Richard: Whoa, Nellie. There is so much to love about this shot, I hardly know where to begin. Let’s start with the ceiling, since guests probably spend a lot of time staring at it. (Tex, too. Or so I’ve heard.) Unless I’m mistaken, that’s some classy-ass beaded molding up there. No one speaks of beaded molding anymore, and that truly saddens me.

The walls and blinds? A joy. Remember how in, like, 1989, some queen came up with the bright idea to coat his walls some pastel shade, then dipped a feather duster in a slightly darker tone and went to town like Mary Poppins on a crystal binge? My friend Buck did it to every room in his house. Garage included. It was a come-to-Jeebus moment for us all. Such memories.

The trim (ahem, on the windows)? Perfection. Charles Rennie Mackintosh on the range. The dresser? Mid-century French knock-off veneered to hell and back. Do you know how easily veneer flakes off? I’ll bet that thing hasn’t moved since 1942. (Unfortunately, that was also the last time Tex dusted.)

I even love the hodgepodge decor: the statue of Anubis that’s sporting Thoth’s hat (you know: just for kicks!); the Italian marble lamp, evoking the Amalfi Coast and Liz Taylor’s biggest bomb, BOOM!; the tribal mask that could be labeled African or Polynesian if anyone cared to look it up; the hats. Oh, the hats.

In fact, there are only two questionable items on display: (a) the books on the steamer trunk, which look to be another sad instance of Ann Rice-fueled deforestation, and (b) that weirdass water bottle, also on the steamer trunk, which holds either oil for a beard trimmer (that Tex clearly doesn’t use), or evidence of a nasty Skoal habit. I’m guessing Skoal. Note to Tex: don’t play football with that shit between your cheek and gums. It’s the one occasion that I suggest spitting over swallowing.

File Under:Bedroom Terrors

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File Under:Dens From Hell

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File Under:Living Room Wreckage

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