Shawn: An abode for a divided self split right down the center, overstuffed excess versus stark white ramshackle. Possibly a schizophrenic’s, maybe even a carnival half & half’s, but likely a drag performer whose occupation requires two to live as one. The divide is essentially masculine/feminine: hot pink walls (and what appears to be a matching nightgown), plush burgundy bordello furniture, baroque gold frame, tiger plushie, silver bedside table on the manic half of the brain, while hardwood flooring, spartan tables, a ceiling lamp with exposed wiring, speakers, and some sort of handmade treen hanging on the wall signify the more introverted side. The presence of the valise suggests someone is just visiting, and I can tell you from personal experience that there are two undeniable indicators that an occupant is near the breaking point: home exercise equipment and a pile of phone books.

Yes, it’s true.

A once in a lifetime opportunity.

Now is your chance to enter into the glamorous, scintillating world of queer porn.

Imagine how this will read on your resume — having worked for two of the most popular gay smut websites in existence: Nightcharm.com and Luriddigs.com.

Here’s all the official qualifications and experience that we are looking for:

• A coder is expected to manage multiple markup languages and create exciting visual experiences for end-users, always using modern, semantic standards.

• Webmasters must respond quickly to input from David’s creative team, and accept feedback gracefully. Responding to end-user concerns and issues is also an aspect of the daily process. (more…)

Richard: After three long years, Chase had finally reached the top. He hadn’t gotten there by luck, either: he’d paid his dues through hard work, dedication, and meticulous attention to sartorial detail. Hell, Chase knew exactly how ruthless the world of showbiz could be. He knew there were hundreds of other guys who’d be happy to take his spot as Salvatore Bowles in the half-nude, hardcore production of Cabaret, but Chase wasn’t giving them an inch if he could help it.

Before leaving the dressing room, Chase glanced at his collection of mementos for some last-minute inspiration. There was the portrait of his father and mother, painted on their wedding day. Who’d have thought that two of Terre Haute’s most famous clowns would find love in each others’ comically short arms? At his feet, the statuette of his sister, Pennsylvania’s most respected F2M Santa Claus impersonator. To his right, the white metal cross, which his watchmaker brother, Ben, had converted into a stopwatch. (It ticked off the seconds until the Rapture.) And then, the chalk stains that lingered on the carpet, outlining the body of his first true love, who made the mistake of upstaging Chase one too many times during the big finale. Oh, how he missed Ted, but bitch had to be taught a lesson.

As he stood there, Chase could hear the roar of the crowd, the tinkle of the drink cart as it rumbled down the aisles of Crazy Bob’s Smile-Time Dinner Theatre, and, of course, the screams — the endless stream of moans and groans emanating from the portal to another dimension Chase had installed in an old skylight. Every so often, he heard his father shouting encouragement from the depths of hell. That always did him good. For a split-second, Chase even thought briefly about giving up showbiz altogether and climbing through the portal himself, but he wasn’t ready to leave this behind — not just yet.

Shawn: Look, we all have our familial resentments, but those are usually best aired in a controlled forum like an intervention, an exorcism, or a cock fight. Working out your ire against Mommy and Daddy via a Recon personal ad should be reserved for those with the last names Barrymore or Lohan only. This whole room has such a young adult circa 1989 air to it that it’s either A) unoccupied but left extant like an unhealed wound, or B) the site of arrested development that could never free itself from the nest after atrophy set in to the wings. Indicators lead me to wonder if this space wasn’t assembled by parents on behalf of the occupant, or least from passed-down items no one wanted anymore. The tiny TV summons up memories of the first one we all had in our rooms so we could privately watch Skinemax movies and porn our friends passed our way, while the over-bed hutch full of stuffed animals, gimme caps, and family photos is eerily similar to the first “real” bed my neighbor had after he outgrew his race car one. And it’s all being enacted on Doogie Howser’s bedspread no less! It’s great that The Punisher can help you vent, but who will be there when your impish parents crawl under the door, your world caves inward on itself, and all you’re left with is the cryptic hush of…Silencio?

All photos are used strictly for educational, parody purposes, and fall under copyright law's fair usage terms. Any questions or issues, please contact the webmaster.
© 2010 Nightcharm Inc. All rights reserved. No portion of this site may be reproduced without the writen permission of the owner.