Your Kindness keeps us Mean!

Design Experts

Richard writes the infamous queer blog Sturtle.com. 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: At some point or other, you've probably been bitten by the home improvement bug. You awoke on the floor of your lanai or your kitchen or, if you're German, your enema dungeon, clutching an empty bottle of Luxardo and thought, "This room could use some sprucing up."

Next thing you knew, you were rolling a giant orange cart back to your car, laden with 12 gallons of "oops" paint, half a dozen rollers, and a few of the cheapest brushes ever produced in central Asia. You got it all home, group-texted a small army of friends, promised the world's best pizza party if only they'd come help apply a little paint to your sad walls, and waited. And waited. And waited. And eventually ordered one small cheese pizza and a Diet Coke, an order that Domino's still managed to fuck up.

And so, you set to work all by your lonesome. Only, you realized that you forgot some important shit in the paint aisle--namely, drop cloths and painter's tape. You were like, "Eh, I'll just be extra careful," and you ran down the street to the corner store to pick up a handful of News on Wheels to lay on the floor. And of course, you didn't want to mess up your clothes, so since you were working alone, you decided to paint in the buff. You put on your favorite Right Said Fred CD and voila, SEXY PAINT TIMES!

You managed fine without the tape, at least at the top of the walls. The floor turned into kind of a mess, though: gravity became your sworn enemy that day. And worst of all, for the first time ever, you noticed that there were water marks on the ceiling and mold stains below, and why in the motherfucking fuckity fuck fuck didn't you ever finish hanging that door, anyway?

The next morning, you awoke with an empty bottle of Fernet-Branca in your hand and called that real estate agent who sometimes gives you handy-js at the gym and told him to list your place pronto. Signing over the title to a 30something straight DINK couple who looked like poster children for the tech industry in their $400 hoodies, you thought to yourself, "I hope you brought your hazmat suits, suckers!", and laughed all the way to the bank.

David: Ever enter a room (or opened a refrigerator) and thought to yourself: "Jesus fuck ... there must be a cure for cancer growing in here." Well, so, yeah -- THAT!

Obvious pointers arise from the depths of our designer Dos and Don'ts list -- which, really?... must we highlight? A little white paint would go a long way. Empty the trash can. Maybe add several more 'red arrow' notices to make sure everyone knows where the fire extinguisher (!) is located. Oy. Some art on the walls would be nice. Or maybe just one of those posters of a big-titted gal in a thong leaning over the opened hood of a car -- pretending to know where the head gasket is on the motor. You know real 'guy art.'

We have to give props for what looks to be the air conditioner hidden behind aluminum mini-blinds. But then how does light enter this room. Oh! rhetorical question. Any biology major knows you need shadowing to grow the best mold specimens. See, we might be design experts but that doesn't mean any of us graduated high school.

Best feign hearing reveille and exit this room pronto. (But leave your urine sample with the nurse in the back corner.)

Richard: Ladies and gentlemen, Lurid Digs is proud to present a technological breakthrough: the internet's first scratch-and-sniff jpg! It's so advanced, you don't even have to scratch your screen. Just sniff!

Sniff, and inhale in the musty scent of that dingy sofa (which the owner probably calls a couch)! Why open the sliding doors and let in a little fresh air when you can breathe and rebreathe such an intoxicating fragrance?

Sniff, and take in the mingled odors of stale beer and dog food! Doesn't that take you back to your heady, trailer park days?

Sniff, and enjoy the aroma of dust and dander, infused into yards of mismatched fabrics, from the drapes to the throw blanket to the tablecloth that's been tastefully placed beneath the TV! Call off the septic service: a clogged tank would only enhance the proletarian perfume of this magnificent room.

David: Missing drawers, missing photos, missing hangers, missing plastic seat covers (for when you're self-sucking yourself into a frenzy and get too much of a mouthful and then, well -- I mean, spillage! -- come on!)

Because nearly 80 percent of the submissions we receive here at LD are snatched from hook-up site profiles we're continually forced to offer commentaries that act as utilitarian Queer Culture PSAs. We don't mind providing this service, although it gets to be tedious regarding frequency. I mean, the one faux pas we see repeatedly? Family photos in the background of the interiors. Or in this case, the room denizen's own baby photo which creates a creepy Lynchian contrast when placed in the vicinity of his uroboric shenanigans.

So, rule number one: All family photos go into a drawer (well, a slot in this case. As mentioned above the drawer's gone missing).

A quick closing note: Pink is never a good wall color for a man's bedroom. Ever. Especially when coupled with white dresser and closet doors that feature that faux French colonial vibe. It all harkens back to Patty's cousin Cathy's bedroom, from the old (very old now) Patty Duke Show. To borrow from that show's theme song it can "make you can lose your mind." And we kinda have on this interior. We're logging off now -- before this guy's next Chaturbate session begins.

David: One of America's finest novelists, Don DeLillo once noted: “Before pop art, there was such a thing as bad taste. Now there's kitsch, schlock, camp, and porn.” We've a sneaking suspicion that Mr. DeLillo might have found inspiration for his quote after appraising the discomfiting color and texture collision of this particular closet-into-a-room conversion. (It's nice to know that DeLillo is a fan of the site -- though how he got privy to our collection of unpublished contenders on our computers is a mystery. Damn Russians -- they are trawling everwhere nowadays!)

Like the occupant of this room, we too would avoid, whenever possible, sitting (sinking?) into the maneating love seat and matching chair ensemble. Unless of course, we were participating in a Keep the USA Green campaign -- but even then the dull, dank Phthalocyanine Green fabric (?) bestows a toxic or mold-like vibe that does little to convey a clean, sprightly American environment. So nix that idea.

So, yes, best stand on the furniture and then leap or tumble-roll out of the room once you've completed your selfie-snapping in this unsafe space. Sometimes, regarding a space or a place -- once is enough. And we concur.