"Do you expect me to talk?"
"No, Mr Jones. I expect you to review this book."
"'The Man With The Golden Torc' by Simon Green. Sounds like some corny parody of James Bond, but with some fantasy creatures as the baddies."
"You would think that, Mr Jones. That's why I've always despised your kind, and why I will take great pleasure in watching you be devoured by my army of rabid guinea pigs. But first, I must monologue. Comfortable?"
"The leather wrist-straps are beginning to chafe, so if you'd just hurry up that would be lovely."
"That book you just disparaged is all those things you mentioned. It's also a lot of fun, if you switch off your brain and let yourself be swept along you'd enjoy it. Sure, there are parts that are a little clumsy: infodumps, stilted conversations-"
"Like when I last fought you, breaking into your underground bunker, and fighting hand-to-hand with your bodyguard, Mr Snuggles. It was a titanic battle and we nearly ended up destroying the world. You wore a red, crushed velvet suit and I lost my hand to the robot sharks. Happy days."
"As I was saying: stilted conversations intended to convey backstory by relating past events that both parties recall completely. Don't worry about those parts, there's plenty of flippant one-liners and amusing repartee. You way wish to take notes. Oh, wait. You'll be dead. Mwuhahahahahaaaaa-"
"Oh, just release the flipping guinea pigs, wll you?"