Well, I wouldn’t exactly count “ejaculate” as an appropriate synonym for “say”. As for the other options you provided - they sound fine to me and anything that dispells repetive writing is fair game, imho.
Probably moderation and non-formulaic writing is the key here: You (general you, not you personally) don’t want to diminish the power of the dialogue, but on the other hand variation is better than repitition.
Zut has it exactly right. I wasn’t suggesting that you use other words instead of ‘said’, unless a suitable one comes up. But you can write most of a story without ever having to include those kinds of descriptors.
And anyway, I was suggesting it as a writing exercise, not as a personal rant against overuse.
Is this it?:
Against the wall stood Mr. Gumb with his goggles on. There was no danger she’d bump into him – there was an equipment table between them. He played his infrared up and down her. She was too slender to be of great utility to him. He remembered her hair though, from the kitchen, and it was glorious, and that would only take a minute. He could slip it right off. Put it on himself. He could lean over the well wearing it and tell that thing “Surprise!”
It was fun to watch her trying to sneak along. She had her hip against the sinks now, creeping toward the screams with her gun stuck out. It would have been fun to hunt her for a long time – he’d never hunted one armed before. He would have thoroughly enjoyed it. No time for that. Pity.
A shot in the face would be fine and easy at eight feet. Now.
He cocked the Python as he brought it up snick snick and the figure blurred, bloomed bloomed green in his vision and his gun buckled in his hand and the floor hit him hard in the back and his light was on and he saw the ceiling. Starling on the floor, flash-blind, ears ringing, deafened by the blast of the guns. She worked in the dark while neither could hear, dump the empties, tip it, feel to see they’re all out, in with the speedloader, feel it, tip it down, twist, drop it, close the cylinder. She’d fired four. Two shots and two shots. He’d fired once. She found the two good cartridges she’d dumped. Put them where? In the speedloader pouch. She lay still. Move before he could hear?
The sound of a revolver being cocked is like no other. She’d fired out the sound, seen nothing past the great muzzle flashes of the guns. She hoped he’d fire now in the wrong direction, give her the muzzle flash to shoot at. Her hearing was coming back, her ears still rang, but she could hear.
What was that sound? Whistling? Like a teakettle but interrupted. What was it? Like breathing. Is it me? No. Her breath blew warm off the floor, back in her face. Careful, don’t get dust, don’t sneeze. It’s breathing. It’s a sucking chest wound. He’s hit in the ches. They’d taught her how to seal one, to put something over it, a rain slicker, a plastic bag, something airtight, strap it tight. Reinflate the lung. She’d hit him in the chest, then. What to do? Wait. Let him stiffen up and bleed. Wait.
So, Antonio’s like, “Take a look at this.” And he’s tossing this box across the table and stuff.
And Bertie’s like, “All right, I give up. What is it?”
And Antonio’s like, “Guess.”
An’ Bertie’s like, “Don’t be coy. Tell me.”
Stephen King explicitly says the same thing in On Writing. Use "said; don’t use adverbs. If your dialog and description of the characters’ actions don’t reveal what you want the reader to know, you should rework those instead.
Yep! 
Thanks-I couldn’t find my copy of the book at home… 
Yup, apologies for misinterpreting you. I think we’re all in agreement and, anyway, it is a useful point to make.
My take is that the problem with shifting PoVs is that it takes the reader out of the story, which is the worst crime of all.
We all live inside of our heads. We don’t have the luxury of knowing other people’s thoughts, just the words and motions they put on public display. So we’re predisposed to think that way inside of a story as well. While inside one person’s head, we think and react exactly as we do in life, searching out the private meanings underneath the public ones in all the characters that person encounters. Going inside the other character’s head and telling us what’s there violates our everyday perspective so much that it will pull a reader out of the story and force a whiplash that can be jarring and fatal.
Or it can be exactly what the story needs at that point, but that’s something only the most expert writer can accomplish, the reason why you see the warnings.
Almost anything can take the reader out of a story. A bad line of dialog, a street put in the wrong part of town, an implausible emotional reaction, a word not recognized, too much description, too little description, a typo.
What sinks most inexperienced writers is their inability to create and immerse the reader in the world of story. This is also the hardest thing to teach in a class or workshop. There may be nothing technically incorrect about any of the individual sentences, but the reader sees instantly that they don’t cohere, don’t create a world, don’t forge that bond between writer and reader that all fiction is about.
The best writers do this apparently effortlessly. They have the quality that I call “assuredness.” They assure you that you’re in expert hands, that the story will be worth the reading, and that it is from the very first paragraph.
Assuredness also what underlies most of the “rules” of writing. The “rules” are warning signs, put up to tell an inexperienced writer that violating them will likely take the reader out of the story. The very definition of an inexperience writer is one who needs to know the rules rather than having absorbed them so deeply that they are never even an issue. Experienced writers can “break the rules” because they aren’t: they’re staying within the story in a more creative way.
Another writer here with a few years of experience under her belt.
The reasons mentioned above was why I stopped using the omniscient third POV - it was far too tempting to go into everyone’s head in every single scene, and all of a sudden you have everybody and their brother’s inner monologue stealing the spotlight away from the real action.