John Calendo That is crushed velour he's put his sweaty, naked ass on. And are those open shoe boxes, and a bag of groceries in the hallway. On the fucking floor, Einstein! Like, what level in hell is this? Is Son of Sam doing Trading Spaces now? Stop living out of a Cup-a-Soup carton, guy.
	Heather Corinna Oh, for the love of god, it's the damn socks again. I swear, you picked this just to antagonize me, David, you big meanie. Let's just call this one American Gothic version 3.0, be done with it and mauve on, shall we?
	David K When I try and imagine the abodes of people who open fire on other people shopping for lunch at rural McDonald's across the nation, I picture interiors like this one. Disturbing verification is to be found in the subliminal black letter "R" interwoven into the carpert: REDRUM! REDRUM!
	Jim Buck White metal torcheres? Mauve-toned recliners? Boxes for endtables? There's only one place this could be: the sex-paradise hideaway of the Simbianese Liberation Army. Now 75% gayer!