Your Kindness keeps us Mean!

Design Experts

Richard writes the infamous queer blog 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

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Richard:Look, I get it: you're busy. After 31 years at Crazy Ed's Insurance Warehouse, you were shitcanned and replaced by an Eric Trump wannabe. Those Peanuts collectibles you bought on eBay, hoping that they'd appreciate in value and fund your retirement, turned out to be Chinese knockoffs from the Peanoughts collection. Uber isn't as lucrative as you'd hoped, so you're juggling 17 side-hustles to make ends meet. Ain't nothing going on but the rent, baby.

But for fuck's sake, that's no reason to take your frustrations out on your house. In this shot alone, you've committed two-and-a-half of the Gay Gods' cardinal sins and we haven't even peeked at the bathroom.

First things first: take down that bitch of a shawl collection (and those pastel button-downs) from the quilt rack and put a quilt where it ought to be. You'll brighten up the room and prepare for an overdue garage sale in one fell swoop.

Next, take everything off the wall. How many times must we say it? Wallpaper and wall hangings are mutually exclusive. Why would you spend hundreds of dollars on the awful wallpaper and hundreds more on installation, just to punch holes in that shit? Go to the attic, bring down the leftovers from the roll, and patch up the mess you've made. If you have to sell the house, you'll thank me.

Last but not least, get a light switch plate that complements the wallpaper but doesn't blend in. It's a bedroom, not Disney's Haunted Fucking Mansion. On the rare occasions that require you to use an overhead light, you ought to be able to find it.

David: Hey Guys

A lot of you didn't like the old comment section on Lurid Digs. (And neither did we -- fighting off the non-stop stream of bots and spam was a nightmare).

Sooooo, we have integrated into Facebook's comment system. The good news is that if you are already on Facebook you can leave a comment easily. The bad news is that you have to be on Facebook to leave a comment. We're hoping you are on Facebook.

This way your comments go up immediately -- which is what a lot of you missed about the old Lurid Digs set up.

Hope to hear all of your snarky love soon. START POSTING!


David K.

Eric: I'm reminded of my first attempt at self-employment. Seems I knew a lot of folks whose attempts at tasteful decor had gone too far, veered into 'piss-elegant' territory. "Trying too hard," I would whisper to myself. I figured I'd go in and, for a fee, tone things down, even them out, butch up. I was gonna call it Room's Too Gay?, and my fortune would be made. But it was 1975, I was nine years old, and the idea did not catch fire.

So here we are, peering in on a space teetering on the brink. Fortunately, it can be wrestled back in short order. The fix itself is easy and we'll knock it into order quickly. First, we must address not the room itself, but its current use.

Guys, if you're going to stage a Greco-Roman play-perv-you I mean pay-per-view event in the parlour, don't put the concession stand so close to the action. You want the audience to have to walk past the merch to get to the food.

Speaking of souvenirs, where are they? You need bumper stickers, key chains, tee shirts, edible jockstraps, ballsweat-scented candles....

I'm in favor of feeding guests (especially if they're paying extra for it), but there's a lot going on on that table, most of it unspeakable.

Serviceable design is available at any price point. At the discount store, one can find convertible trifle bowl/cake stands, serving pieces, platters and large bowls in glass and (shudder) pressed plastic. Invest in them.

Our host didn't even fold the bags down so the inner foil shows. We call that Redneck Fancy, and it's better than nothing, technically.

As to the room itself? Simple. Slap up a chair rail and paint everything between it and the crown molding 3 shades lighter than the window trim. While you're over there, rip down those frilly balloon shades and replace them with unpleated floor-length curtains in a simple ticking stripe.

Get your artwork anywhere other than Big Lots. And get some Scotchgard -- an antimacassar is not a skeet blanket. Trust me on that one.

Hang on a sec, the phone's ringing ...

... 1990s sleazy motel trying to go respectable called. They want their carpeting back. Give it to them. Some things aren't worth fighting for.

Richard: I know what you're thinking. It's the same thing I'm thinking, the same thing everyone thinks the moment they lay eyes on this photo:

"The fuck is up with that thermostat?"

Clearly, this house was decorated in the early 2000s with the help of Paige Davis, who, like the rest of America, tended to paint everything mustard at the time. I have a hunch that the trend stems from the country's obsession with yellowcake uranium rumored to be in Iraq, but it's only a hunch.

Davis arranged to have a young, heavily muscled, frequently shirtless carpenter build and stain (but weirdly, not seal) some custom cabinetry for the living room, but the cabinetmaker was lured away from his job by the promise of boy band stardom, leaving Paige's assistant, Edna Ann, to finish the job. Alas, Edna Ann was legally blind and failed to notice the thermostat on the wall, and Paige had 15 seconds to relocate it before the homeowner walked in the door to feign surprise and delight. To this day, the thermostat doesn't actually work, since Paige just hot glued the box to the cabinet. No one has noticed.

And just so we're clear: there's no excuse for microfiber sectionals. EVER.

David: No. No. No. Just no. What's more disturbing than a Pokémon stuffed animal propped on your bed's headboard? Your 4th-grade efforts to trace your favorite Pokémon illustration hanging from the wall.

Socioculturally speaking, it's fascinating to track the after effects of the 'world at large' on individual's personal space, and I'm afraid this bedroom is a good example of the fallout of a Donald Trump presidency. The shock of Hillary's defeat seems to have retrogressed hipsters across the nation into commencing their second childhoods decades early.

Practical design and therapeutic advice would be:

1. Call Hoarders Annonymous and find out their closest location and next meeting date. Do not talk in a little boy voice while conversing with the receptionist.

2. Invest in a bottle of Windex and do some deep cleaning on the lube-smeared mirror.

3. Remove the aforementioned illustrations/tracing/renderings/etchings.

4. Seek trauma counseling for the crippling aftereffects of the current presidency -- and attempt to get on with your life as an adult male.

5. Delete the Pokémon app from your smart phone.

6. Shoot new Scruff profile pics.

6. Start fucking and sucking again.