Heather: Little does Billy Bob know, but Bambi’s uncle Joe and Peter once also thought this was a safe place to play with Thumper.

Sure, when they first came here, they couldn’t help but get excited about the ambiance, either. Who wouldn’t get a stiffie over that awesome paneling and fabulous upholstery? Who couldn’t resist the sexy allure of faux brick wallpaper? Who isn’t twitterpated over a ceiling low enough to know that when the night is through, your antlers will have effortlessly made their own notches on the proverbial bedpost?

But Joe and Peter learned the hard way that they weren’t the only ones who thought they seemed right at home there. Poor Joe. Poor Peter.

Run, Billy Bob, run. It could happen to you.

Sean: I’m pretty sure we’ve all heard this story before: Brother bought a coconut, he bought it for a dime, his sister had another one and painted his door lime. Not exactly the right lyrics, I know, but one too many pina coladas while listening to a Harry Nilsson ’s greatest hits album on repeat does that to a girl.

PS I don’t mean to be a bitch, but when a paint company tells you to colour your world , they’re expecting an itty-bitty , eensy-weensy, teeny-weeny bit more from you. Right?

Shawn: Like the fakey backdrop from the climax of Marnie, the background here is either terribly ill-advised or intentionally employed to grant a dissonant feel of unrealness to the proceedings. Only the director and the production designer know for sure, but I feel like it’s the latter. You could go with the expected hanging chains, cinder blocks, display of horse hair whips, and rape rack, but a well-scrubbed, antiseptic-white, and daylit Long Beach bungalow promises a more touristy, vanilla experience — great for a first time tryer. Instead of a Redheaded Slut laced with Special K, you can have a refreshing Fresca served on a glossy vinyl tablecloth. The red rubber dust lip around the potted palm fronds clearly conveys that the resident likes to compartmentalize his kink; trysts are for the bedroom, but stray dirt on the kitchen tiles will not be tolerated. Flower portraits — my amateur botanist is guessing these are either croci or frangipanis — are key bespeakers of the need for prettifying the impurities of real life and keeping the pesky neighbors off your trick trail.

Richard: Okay, okay: I call shenanigans. For maybe the first time in Lurid Digs history, I think we’ve been suckered into using a total fake. First of all, I refuse to believe that the Lava Lamp Corporation makes a nightstand of that size. The proportions are all wrong, and something about the base almost makes it look Photoshopped into the image. (Though as an avid ‘shopper myself, I can tell you: getting all that gradoux placed around the edges and the shadows in alignment would be a monumental task.) Second of all, I refuse to believe that a grown adult — much less two of them — would buy a Lava Lamp nightstand. Third of all, I refuse to believe those are two grown adults on the bed. They look like the same cub, doubly-exposed.

On the other hand, if this is real, dudes have some ‘splaining to do. Why haven’t they cleaned in seven and a half months? Don’t they own a duvet? How can a normal-sized human couple share a regular-sized double bed? Don’t we all have queens now? (Watch it.) And most importantly of all: WHY DO THEY NOT OWN RAILS FOR THAT LOVELY QUEEN ANNE BED? Ugh, that’s one of my pet peeves. Just go to goddamn Salvation Army and spend the $10. IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIVES. Or life, as the case may be.

Side note: if anyone knows where to buy a Lava Lamp nightstand, let me know. Grown adults shouldn’t own them, but then, I ain’t done growing.

Richard: Sex addiction isn’t pretty. It wastes time, energy, and perfectly good sperm. It strains personal relationships and stains the carpet. It forces sensible people to forgo things like cleaning, eating, and sleeping just so they can fire off another load of knuckle babies (or slick up the vegetables in the crisper, ladies).

“Well,” I hear you rationalizing, “I may masturbate six or seven times a day, but who doesn’t? My habits are totally normal.” And true, they may be. But I would encourage you to pause the next time you start to spread your legs at Cam4 and ask a few simple questions:

1. Is my computer workspace neat and orderly?

2. Is there an Underwood typewriter collecting dust somewhere in the room? That usually indicates that you fancy yourself a writer but have never gotten around to finishing that best-selling novel BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO BUSY BEATING OFF.

3. How many sex toys are there within arm’s reach? (Over two is cause for concern.)

4. How many old pizza boxes can you see? (If you’ve got more than one, you’ve got trouble right there in River City. You also have ants.)

5. Look closely and be very honest: is there any beef jerky nearby? A packet from the Starvin’ Marvin is worrisome, but a plastic container like the kind this dude got from the German equivalent of Sam’s is a real tip-off. Call David Duchovny ASAP and ask for help. (Or, you know, a blowjob.)

FYI, with a few modifications, this questionnaire can also be used to determine whether you’re addicted to eBay, Minesweeper, or World of Warcraft. Use it in good health.

Hat tip to Jerry for this riveting find.

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