There once was a monk, severed from the church, so vile, so disgusting, so decrepit, it made garbage look like gold.
He was so dirty, defiling, and disgusting, that it wasn't simply a matter of cleanliness of body, mind, and soul, it was another level. It became philosophical and scientific schools of thought were born.
Amidst existential crises upon meeting him, those who met him, became great philosophers along with those already in deep contemplation at his defilement. Statues were erected, great sculpture created, in the name of those who inquired, those who passed away, incapable of finding resolution. Arm chairs were brought in, and The Thinker sculpture of bronze was made there as well in imitation of one of the best, though even he could not solve this dilemma, being solidified mid-quandary.
Upon meeting the monk, some fell into depression, others questioned the meaning of life, scientists were drawn into the depths of research, to understand, to know, why this man was so bad.
In the end, after numerous schools of thought were born, branches of science created, all simply fell, sciences crumbling in the face of existential impasse, asking, What's the point? Why are we alive? The guys dirtier than all things.
Finally, a lawyer arrived, with a girl's hand held tight, and she shouted, That's him, he's the one!
And immediately, all were drawn to grab the dirty monk and place him quickly behind bars.