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First Floor

Design Experts

Richard writes the infamous queer blog Sturtle.com. His turn-ons include wainscoting, ZZ Top, and sharp-dressed men. Turn-offs: sectionals, pleated trousers, and pina coladas.

David K. publishes Nightcharm, the only gay porn site ever to be featured on Oprah and regularly compared to Martha Stewart Living.

Eric B. does not Facebook, Tweet or blog. He uses the internet to cruise for sex, like god intended. He has leopard print in every room of his house, save one. And he does not apologize

Heather Corinna is the undisputed diva of online erotica for chicks. She publishes Scarleteen.com and is a sex guru to thousands of teenagers.

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Richard: At my elementary school, we were taught to be "normal". To get that point across, our teachers relied on drawings of bedrooms, stadiums, and shopping malls, each labeled with the same question: "What's wrong with this picture?"

I was pretty good in school, but I bombed on exercises like those. My responses were usually like, "Sure, that portrait of George Washington is upside-down, but perhaps that was the artist's intent." Or, "Yes, there's an elephant drinking from a water fountain beside the Chess King, but is that morally wrong--apart from the presence of Chess King?"

I have half a mind to send them this photo and see how they respond. Among they things they'd surely point out:

1. Laundry on the floor? Definitely not normal!

2. Miss Piggy and Gonzo? Boys don't play with dolls!

3. A bird attacking a deer wearing a wig? Not unless we're at a Bennigan's!

4. A bicycle indoors? Bikes belong outside, like dogs, children, and outhouses!

They'd never spot the real problem: the broken, leftover mirror from a shabby-chic chifforobe leaning against the wall, just waiting to rip someone's blouse. Nor would they spot the piece de resistance: a painting of the one, the only, the truly outrageous Jem above the hutch.

Fucking cretins.

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Eric: My hatred for shiny wooden walls is well-documented. Scroll waaaaaaaay back to "I Never Met A Mancave I Didn't Loathe" if you have the strength and/or you need a refresher.

Seriously, whitewash that shit. Then you have options-- gentrified rustic, industrial, country house, seaside charmer...

While the slate is blank, gather up the existing wall adornments (particularly the bizarre 'scab' coatrack and Blair Witch crucifix) and group them elsewhere. The wall over the trashcan on the back porch would be perfect.

For some reason. this room cries out to me for some '60s homespun craftiness. Macramé, beads, bamboo, yarn art, whatever. Pick your 3 favorite colors and tie-dye duvet and pillow covers. Tension rods and café curtain clip bandannas for the window.

I do like the bedside chest. Remove the placemat and power strip that's camouflaging it and let it be free to be itself.

Mirrors get their feeling of worth from what they reflect. This poor fella should be moved to the opposite wall and joined by three to five more for a view worth reflecting.

And speaking of the bed, there's plenty of space here for one large enough for encounters both solo and group. Spread your wings and fly, child of the universe. That's copacetic.

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David: This is a space where music is paramount and order and symmetry don't count for much. There are actually about 13 guitars in this room (we've seen other online shots from this series) -- some behind the doors in those closets, some under the bed, some hanging in a sling next to the bed. The devotion to music here is beyond manic, in fact there are so many guitars in this room there isn't any room for clothing, so this room is experienced with the owner being naked all of the time. We don't have a lot to say about this room because color treatment-wise the white doors with the beige walls are OK by us. And the CDs to the left appear orderly and contained, it's really just the need to clench our fists and get up the gumption to walk right into this room and help the owner out with his dilemma (the 'no room for his clothing thing' that he struggles with) that's compelling this critique. We'll suspend any sort of judgement, though -- and we'll just soothe him and assure him that his nakedness is next to godliness and that the music of the spheres is best played on a skin flute. We think he'll dig that and probably want to accompany us on a guitar.

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I Don't Know What's More

MrBoddy2005 remarks:

I Don't Know What's More Frightening, The Decor Of The Room, Or That Life Threatening Cock

Wed, 09/14/2016 - 20:18

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Richard: Sometimes, photos generate more questions than answers. Sometimes, what is unknown is more telling than what is known. (Don't tell me I'm not a zen master.) To wit:

1. Why are there wind chimes indoors?

2. Why is there garden furniture indoors?

3. Why is there an uncovered garbage can beside the door and not under the kitchen sink?

4. Why is there a free-standing cat tower in the middle of the room? (Note: I could've legitimately ended that question after the word "tower".)

5. Why isn't there a tray under that fake plant? (Note: I may have answered my own question.)

6. Why is the lower half of that fake plant a phalaenopsis and the top half a nonsense wildflower?

7. After the garland of nonsense violets finishes eating that print from a shuttered Hampton Inn, could it turn its attention to the drapes? They're making me seasick.

See? Those questions reveal that the person who lives here is a mad scientist cat person who breeds monstrous fake flowers for a living. He may also be a cat. Go in peace, crazy mad scientist cat person.

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David: When I see a pic like this I'm moved deeply by the fact that, for the past fourteen years, Lurid Digs has continued to beam out, uninterrupted, from its corner of the queer universe its unique critiques and commentaries regarding the horrors of gay male dwellings. Never once have we failed to keep the spirit of good bad taste alive -- a reason for each of us here to go on living.

Unlike most of our postings, this one has a distinct Lurid Digs 'awareness' about it (confirming how our presence has permeated the culture) meaning, it looks to be staged to act as a contender for our critic's eye. And if that's true, then, well, congratulations dear tattooed homeowner -- welcome to the party.

Props for your Monet-like sprawl atop your forest green Victorian couch, complimented by what looks to be Monet's very own nightstand, covered in layers of smeared oil paint. The gray shag rug strikes a nice compliment to the couch, as does the giant Coke bottle to the rolled up Doritos bag placed on what appears to be a ready serving of cocaine. Modern hookup culture etiquette at its best -- all that's missing is the economy-sized bottle of K-Y.

Two thumbs (and butt-plugs) up on this. One of my all-time faves.

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almost

Ericthewriter@a... (not verified) remarks:

I've written before about my time in New Orleans. I left enough brain cells and DNA there to populate the village of the damned, and this tableau almost takes me back. Almost.
If he ever wakes up, this guy should do a faux Venetian plaster treatment to the walls, break out the baroque picture frames, hotglue some fringe to the pillows and drip a half dozen spiral candles onto the side table.
And if said side table has an opium pipe in the drawer, the room's unfinished state explains itself.

Wed, 08/10/2016 - 15:10

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Mon, 09/19/2016 - 02:53

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