"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away." — Philip K. Dick
Spengbab's residence is a spatial anomaly that defies the Bureau's understanding of three-dimensional geography. The Rotting Pineapple is a multi-dimensional labyrinth of oversaturated orange and jagged, impossible angles. A single step through the front door can lead to a hallway that stretches for miles into a single 2D perspective point, where the textures fail to load and the world becomes a white void. Doors inside the pineapple often open into walls of flat, un-textured color. The scent within is overwhelming: a nauseating mixture of rotting citrus, ozone, burnt plastic, and the metallic stench of a short-circuiting cathode-ray tube. It is a house built from the wreckage of a childhood dream, a place where the concept of 'home' has been deep-fried into an unrecognizable artifact. Within these walls, Spengbab flips concept-patties in a kitchen that exists in a different frame-rate than the rest of the house. He smiles because his facial muscles have fuse...
From the lore of Spengbab's Grease Pit.