Herbert always bears a smile, even when his innards are strewn across the room, mangled, battered, and even melted by saws, spikes, bombs, and acid. Even if (and when) his head is cruelly separated from his body, spurting blood like water from a fountain, it bears an expression of tranquility.
I salute you, Herbert, and your incredible tolerance for pain. You're the greatest masochist ever to have lived! (And died. Repeatedly.)