Dens From Hell

Shitty in Pink

Barrett: Far too often, interior designers overlook the obvious when giving clients the fire hazard chic room of their dreams. But the visionary behind this boudoire with the Pepto paint palette learned from the mistakes of clutterfucks past and insisted on the practical addition of fire sprinklers to the architectural plans.


When Duck Dynasty Comes A Blowin'

David: Although this interior has all of the markings of a heterosexual dwelling (as per the blow job being administered by what we think is a female), we decided to allow it entry into our collection because, well, it's such a wonderful example of how close to living like animals some folks are capable. We're thinking of critters like squirrels or rodents that instinctively hoard. But then that's an entirely different television show; so never mind.


The Passing of a Bygone World

Shawn: It's like The Walking Dead's title credit sequence -- lots of timeworn objects representing the passing of a bygone world. Hell, this whole thing could be a Walking Dead set. An old schoolhouse, maybe? A crumbling farmhouse? There's an elegiacal quality to virtually every human curio in sight: books redolent of lost language piled on an antique hutch, children's toys gathering dust, Mom's sun bonnet sitting in a box, the keyboard lying open and silent.


I Never Met a Mancave I Didn't Loathe

Eric: Picture it -- Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin, 1971. A particularly arch, freakishly erudite 5-year-old boy is forced to spend time yet again amongst aging Norwegians in a quaint, rustic weekend fishing community instead of at the library...

Perhaps that's why I hate this type of paneling, hate this type of finish, hate this type of kitschy theme decor, hate this type of plastic light fixture...


A Magical Arthurian Corner of One's Own

Shawn: Look, if pressed, most of us will admit that we're all wizards of our own personal lost kingdoms, and I say that as someone with a Thunder Punch He-Man and the fucking Kraken side-eyeing me atop my desk as I write this. I personally get a kick out of entering an unfamiliar abode and feeling like I'm stepping into Narnia or Oz. This scene -- despite some of the sore-thumb anachronisms -- is giving me distinct Arthurian vibes.


Wicker Wonderland with a Blue Flyswatter

Richard: It's tricky to critique pics from Manhunters in other countries. What's sexy and sultry in Estonia can seem silly and sappy in the States -- and vice versa. So I'm a little apprehensive about analyzing this shot, which I'm guessing comes from Holland, based in part on those curtains and in part on other factors. If I'm wrong, someone please send this man a Hickory Farms apology bouquet on my behalf. 


The Deflating Influence of Masonite

Richard: All cards on the table: I popped a B-movie boner when I first saw this shot. I mean, how many sex pics could've possibly been taken on the 1973 set of Texas Chainsaw Massacre? And more importantly: how many of those could've survived? This was cinematic history!


Rogue Pet Shop or John Wayne Gacy's Lair?

David: With only the items in this room, I can build a giant colonial-style spaceship with ornate brass detailing. That's one possibility. Or I can call the Humane Society and demand they launch a full scale investigation. I mean, where is the iguana? Where is the monkey? Where are the goldfish? Those possibilities aside, I must comment on the instantaneous tackiness of wall-to-wall wood paneling peopled with photographs of Heather Locklear. No wonder the animals fled.


The Best Little VHS Collection in Texas

Richard: This, ladies and gentlemen, is how you stage a sexpic.

Ignore the wood paneling. It'll grow on you. Ignore the valance, made from some poor, shivering baby's bedsheets. Ignore the hideous cut-glass lamp and its ill-advised, wood-finished, chinoiserie side table pilfered from the second-best little whorehouse in Texas. I even encourage you to ignore the pre-framed art -- after all, someone's gotta keep Big Lots in business.


Beyond the Green Door

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?



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