Melinda

“This is Glesca.... Any time you're confused, take a wee minute to remind yourself of that inescapable fact: this is Glesca. We don't do subtle, we don't do nuanced, we don't do conspiracy. We do pish-heid bampot bludgeoning his girlfriend to death in a fit of paranoid rage induced by forty-eight hours straight on the batter. We do coked-up neds jumping on a guy's heid outside a nightclub because he looked at them funny. We do drug-dealing gangster rockets shooting other drug-dealing gangster rockets as comeback for something almost identical a fortnight ago. We do bam-on-bam. We do tit-for-tat, score-settling, feuds, jealousy, petty revenge. We do straightforward. We do obvious. We do cannaemisswhodunit. When you hear hoofbeats on Sauchiehall Street, it's gaunny be a horse, no' a zebra...'.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Where the Bodies Are Buried

“People didn't really like McDonald's, same as her mum didn't really like Catholicism, but when you were new in town, at least it was a known quantity. So that'll be a Quarter-Pounder and a Communion Wafer meal-deal to go.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Pandaemonium

“He checks the horns. They're small: not truncated like Hellboy's, but wee, budding, trainer-bra efforts. Definitely not the thing that killed Dazza. In demon terms, he's looking at a midget or a waen. He recalls the ten second rule, and though they only clashed for a moment, it was more than enough. He understands. He has the measure. There is no paralysis by fear. There will be no subconscious surrender to superior mental force and aggression.
In short, he can take this cunt.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Pandaemonium

“3 people get stranded on a remote Island

A Banker, a Daily Mail reader & an Asylum seeker

All they have to eat is a box of 10 Mars bars

The Banker says "Because of my expertise in asset management, I''ll look after our resources"

The other 2 agree

So the Banker opens the box, gobbles down 9 of the Mars bars and hands the last one to the Daily Mail reader

He then says " I'd keep an eye on that Asylum seeker, he's after your Mars Bar”
― Christopher Brookmyre, When the Devil Drives