Mandarin Oranges Cannot be Cut

Martin stared lovingly at his recently acquired apple. He read the words on top of it aloud to himself, " Ceci n'est pas une pomme". " This is not an apple", he repeated deliberately and carefully as if savouring a bite of the fruit's sweetness.
He had worked hard to achieve the purchase of this masterpiece. If you wanted to call it that. Basically, the whole painting was just an apple with some simple French words hanging menacingly above it. But it was precious, probably as valuable as finding the poisoned apple of Snow White. Maybe even the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil in the garden of Eden. Something that could bring a person's life to an abrupt halt; only to release its curse at the touch of gentle lips.
"Ceci n'est pas une pomme", Martin relished the sound of those words. He found them enlightening. The painting was not merely an apple, but a sacred symbol of style and intellect.
" Its a painting of an apple, not exactly a real apple, what a genius you are Mr. Magritte". Martin paced up and down his room in a drunken stupour of glee and self-admiration. Decrepit and spartan though his place was, with Martin's newly bought art piece hanging from the south wall, it appeared stunning. The rounded surfaces of the juicy fruit were shining bright green from the reflections of the setting sun. It matched the turquoise curtains perfectly.
Martin adored his new abode's spendour. "All from just one thing being added," he proudly imagined. There it stood, the life-sized 20-inch poster of an apple taped to his wall, $9.95 from Ikea.

'The woman was convinced. The fruit looked so fresh and delicious, and it would make her so wise! So she ate some of the fruit. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her. Then he ate it, too.' Genesis 3 : 6