Come on an’ gather y’selves ’bout the fire, my fingerling potato-babies! It’s time to hear another captivatin’ tale concernin’ that one and only apple-domed sonuvagun, Farm Fresh, the Country Wonder!
For ’twas yence and again that yon sly and joyful Farm Fresh was engaging in heretofore untold shenaniganry behind the barn of Ol’ Mister Gumfree! Oh glee and tittering, but Farm Fresh and his local gaggle of hooliganroos had commenced to telling bawdy tales concerning local gals and lasses of loose morals (and looser undergarments!).
Now, all involved was quite ensconced in a twice-told ribald tale ’bout Abergein Rudderford’s lack o’ knickers up under her gingham dress when she had got to climbing that flagpole outside of the schoolhouse when, fie, but what did happen? Why, that there mere twig of a ne’er-do-well, Jemmerson Bufftween pulled a thin-rolled smoke-able from his dungarees and proceeded to splifferatin’ the herbal contents. Right there behind Ol’ Mister Gumfree’s barn!
Say now, what’s this? thought our protagonist to his apple-human-tomato blight self. Yon cigadoon smells of green and skunkivation! And sure enough, Farm Fresh’s keen sense of smell-o-vision were nothing but right, as Jemmerson were puffing away on the Marijuanas he had snuck away from his older brudder.
Shortly thereby, the reefer was being passed hither and thander betwangst the crowd of still-growing boy-types. Oh, unhappy fortune! Such young souls, soon to be corrupted by the evil touch o’ Mother Nature’s foul weed!
And yet, seemed Fate ’twas on the side of our most apple-topped friend, fine Farm Fresh; as he ’twere near to fixin’ his withered, blighted lips ‘pon that smoldering comestible, who should ’round that far corner with a withering glare and two fists full of shotgun but Ol’ Mister Gumfree hisself!
“Zoinks and shit!” cried out the foolish kiddies, scampering for the safety of the tall grass (so as not to get a derriere full o’ rocksalt, as Ol’ Mister Gumfree was found of giving out). The Country Wonder himself flung the still-smokerating joint away and scrambled for his dear, monsterly life.
And to this vurry day, tisn’t nothing worse than the tomato blight that makes up but one third o’ Farm Fresh that ever passed into his body.
-Our Hero
Marsupial Jones 
I wrote you this fan-friendfic! Aww yuss that’s correct.
Title: 100 Nights, 100 Tears
(AU, OOC, Slash, Angst, Rated M!)
Farm Fresh’s heaving chest pressed against Jemmerson’s, slathering a trail of hot, sticky apple juice rot down, down, down. Our Hero couldn’t help but watch from the dark corner, holding his breath, praying to God and Everyone that he wouldn’t be caught. It was the third time this week, and he knew he should stay away, but it was just too tempting. It was just too hot.
Jemmerson lit up his blunt and shotgunned it into Farm Fresh’s mouth. “Oh fuck yes,” Farm Fresh uttered from between moist blight-lips. “You know just what I need, baby.” As Our Hero watched the slight tinge of a blush cross Jemmerson’s face, he felt the same one as an echo on his own ebony skin. His eyes were like orbs.
Jemmerson’s hard, pink man-nubs on his chest drew Farm Fresh’s attention and Our Hero slipped one hand down his pants. This was getting good. He knew what was coming next.
“Farm Fresh. I need your apple-y goodness inside of me. Please,” whispered Jemmerson in a husky voice. There were tears stinging his eyes. His hair was long and flowing and blond.
Farm Fresh pinned Jemmerson’s arms over his head by the wrists and thrust his apple core right into Jemmerson’s ass in one hard motion. Jemmerson threw his head back and moaned.
Our Hero did, too. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t care if they heard him. Not this time. It was just too much, too good. But they didn’t hear him. They never did, though he longed to get caught, secretly. The longed to be the middle of that pot-head and apple sandwhich. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and soaked his beard, even as he found his release.
The end.
Long. Steady. Ovation.