Times Square’s brawling Spider-Men and extortionist Elmos besmirch the “Crossroads of the World.”

But a more stomach-turning scourge is the tourist-trampled district’s chain restaurants, which conveniently concentrate Manhattan’s most terrible food in every cuisine within a few blocks’ radius.

Which places are the worst? You might guess critically napalmed Guy Fieri’s American Kitchen or “Tuscan” laughingstock Olive Garden, but you’d be soooooo wrong.

The lows are much lower. Here are the three worst.

Dave & Buster’s

234 W. 42nd St.

If North Korean designers tried their hands at a Western-style sports bar, this might be the result.

The third-floor dining room, next door to Ripley’s Odditorium, is a despairing mismatch of red banquettes, black-and-white floor and cheap ceiling fixtures. On the way up, you pass a second-floor Applebee’s and a bunch of honky-tonk game rooms.

The menu aptly evokes North Korea’s near-famine. Beer-bucket chicken ($17.79) was less tolerable than Popeyes, the skin gelatinous and the meat clay-like. But nothing I’ve encountered in 16 years of covering restaurants (included with chicken) compared to “crunchy apple slaw” — a mélange of substances I could not identify except for the overpowering stench of day-old vinegar.

There might have been apples. There might have been noodles. Willing to take no chances, I got out of there as fast as I could. I was even ready to kiss the Elmos.

Bubba Gump Shrimp Co.

1501 Broadway

My stomach snarled like the Times Square sidewalks after I sampled the “I’m Stuffed” Shrimp ($19.99), a 930-calorie affair of “large” (fact check: small) shrimp supposedly stuffed with crab.

The eerie-tasting “crab” alloy did not stuff the shrimp, but was grafted onto them, like the result of a 1950s horror-film experiment. The mutant entity, drenched in butter and alleged Monterey Jack cheese, literally stuck to the pan — just as the accompanying “jasmine” rice formed a ball seemingly adhered with Krazy Glue.

Cocktails take up the first two menu pages. Waiters answer every query, “That is my absolute favorite drink.”

If all the butter and booze chase you to the loo, beware: Toilet tissue is that narrow-gauge, flimsy breed found in Third World budget hotels.

Buca Di Beppo

1540 Broadway

Sad-looking couples, who evidently fear more legitimately formulated dishes at nearby Carmine’s, fill this third-floor warren of dark alcoves.

The rooms sport full-goombah plumage: red-checkered tablecloths, maroon carpet and Italian-themed photos.

However tacky, the décor beats the dispiriting pastas aimed at the “boil it to Jell-O” crowd. I’ve eaten lasagna since I was 3, but I’ve never encountered a specimen as mushy, unseasoned and characterless. Or eggplant parmigiana ($21.99) and spaghetti (from $16.99) as bland as Buca’s. But they bested stringy chicken parmigiana that would embarrass your average salad-bar fare.