it does to drama what syphilis does to your privates. Getting it might be pleasurable, but from then on it's all downhill.”
“His shelf. Good. Noodle dust. Decaying brain collecting dust. Must insert it back in skull—what was I thinking?”
“Holy [Insert your choice of a swear word here]," said Fang stunned.”
“Ah, good taste! What a dreadful thing! Taste is the enemy of creativeness.”
“What does your bed smell like? Regret and bad taste?”