So a ghoul walks into a bar...
Bartender says: "We don't serve any ghouls here."
Ghoul says: "That's fine. Is the human fresh?"

The past, the present and the future walked into a bar. It was tense.

Danse: "Keep away from me, you filthy ghoul."
Hancock: "Don't flatter yourself, crew cut. You ain't my type."

I guess I just wanted to show you that there's two sides to every victory. Those who live to revel in it, and those who died making it happen.

One of the joys of top notch taste receptors is getting to enjoy the full flavour without the nasty hangover.