Fugly!: The Horror, Documented
“Dear Lord Baby Jesus, or as our brothers to the south call you, Jesús, we thank you so much for this bountiful harvest of Domino’s, KFC, and the always delicious Taco Bell. I just want to take time to say thank you for my family, my two beautiful, beautiful, handsome, striking sons, Walker and Texas Ranger, or T.R. as we call him, and of course, my red-hot smoking wife, Carly who is a stone-cold fox.”
From the blonde & brunette who got paid for facilitating this classic American atrocity against humanity and the Earth: "The East Coast owners of a sprawling hunting ranch in Southern Texas, stumped for the perfect encapsulation of their vision for this Lone Star vacation property, coined the hybrid term, Mexas,* in a moment of ingenious wordplay. The 27,000 square foot private hunting ranch located in Southern Texas." There's a whole lotta "sic" up in there. !Hasta la Revolucion! * Me-xas. Of course.
This manages to be creepier than it should be. It seems like it sprang from the imagination of a sleezeball Eurobillionaire who thinks of swimming women like the proles think about polar bears in zoos. Why is the lady swimming in front of a business table? Just ew. Nobody is sexy enough to move this scenario beyond creepy. Maybe polar bears.
Creme de menthe nightmare: Surrounded by molding yogurt walls, Frozen Princess Anna peers into crystal opera glasses all day, watching the adventures of her younger self playing in a loop on far-away, giant black ballroom teevee. "That gal's got moxie," she rasps occasionally through the windpipe hole.
Shouldn't every worker get a basement amphitheatre to commemorate her/his labour accomplishments? Asking for a friend.
That second-story verandah is a terrific space wasted on the pheasant-murdering slavers who occupy this house. Also, Deborah Winger wore that sleeveless dress out for margaritas far better in 1979 than the curtain rod is currently. THAT CURTAIN ROD IS NO DEBORAH WINGER!
Gilded Tear-down, or Much Ado About Nothing. Whatever pious devotee of shit-stage capitalism lives here has bedazelled butt pockets on their jeans. Is it socially rational that people who manifest such aesthetic/moral atrocities are sequestered in suburbs? When they cry "Market liberation!" should we read that as, "This is the only plausible scenario in which I am not institutionalized?"
Nice rug for a medical clinic.
Brown sponge painting and El Viejo spanish bench give hepatic couch center stage! I wonder if it pulses.
This room is a pictoral argument for outlawing tax shelters, restoring labor rights & the welfare state. It says to us: 'Burn me down. Burn it all down.'
Almost good...and then BAM! What the hell is that table thing? It's dressed as Scooby Doo's friend Daphne.
Why it's important a) for upper cabinets to be white, and b) to invest in windows.
"Playfully" militaristic, incorporating a Hurt Locker, plus a little, neurotic "Stay Cute 'n' Sweet" symbol cut into the metal door. You could torture someone in this hallway, get blood and human feces on the walls, and turn the hose on it (and the enemy combatant) for total cleansing! Heart. Heart cut into freezer door. Heart ripped out of chest cavity.
I see a frail Frankenstein's Bride sitting here anxiously in her senescence.
Things to buy and put in your home when you would induce your family members to stab their eyeballs out.
Every day would be terrifying. "Won't someone tell me please, why must we have a slightly-smaller-than-lifesized, demonically upsidedown, burnt, crucified Christ dominating our posh modern manse?"
The Sea Hag's kitchen, after she retires from her HR management position with EuroDisney Inc.
Liberace's Cadaver III: The Lion King's villain Scar shows off his Late Austro-Hungarian Apocalypse summer retreat. Here is where the evil uncle puts back thematic lemon danishes.
Liberace's Cadaver II: If it's good enough for 5 kinds of XMas wrapping, it's good enough for the dining room! You will be served carved, candied ham here. Yes, Great Aunt Delores, I will have another rum cordial.
Liberace's Cadaver I: This is surprisingly exactly how I as a 12 year old painted the set for the no-royalties Midwestern middle school play, "Something Something Aristocracy Farce."
Reminiscent of Wisconsin Dells in the 1970s. Is that a hole-less putting green plopped down there? I am pretty sure the Seven Dwarves live, golf here.
An Alpentroll throws up in Scottsdale.
I shall be grateful to wait here, on an Inquisition chair, for Lady Phiona of the Saturday Afternoon Special to descend and hear my petition.
Q