Steve: This serene, gallery-quality forest print on pressed fiberboard has started to warp and ripple. The humidity level of this environment is TOO HIGH for the proper care of art. This print must be moved to an environment of lower humidity immediately if the remaining value is to be preserved. Art is something that must be treasured, like a fine fur.

David: I know I’m supposed to analyze the interior design elements here but this fucker is wearing my high school ring, the very ring I “lost” at an East LA tarot reading parlor back in 1982. Goddamn it!
 

Shawn: I feel nothing but sympathy for this guy. He probably figured taking up with those kindly old ladies would be a sweet deal. How could he know they were actually elderly pornographers who target skid row hustlers, lure them back to their respectable-looking suburban split-level and ultimately coerce them to don glittery Santa attire for their web-based smut ring? The dainty, lacy curtains belie a yuletide off-to-grandmother’s-house-we-go warmth and conceal the organized crime within. The chintzy dime store vase has a very “Mama’s Family” rerun vibe while the fakey flower arrangement at once invites you to have a sugar cookie and pay no attention whatsoever to the hidden camera.

Richard: “So, do you like it? It was a total rush job — grandma stepped out of the house for, like, ten minutes, and it took me almost that long to dig out the Naughty Santa costume she’d worn for Halloween. Then I had to set up the tripod and the camera in the living room — I mean, I didn’t even have time to do the red-eye thing. Still, I think it’ll make a nice Christmas card, don’t you, Uncle Jim?”

Richard: Under normal circumstances, I could be content writing about the unrelenting beigeness of this interior, or perhaps the unearthly “hand toned” landscape dangling above the classy sleeper sofa, but I haven’t had my coffee this morning, and I’ve got post-Kung Pao indigestion, so I’m gonna go for the jugular and talk about the guy.

I’ll go out on a limb and guess that Romeo-in-Waiting here is a mathematician, or at least the kind of person who excelled at algebra. Which is not to say that I hold a deep-seated grudge against men who can solve for X, but let’s face it: they tend to be a little “left brain”.

It looks like Poindexter caught half an episode of Trading Spaces (which is all anyone should be exposed to, anyway) and ran straight to Sam’s to pick up grosses of votive candles, side tables, and ID lubricant. Which is fine, but whereas a right-brained geometry enthusiast would’ve arranged his new wares in a random pattern to interest the eye, this poor zhlub has chosen fearful, fearful symmetry. Still, we needn’t lavish him with all our pity — we ought to save some of it for his Manhunt blind date.

John: Thank you, Richard, for reminding us that the Beige Lifestyle is a choice; nobody is born that way. But I think Poindexter — for that surely must be his dream name, as Bezuzu was Linda Blair’s dream name in Exorcist II — I think he’s making an epic effort to break out and go gay.

It is not lost on me that he has coordinated the room to pick up the colors in that remarkable paint-by-the-numbers above his bed. I recognize it as Mountain Idly #267, and I suspect P did it, as I did mine, during art therapy at the rehab. It could have been worse. One girl in my class — like so many of us, another showkid in recovery — did the whole ballet series (#430 - 440) and now her bedroom is a pink-striped candy box, with lamps that look like they’re wearing tutus.

So kudos to Poindexter, for going nuts with the forest green bedsheets and matching under garment — alas, it’s too modest to be really called underwear. See that there is the problem: those swim trunks you’re wearing plus the lined-up candles plus the pull-out sofa bed — they’re all too psychically beige to be a true break with your tragic lifestyle.

One suspects that even after chatting up a man for hours online and then meeting him in a coffee shop to check out the goods and then driving him back in a fever to your den of beige sin, you still end up having profoundly anonymous sex — if mutual handjobs can still be called sex.

Richard: I’m not entirely certain how the Lurid Digs handmaidens got their lube-stained mitts on this doozie, but I must say I’m impressed. I mean, it’s not every day that one stumbles across a color photograph of renowned Norwegian painter Edvard Munch — much less on a site usually dedicated to gay pornography. (That is what we’re discussing here, right: gay porn?)

Anyway, as we can all clearly see, this dates from Munch’s early career. In fact, in the work hanging behind the artist’s well-sculpted buttocks, we can see his use of the rich, earth-toned palette he would later immortalize in that perennial dorm room favorite, The Scream (although the painting we see here is clearly a derivative depiction of Oslo’s famous botanical gardens, executed in the manner of Monet).

The photographer seems to have interrupted Mr. Munch in the process of creating a rather naughty self-portrait — such paintings were, in fact, often discreetly displayed on the exterior of urban dwellings across Europe, and they are generally considered predecessors to the “Manhunt headless dick shot” so common today. Let us hope that Edvard’s quest for hot, Scandinavian booty led to a very warm night for all parties.

John: This guy is so succulent, his dick so thick that it kills me that he has such great taste too. He knows — was born knowing — he could only exist in a room like this, a room that aspires to all that is best in Best Western. The anonymous lamp, the anonymous wood, the anonymous panels. Can we please have sex through a gloryhole?

The Motel 6 aesthetic is the Meth-Viagra of room decor — as this heavily-donged bastard so clearly asserts. I bet he even knows never to speak like the educated brainiac that he so obviously is. An art school graduate, I’d say, judging from the impressionist sunset — clearly a post-modern jest — which he hangs, perhaps a tad too knowingly, at an ironic angle as if all he’s good for is fucking on the floor until the walls rattle.

Steve: I’ll be moving in next week; thanks.
 
 
 

Richard: The wallpaper, hot rod calendar, and Arm and Hammer on the mantel say “straight,” but the eyes say “If you can get my rock-hard rocket-cock down your throat, I’ll overlook the goddamn Adam’s Apple.

David: I’ve had to force an appraisal of this photo just so we could post it. That’s how perfectly grand it is. I tell myself what’s happening here is an effort to put nude art on the walls of this grocery-clogged little apartment. Most likely BIG BIG art.

But I feel bad for the art-making project’s model: The bear in the chair. The massive size of the photographer’s camera implies: “Your meat’s so tiny I need to use the exact same equipment that was employed when the outer reaches of the universe were photographed at the Griffith Observatory last summer.”

But our bear’s a trooper — oblivious to insult. Look at the way he’s always ready; making eye contact with the camera despite the lens being focused waaaaaaaaaaay south of a proper portrait. And the vulnerable position of his fingers resting upon his thigh — he’s staying accessible until the very last shot. God love him.

I love this picture.

Steve: The fact that there are two photographers hovering around this poor, sweet man makes me a little nervous, and I think it’s having the same effect on him.

The truth is that the photo we’re looking at is way better than any image that may come from the macro lens horror of the singularly unappealing man towering over our vulnerable bear friend. I just want to throw everyone out of the room and snuggle up.

We’ve finally found the musical expression we’ve so desperately needed to take this site to the next level. Thanks to the massive informational resource known as YouTube, previously unattainable grace and style are always at our finger tips.

Let the redecorating begin!

We’ll start with the curtains and the cushions and then maybe do a duvet up as well.

And why not go hog wild? Especially when you’ve got beefcake-inspired fabric like designer Nicole DeLeon’s to choose from.

And choose you must between “Cowboy Hunks” and “Heavy Equipment.” Both designs are only $8.75 a yard and available immediately online (because you just can’t wait) from eQuilter’s.

Get your sew on!