"Just open your eyes!” shouts the disheveled man on the corner as you approach. His patchwork coat smells faintly of urine and crumbs of what you dearly hope is food hang from his unkempt beard. “The degeneracy is all around you!”
You intend to walk right on by but before you can pass, he shoots a filthy hand in front of your face, palm up. Dirt fills the lines of his hand. The fingernails are crusted with a reddish-brown film you’re pretty sure is blood. Resting on top, bright against the earthen tones of his disgusting appendage, is a green apple.
“This is all the proof you need, girly!” he says, bouncing the apple-laden hand up and down in front of you.
You’re about to push his hand away and run when you notice something odd.
“Is that-” you start.
“Damn right it is,” the hobo exclaims, anticipating your question. “This apple got a butthole, girly!”
It seems the apple does indeed have an anus.
"You have my disgust, sir..." you say, "...and my attention."
"This just the tip of the degenerate bio-engineering (or, as I like to call it, "degenereering") iceberg, girly!"
"That portmanteau is horrible," you interrupt.
"It's a work in progress! Anyway, like I was saying, this apple-butthole goes deep! Deep all the way to the top!"
"Uh.."
"Shut up! Girly, you ain't got now idea! I'm talking about locusts with the faces of men, refrigerators made of kelp, trashbags that eat the trash then fart the trash back out the other side, cans of spray paint with legs that won't quit! Snakes with boobs!"
"Well," you start to say, "that last one-"
"...and no matter how nice you are to them the snakes will never let you touch their boobs!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" you scream, Darth Vaderishly. They have to be stopped.