Imagine slicing into a juicy watermelon on a hot summer day, only to find it has spontaneously exploded, releasing swarms of maggots and a foul odor so potent it could singe your nose hairs.

One plump beauty, neatly placed on an amber-hued marble countertop, was foaming at the mouth. Or the rear. It’s hard to tell which end is which with melons. Need a news break? Check out the all new ...

We could have used a couple of exploding watermelons back in the ’70s, when villains roamed the countryside snatching the fruits of our labor and destroying a young boy’s dream of riches beyond his ...