I'm sorry, but

No one is ever going to persuade me that the play by Jean Racine, Bérénice, is not sickening, tedious, sentimental bilge, or that Victor Hugo's religious  poetry is not maddeningly stupid, or that oily fish is not the most nauseating smell/taste in the world--after the utter emesis of Vagina. Tastes may differ, but some horrors never cease being abhorrent.