Bailey: The Gateway Drug to BBW Porn

It began innocently enough. I was 18, fresh out of Boot Camp and checking onto my first ship. After that first day was over with I hopped onto my rack to sleep. As I was about to hit the light, I saw something poking out from under the mattress.

An issue of Plumpers magazine, left over from the previous tenant. Up until then, my porn content had been mainstream stuff—and I mean stuff that was mainstream in the 90's—Club and Cherie magazine, High Society, and Penthouse and the occasional Hustler, Scramble Porn, compilation tapes surreptitiously ordered from Adam and Eve catalogues. I had lived 18 years on the planet without ever seeing a fat girl naked. I'd thought about it sometimes on an intellectual level. It probably would've stayed that way if I had never found that Plumpers. Hell, I'm willing to bet that if there had been one of those disgusting, hyper-obese women on the cover, i would've burned the magazine immediately, albeit remain scarred for life. But no, I was greeted with the cute smiling face of Bailey, complete with a pair of white fuck-me go go boots. I was done for. I felt something awake in my nether regions and the idea of naked fat girls was no longer just an intellectual curiosity.

Bailey to me at the time was one of those cute girls you never thought you'd see nude because she didn't fit the body paradigm of anyone I had seen naked up to that point. Do you remember the days when porn was free of amputees, septuagenarians, ouvert crackheads and homeless chicks, and scat set to creepy music? Sure they were always out there but it wasn't so easy to find. Simpler days.

She was as cute a button. The type of girl who was friends with the insecure hot girl because of her self esteem building powers. In high school you were kind of attracted to her but you were afraid of the shit you'd get for admitting it. And guys, including you, would only talk to her as a way to getting to her hot friend. It's a symbiotic relationship between those two when you think about it.

Now here she is, completely stripped, and no one around to fuck with you about what you felt. I did what felt natural.

And in no time, I fell into the rabbit-hole that is the world of BBW porn. Pretty soon I was scoring my own issues of Plumpers. I moved on to other BBW publications, videos. Attending BBW parties. Sex with a few. Even dated a couple of chubby girls. I struggled with it as I became more open with it. Most of all I didn't want to be that clichéd black guy who was into fat, mostly white, chicks (I don't go a week without seeing that cliché walking down the street).

But as time went on it went from being an oddity that I kept hidden to more of a piece of a wide spectrum of types of women I like. And boy is that spectrum is wide. You have to figure that one Wonder Tracy has to equal four or five Morgan Laynes.

Thinking back on Bailey recently I can't help but think how much of a gateway drug she proved to be. Because I did end up lusting after the disgusting hyper-obese ones for a while(don't worry, I'll keep those to a minimum here). In fact she revolutionized my entire life. I'm still trying to decide if that's a good thing. There are people I suppose who are still trying to decide whether their raging heroin addiction is a good thing. Either way, finding more of her stuff (in fact finding that plumper's magazine) has been something of a holy grail for me. And if I find that she's done hardcore, well, I'm in heaven.

Chaz: The other BBW gateway drug

Have A Look See Around The Manor

ABC News took some fun footage of the surprisingly lackluster interior of smoky voiced Candy Spelling's Holmby Hills house that she recently heaved on to the market with a coma inducing $150,000,000 asking price. We thought the children might like having a peep around what is thought to be the largest private residence in California.

In the video we get to see the impress the guests style entrance hall with its double height ceiling, twin curving staircases and a chandelier the size of a Volkswagen. There's also video of a Renoir painting, a paneled office/library, a game room that looks like something in the basement of a mid-priced hotel, a doll museum the size of most people's homes, a two lane bowling alley, the flowery breakfast room, the dining room where there is another stupendously sized chandelier, and the kitchen, a room we're certain Miz Spelling never enters except to grab a carton of ciggies out of the freezer.

Okay, we don't really know if Miz Spelling smokes, but her voice sounds like she's been smoking since she was pre-pubescent.

In a recent interview on ABCs 20/20 program–which we've yet to find in it's entirety online, we learned that Candy Darling does not know how exactly many rooms or bathrooms there are in her hotel sized house–a fact sure to piss off the terlit gurls, has a new book coming out called Stories from Candyland, has dozens of collections of expensive tchotchkes, has never met her granddaughter and, shockingly, claims not know where her daughter Tori lives.

She lives in a big house in Encino, hunny. Give Your Mama a ringy-dingy and we'll slip you the address.

UPDATE: Isaiah Washington

Way back in July of 2007, Your Mama discussed the Hancock Park adjacent condominium that too big for his britches ack-tor Isaiah Washington listed and sold in the aftermath of his very public and had to be humiliating heave-ho from hospital drama Grey's Anatomy.

At the time, it was posited by a real estate gossip or two that Mister Washington and family might pack their bags and head back to Houston, TX where records show they own a 4,653 square foot house on Vintage Centre Drive.

However, as it turns out, they stayed in Tinseltown and moved into a newly built and pricey rental property facing the Sherman Canal in Venice, CA. That should have been the end of that, particularly since it looked like Mister Washington was managing to right his professional boat with a recurring role on the short lived and universally panned Bionic Woman boob-toob remake as well as lead roles in two upcoming films.

But alas. It seems the drama sticks to Mister Washington like gum to the bottom of a shoe. According to Perez Hilton (via Radar), Mister Washington and family have been evicted from their Sherman Canal rental for failing to pay five months in back rent totaling $100,000. That's right children, e-vick-tuhd.

If we're being honest, and we always are, we don't feel so bad for Mister Washington. He sorta cooked his own goose in Hollywood by getting all mouthy and big headed before his star had risen high enough for him to get all mouthy and big headed. However, the man does have a wife and kids and it's unfortunate they too have to bear the brunt of this real estate brouhaha.

For those 12 children who still nurse a soft spot for Mister Washington, y'all can rest easier knowing he hasn't lost everything because it appears that he's still got that big house in Houston and his big black Mercedes G-Class car-truck thing.

Grate Expectorations

It was a good time; it was a bad time. It was the age of smartness; it was the age of George Bush. It was the epoch of gullibility; it was the epoch of mulishness. It was the season of brilliance; it was the season of dimness. It was the summer of optimism; it was the autumn of defeat. We had abundance up our butts; we had nil lodged in our posteriors. We were all going non-stop to Disneyland; we were all on the express line to Detroit. In short, the era was so much like the present era that some of it's loudest commentators insisted on its being declaimed in the most extreme terms alone.

Thus does Charles Dickens's beloved novel, A Tale of Two Cities not begin. It's not pretty when some lesser writer rewrites Dickens, is it? And what writer isn't less than Dickens?

PBS's fancy-schmancy series Masterpiece Classic, which used to be called Masterpiece Theater back during its first 40 or so years on the air, is doing a season of Dickens adaptations, and last night they began an ultra-long miniseries of Little Dorrit, one of Dickens's best books. Okay, fine. Masterpiece Whatever has a long history of showing superb Dickens adaptations, taking the time to fully adapt and dramatize 900 page novels without hacking them to pieces to cram into a 2 or 3 hour long movie. Further, Little Dorrit, unlike Oliver Twist or David Copperfield or A Tale of Two Cities or A Christmas Carol, hasn't been dramatized a billion times already. (A Christmas Carol is fast approaching 2 billion, not that anyone will ever top the Mr. Magoo version, so why bother?) Neither has Martin Chuzzlewit been over-adapted, but it's a lousy book, if not quite the piece of crap that The Old Curiosity Shop is. They have run two versions of Bleak House, one with Diana Rigg as Lady Dedlock, and one with that woman from The X Files in that role, and Bleak House is not exactly one of Dickens's masterpieces. (The chapters where Dickens writes in the first person as his heroine, Esther Summerson, are laughably terrible.) For that matter, Barnaby Rudge, one of his best early novels, is sadly under-adapted also.

Little Dorrit has had one major dramatization. 22 years ago a six-hour movie was made of it in England, starring Sir Derek Jacobi, the divine Joan Greenwood in her final performance, Sir Alec Guinness, and, according to the credits: "Introducing Sarah Pickering as Little Dorrit." I'm afraid she was merely a passing acquaintance, as now, 22 years later, Little Dorrit remains the sole entry on her IMDb resume. Sir Alec was nominated for an Oscar. Little Sarah was banished back to Victorian England.

It was an odd film, as you might expect of a six-hour movie. It told the story twice. The first three hours, Nobody's Fault (Dickens's original title for the novel) told the whole story from Arthur Clenham's (the hero) point-of-view, the second three hours, Little Dorrit's Story (Someone was up all night coming up with that title), retold the same story from - wait for it - Little Dorrit's POV. So, despite a six-hour running time, they still had to condense the plot, and eliminate the main villain, Rigaud, and the villainess, Miss Wade. But on the good side, we got to see a lot of the exact same scenes twice! Oh joy!

It did feature excellent performances from Jacobi, Guinness, Greenwood, and Miriam Margoyles, who is a scream, and they had the sense to use Dickens's dialogue.

Here's the Dorrit family holding forth at the Marshalsea debtor's prison, as illustrated by "Phiz," aka Hablot K. Browne, in the original publication.

So I settled in happily to watch the new TV adaptation, a 14-part version (Half-hour episodes. Fortunately, Masterpiece Classic is running them four-at-a-time, so it won't take all spring to watch.), secure in the knowledge that this time they'd do the whole story. Sure enough, there was resentful Miss Wade, seducing the equally resentful Tattycorum (Played by Doctor Who's Freema Agyeman, although Dickens might be quite surprised to learn the character is now black, and has battled the Daleks.) in a decidedly Lesbianic manner, and there was the homicidal Rigaud, played by Andy Serkis, who I'm told was in The Lord of the Rings with me although we never met, perhaps because I was so involved in the passionate love affair I was having with Gollum at the time. (See my account of our mad affair in Tolkien Resistance.) Andy also played the title role in the recent King Kong. Longtime readers and fans know of my affair with the original Kong, so Andy, I'm afraid, is just trying to get into my panties. Andy, all you have to do is ask, and bring a bottle.

And then there was the dialogue, the non-Dickensian dialogue. They threw out Dickens's dialogue and wrote new dialogue! Sure, and while you're at it, why not present Hamlet without all that overwritten Shakespearean blather? "To off myself, or not? What a question!" Isn't that better? Imagine the ego of the adaptor, Andrew Davies, believing he writes better dialogue than Charles Dickens, whose language has lived for a century and a half.

The big jolt came early on, when Little Amy Dorrit dropped in on her sister Fanny, and Fanny said to her "Never come here again; you cramp my style." YOU CRAMP MY STYLE??? Now we have Characters from the 1830s who are not only not speaking in Dickens's rich language, but who are using anachronistic expressions from the late 20th Century!

Look up "Lousy Writing" in the dictionary and you'll find the name "Andrew Davies."

And this is not a first offense for Masterpiece Classic. A couple weeks back they ran a fresh adaptation of Oliver Twist. Now if there is a Dickens novel that does not need another dramatization, it's Oliver Twist, which has been done and done and done and done. What did this new version have for us that the umpteen billion previous versions did not? Well first off, all of Dickens's familiar, beloved dialogue went out the window. "Prostitute," a word that appears nowhere in the novel, nor in most of Victorian literature, pops out of people's mouths. What was shocking about Oliver Twist when it was first published was that no novel before in that most-repressed of societies had dared have thieves and whores as major characters, but Dickens did not push it so far as to name Nancy's profession. Okay. We're being "franker."

But when a character said to another "Up yours!" I knew we were in Anachronismland. They even stuck in a scene in which the courts offer Fagin clemency if he will renounce his Judaism and accept Christ. That's not in the book. Shakespeare had Shylock sentenced to Christian conversion, but Dickens didn't push the anti-Semitism so far. The musical Oliver, even though it eliminated Rose Maylie and Monks, was still truer to Dickens than this well-acted mess. The writer's name was Sarah Phelps. Shame, Sarah, shame! I'd expect such heresy from Sarah Palin.

I see a TV adaptation of Othello in Andrew Davies's resume. Can you imagine what he's done to that? "Turn off the light, and then turn off the light? If I turn this lamp off, I can always switch it back on again if I need to find the bathroom in the night. But once switch off Desdemona's lights, I do not know where the hell I keep her bulbs, to replace her burnt-out filaments, should I wish to sit up late and read a book."

In between Oliver Twist and Little Dorrit, they ran a relatively condensed edition of David Copperfield from a few years ago, with Harry Potter as Little David. Frankly, I didn't have the courage to watch it, dreading seeing Albus Micawberdore defeat Voldeheep.

Charles Dickens was an intimate friend of mine. Surely you've read of his lengthy, passionate affair with a much-younger actress during the last decade of his life? Well, contrary to popular opinion, I am younger than Charles Dickens, and have been for most of my life. Sure, his biographers call her "Ellen Ternan," but they were just protecting my reputation, a pointless pastime if ever there was one.

Charlie read all of his books to me, and I helpfully pointed out where they could be improved, usually by the addition of more drinking and sex. Dickens liked sex all right. The man had 10 children and a mistress. But he kept it out of his books. Oliver Twist was a bastard, but we joined his history long after his conception. So Charlie, who was nothing if not a an egomaniac, usually ignored my suggestions.

So I know about Charlie. You don't rewrite Dickens. You're safer rewriting Sondheim than Dickens, and Sondheim is still alive to come and get you. (and he will!)

Here's Charlie and his daughters, Mary & Kate, with myself, at Gad's Hill Place, as Charlie reads an extremely advance pre-publication (130 years pre-publication, in fact) copy of my book, My Lush Life. Charlie was consumed with jealousy of my writing skill, which resulted in some very intense anger-sex, the best kind.

One of the great literary mysteries is: why did the enormously prolific Dickens write no novels for the last five years of his life, and, when he did finally start a new book, The Mystery of Edwin Drood, he never even bothered to finish it? The answer is so obvious. As this famous painting, Dickens's Daydream, shows, it was because all he could think about was me, crowding his fictional creations right out of his mind. Sorry. I am now the only person left on earth who knows whodunit to Edwin Drood. (The butler, high on opium.)

Speaking of Fagin, who was played by the always-wonderful Timothy Spall in the recent unpleasantness, here is George Cruikshank's original illustration of him in his cell awaiting execution, something the musical allowed him to escape.

And here he is as portrayed by the great Barry Humphries in the musical. The original production of Oliver was Barry's West End stage debut. He was the original Mr. Sowerberry, and the song That's Your Funeral was written especially for him. He has since played Fagin many times, and may well play Nancy eventually. (Sorry about Barry scribbling all over the picture. He's always pathetically anxious to have people know he's a friend of mine. Barry, people will like you for you if you give them a chance, instead of always clinging to my petticoats.)

So, who has done a good job of adapting Dickens? Well, at the risk of sounding philistine or Hollywoodish (I am, after all, Hollywood Incarnate), I'd have to say that David O. Selznick, 74 years ago in 1935, made two of the greatest-ever Dickens films, with his productions for MGM of David Copperfield and A Tale of Two Cities, though it didn't hurt that he was filming two of Dickens's three greatest books. (Along with Great Expectations.)

Of course, Selznick's films benefited from great casting. Basil Rathbone was born to play Mr. Murdstone and the Marquis St. Evremonde, and Edna May Oliver was surely who Dickens himself had in mind for Aunt Betsy Trotwood. How could anyone be better than Ronald Coleman as Sydney Carton? Elsa Lanchester improved everything she was ever in, and she graced David Copperfield the same year she was The Bride of Frankenstein. Blanche Yurka was terrifying as Madame DeFarge.


And then there was W. C. Fields as Wilkins Micawber.

Charles Laughton was originally cast as Micawber but, fortunately for mankind, he cocked it up so badly he was fired, and Fields was brought in. Even if the rest of the film had been horrible, and it was wonderful, it would be a classic for Fields alone. One finds oneself cursing Dickens for not making the role a larger one. When Fields as Micawber exposes the machinations of the evil Uriah Heep (Played by lovable Roland Young, Cosmo Topper himself.), you want to cheer and cry, but you're busy laughing. Many great actors have played Micawber since, from Simon Callow (Callow, not Cowell!) to Bob Hoskins, to others, but all pale beside Bill Fields, a man whose tastes in libations I can only be inspired by.

A Tale of Two Cities, my favorite of Charlie's books, has been well done since certainly, particularly in a 1957 version with Christopher Lee and Dirk Bogarde (Lee, although best known as Dracula, seems to have made a cottage industry out of playing old Basil Rathbone roles.), nonetheless the 1935 version has never been topped. The scenes of Paris under The Terror reminded me all too well of my first visit there, for my induction into the French Legion of Honor. (I am officially a Genius in France.) This photo of the festivities at the ceremony honoring me (Which I happened accidentally to miss, being a tad passed out in a wine cellar on the Left Bank at the time) could almost be a still from the movie. Too bad. It would have been an exhibitionism high for me, as I'm told I was expected to give head publically, right there on the platform!

Anyway, the point is that Selznick had the sense to leave Dickens's dialogue alone.


Who else did Dickens well? David Lean. His Great Expectations is the definitive adaptation of Dickens's greatest book, as well as Alec Guinness's film debut. And his Oliver Twist is the only one to see.


Here we see Pip in Great Expectations, rolling the most memorable character, Miss Havishamwow, brilliantly played by Martita Hunt, into the room where her long-ago wedding reception was to have been held, with the cake, the place settings, and even one of the wedding guests, still sitting out, waiting for the groom that will never come, so to speak.

For years people have told me that I'm a natural to play Miss Havishamwow. I have no idea why, unless it's because my own housekeeping is sometimes a bit underdone. After all, she was left waiting at the alter, never married, and bitterly hated all men. I lost count of my husbands somewhere around number 10, and if there's anything I love better than booze, it's men. Still, I did play a similar character, Miss Havadrink, in Great Libations. Poor Miss Havadrink was left waiting for years by the liquor store delivery man. Here I am telling Estella "Make him get you drunk, my dear."

The best Dickens dramatization I've ever seen was the 1980 Royal Shakespeare Company production of Nicholas Nickleby, which was 8 hours long. They basically just performed the whole book, neither changing nor omitting a single word or punctuation mark of it's 900 pages. There is an excellent TV recording of it, with wonderful Roger Rees and charming Emily Richards as Nicholas and Kate Nickleby.

Back in 1994, Little Dougie happened, by chance and coincidence, to meet both Roger and Emily two days apart: Emily in Bath Spa, England, where she was performing in MacBeth with Sir Derek Jacobi, and then encountering Roger in the audience of Damn Yankees on Broadway 48 hours later, in New York City. What are the odds? The RSC Nicholas Nickleby remains the gold standard for mounting Dickens, well that is, for dramatizing Dickens. I remain the gold standard for mounting him. And the RSC used ONLY dialogue written by Dickens, and a hell of a lot of his narrative passages as well. Here's a Phiz illustration of the rousing, crowd-pleasing scene where Nicholas beats the crap out of the vicious, evil Wackford Squeers, liberating the lads of Dotheboys Hall. Well, when a man has "Wack" right in his name, what can you do but wack him off? It got cheers every night! The audiences loved seeing Nick wack him off. (Shift the spaces around, and he becomes a statement of Henry Ford's homphobic employment policies: Wack Ford's Queers.)

Recently there was a darn good movie version of Nickleby, with a towering performance by the awesome Christopher Plummer as the evil Ralph Nickleby. Admittedly, Nathan Lane made a disconcertingly American Vincent Crummles, and the movie is like a Reader's Digest condensation of the novel (Look in vain for the Mantelinis), but they kept Dickens's dialogue, and had a grand cast.


Here's Tom Courtney as Newman Noggs (Tom plays Little Dorrit's father in the new version. He is not what's wrong with it.), Anne Hathaway (Not the famous one who married Shakespeare, but just some actress.) as Madeline Bray, gorgeous Charlie Hunam as Nicholas, and good old Barry Humphries as Dame Edna as Mrs. Crummles in that movie. (When you plop Barry into a film, genders often get confusing.)

And here, from everyone's favorite part of the story, the interlude with Nicholas in the Vincent Crummles Acting Company, is Alan Cummings as Mr. Folair, Jamie Bell, the boy from Billy Elliot and King Kong, as Smike, Charlie Hunam again, and Barry Humphries once more.

So get a clue adaptors and dramatists: if, even for one second, you're tempted to think that you can "improve" the dialogue of Charles Dickens, here's a fact: you can't! Leave it alone, you dips. And Davies, no one ever said "You cramp my style" in 19th Century England. NO ONE!


That doesn't mean you can't have some creative fun with Dickens. Little Dougie is deep into reading Dan Simmons's gigantic (772 pages) new novel Drood, a horror fantastia purporting to portray the last five years of Dickens's life as seen through the laudanum-addled eyes of Wilkie Collins, which continues the literary conceit of calling me "Ellen Ternan." It's an Amadeus-like tale (Collins is wildly jealous of Dickens's talent. Wilkie darling, I loved The Woman in White, even if beige would have been more appropriate. Salieri wishes he could have written The Moonstone.) which mixes the historical facts with a wild tale of horror in a city-beneath-the-city, that is rollicking good reading, and a current best seller. Pick up a copy and enjoy - for weeks!

And Andrew Davies, please do not adapt A Tale of Two Cities. No one is waiting to hear Sydney Carton at the guillitine say "The thing I'm gonna do now is a whole lot better than all the stuff I've done previously," nor even a pithy, "Hey Robespierre, fuck you!"


Cheers darlings. See you at the HuffPo on Friday.

UPDATE: Lenny Kravitz

The other day Your Mama discussed the Miami Beach, FL house that rock star Lenny Kravitz recently foisted on to the market with an asking price of $2,850,000 and ever since some of the children have been hissy fitting about wanting to see some photos of the interior.

Well children, pour yourself a tall gin and tonic and brace yourself puppies because here they are.

If anyone were to ask Your Mama, and of course no one did, this kind of corny nightclub day-core applied to a private residence is exactly why Mister Kravitz can't get sell his penthouse apartment in New York City. A sensible person–that being one with eyeballs–would need to get up in here and gut the place because let's be honest, how many people actually want a metal grill catwalk that lights up from underneath in their home? Or a red lacquered living room that looks like a damn strip club? Or, lawhd have mercy, a hallway lined with mirrors and white faux-fur? Pleeze.

Now children, leave Your Mama alone for a bit because after peeping at Mister Kravitz's decorative disaster down in Miami Beach, we are in desperate need of a nerve pill and a recuperative nap.

UPDATE: We hear from the real estate lady that the photos we've linked to are not what the house currently looks like. And that's a good thing. However, the linked photos do show the house as it looked at one time. We're thrilled to hear Mister Kravitiz has pulled back the decorative reins on this house.

In Other...

...real estate news about women who date rich and powerful men, Manuela Herzer, the much younger and former female companion of troubled Tinesltown tycoon Sumner Redstone, has purchased the Mulholland Drive compound of Lance Bass, the bug eyed ex-boy bander turned every one's favorite Hollywood homosexual. We tease. Like everyone else, we like Miss Bass.

Property records reveal that Miz Herzer paid $3,850,000 for the hill top estate that includes a total of 5 bedrooms and 8 bathrooms, two swimming pools, a guest house and spectacular views of both the San Fernando Valley and the glittery lights of Tinseltown. Unless the records are wrong, poor Lance Bass took a bit of a financial bath on this sale since the purchase price is slightly less than the $3,880,000 records show he paid for the place back in October of 2003.

Mister Bass had been living in New York City recently, but to be honest, we're not actually sure of his real estate wherabouts at this point.

Unfortunately, Your Mama knows next to nothing about Miz Herzner. She's reported to be several decades younger than Mister Redstone–who apparently likes his ladee friends young enough to be his daughter–and in late 2008, amidst his seemingly amicable dee-vorce from the also much younger Paula Fortunato, Mister Redstone was twice spotted dining about town with Miz Herzer sparking rumors that there might be a reconciliation between the former lovebirds.

According to both Our Fairy Godmother in Beverly Hills and proven with property records, in November of 2008 the recently kicked to the curb Miz Fortunato forked over $4,150,000 of her settlement money to buy a 5 bedroom and 9 bathroom house on Liebe Drive in Beverly Hills. Not bad for a gal who was a modestly paid 40-year old New York City school teacher before hooking up with her octogenarian ex-huzband in 2003.

Live Like L'Wren Scoot

SELLER: L'Wren Scott
LOCATION: Tuxedo Terrace, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $999,999
SIZE: 1,712 square feet, 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Celebrity-owned, but easy to show French Normandy Castle built in 1926 by Fred Hansen. The utmost in privacy and seclusion, yet minutes from the heart of Hollywood, this home is like a fairy tale come to life! Two secured entries off of street lead to a garden courtyard that feels like an English countryside. Privacy, seclusion, out-of-area experience are in abundance here. Perfect for artists, writers, entertainers or your client who simply wants to enjoy being home.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Considering this house has been on the market since July of 2008 and considering that the listing text boldly announces it is "celebrity owned," it's somewhat surprising all us nosy real estate gossips had not already sniffed this one out. Now that Rolling Stone senior citizen Mick Jagger and his ladee-friend L'Wren Scott are reportedly living in sin in London, Mizz Scott has less use for her modest–if not inexpensive–hideaway tucked into the hills of the Bronson Canyon area of Los Angeles and currently listed for sale with an asking price of $999,999.

Like a large number of gorgeous gals who wind up arm in arm with rock stars, Miss Scott started up her ladder of fame as a cat walker who worked her 6'4" former Mormon stuff back in the 1980s for fancy fashion designers such as Chanel and Thierry Mugler. In the mid-1990s, Miss Scott decamped for the sunny west coast of the U.S. of A. where at first she headed up PR for Prada and then became a noted and in demand stylist to the stars dressing a-list ladees like Nicole Kidman, Julianne Moore and Ellen Barkin. Along the way, Miss Scott did up the costumes for a few movies, met Mick Jagger and then reinvented her professional life once again. In the last few years, Miss Scoot has transformed herself into a fashion designer with the same red carpet clientele she enjoyed as a celebrity stylist. It's a good thing Miss Scott fraternizes with the demimonde children because those are the only damn people who can afford her $510 Bateau neck tank tops and $2,875 satin bustle jackets.

Anyhoo, property records show that Miss Scott purchased her turreted Tuxedo Terrace house in June of 1996 for $255,000. Oh mercy children, remember the good ol' days when you could still pick up a starter home in Los Angeles for well under $500,000? Nowadays you gotta be well employed and reasonably rich to even think about buying a modest house like this considering that the mortgage alone will be well over four grand a month.

Records and listing information shows the French Normandy style house was built in 1926 by a gentleman Your Mama has never heard of named Fred Hansen. The house measures in at just 1,712 square feet and listing information indicates the house stands three stories tall and includes 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms.

There are, additionally, a living room with a vaulted ceiling, a formal dining room with stained glass windows and a small, lightly updated kitchen where there does not appear to be enough counter space to even make tuna fish sandwich let alone an actual mean. None the less, the kitchen does have a certain sort of relaxed, cottage charm and a magnificent mint green vintage stove. The not particularly large master bedroom suite includes a small bathroom with a soaking tub that appears to be molded from concrete and has a tiled niche for all Miss Scott's lotions, potions and bubble baths.

Outdoor spaces include a secluded and walled courtyard at the front and an overgrown and elegantly wild backyard garden that we think our attitudinal pussy cat Sugar would find a wonderland of vermin hunting.

Photos show the home retains much of it's original charm such as the carved stone fireplace in the living room and has been imbued with Miss Scott's personal style, which Your Mama might describe as a kind of bohemian chic meets a Moorish manor house meets the Paris flea markets sort of thing. Clearly this is not a home ready for the pages of Architectural Digest, but it does look like the sort of place put together someone secure enough in their decorative joie de vivre that they don't really care what's considered to be the latest and greatest in day-core depicted on the glossy pages of magazines like Metropolitan Home.

In addition to their shared London digs, Your Mama presumes Mister Jagger has given Miss Scott the keys to his many other homes. Although we can not confirm ownership of each them, Mister Jagger's long list of residences is said to include an apartment in Manhattan, a French chateau near Tours called La Fourchette, a two-floor flat next door to the 26-room townhouse in the Richmond Hill area of London (which Jerry Hall got in the dee-vorce), and two adjacent villas on the super swank island of Mustique. Your Mama read somewhere that Mister Jagger also has a 5-bedroom house in the Hollywood Hills, but we can't confirm that so don't go spreading that around like you know what yer talking about.

For the Sweet Love of Tristan Taormino

I don't know if this has been said before, maybe not on the intertubes at least. If I am truly the first person to publicly announce this, let it be known that I wasn't ashamed to admit it: I think Tristan Taormino is cute. I'm not talking about sleek, airbrushed, super-waify Tristan. I think she's cute just the way she looks in real life.Hell, I think I'd even date her.

Yes, I think it would be cool if we dated, at least for a few months. We could talk about feminist theory, Dostoevsky, or the finer points of butoh. Or we could spend quite evenings at home watching Bergman films or reading Rumi to each other over bottles of Two Buck Chuck.

And in the bedroom I'd do whatever she wants.

I thought about that last line and I take it back because I know exactly how it'll play out. She'll want to explore our sexual possibilities. The word “pansexual” will float out there all casual-like. So will some other dude's name. And I won't have a problem till it occurs to me that it's supposed to be me doing the exploring. To which I will inevitably go, “Sorry, I love you but no homo.”

But I will be the little spoon to her big spoon and we'll spoon. And everything will be perfect for about four months, four and a half months tops.

Also, just to show you the depth of my ignorance, even though I've heard the words “Tristan Taormino,” “Thomas Pynchon,” and “niece” in the same sentence countless times—Being a porn addict and book nerd makes for interesting Venn Diagrams—it didn't register till recently that “Tristan” might not be a man.

Maybe that's why I think she's so cute. I was caught off guard.

Don Imus's Surprisingly Dignified Digs

SELLER: Don Imus
LOCATION: Beachside Avenue, Westport, CT
PRICE: $30,000,000
SIZE: 10,000 square feet (approx.), 6 bedrooms, 6.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Direct waterfront estate on Westport's premier "Gold Coast." 10,000 sf post Greco-Georgian main house built by Hobbs Construction. New 2 bedroom guest house and renovated 2 br gate house. Total of 10 garage spaces. 215' of private beach.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Your Mama is a little late to the fair on this one having already been discussed first in The Wall Street Journal and then again by Mister Big Time. But we're weighing in anyway because seldom do we get to discuss insanely expensive properties in Connecticut and seldom are they owned by such a controversial ignoramus. Don Imus, the grumpy cowboy hat wearing radio host who has nearly killed his career in the last couple of years making repeated and obnoxious racial slurs...on the damn air, has put his Long Island Sound front estate in Westport, CT on the market with an impressive asking price of $30,000,000. Westport, CT is, of course, the same waspy enclave made famous by Miz Martha Stewart, who only pretends to be a wasp. The matron of impossibly perfect housewifery shacked up and filmed her television program at Turkey Hill, her long time estate which she's done sold now that she's living her post-prison, high-wasp lifestyle on a big farm north of New York City.

Anyhoo, property records and reports reveal Mister Imus purchased his 4-acre estate on Beachside Avenue in 1997 for $4,600,000. Listing information indicates the Mister Imus' mansion was built in 2000, so presumably this was either a vacant lot at the time of purchase or he ripped down the existing house and built his own dream house. Whatever the case, according to listing information, the 16-room so-called "Greco-Georgian" style pile measures approx. 10,000 square feet and includes 6 bedrooms and 6.5 bathrooms, 8 fireplaces, garaging for 9 or 10 cars, 9-foot ceilings, a formal dining room, great room, family room, gore-may kitchen with breakfast nook and pantry, a library/study, an office/computer room, a recreation room and a year tax bill of $131,863.

The grounds include a 2 bedroom gate house as well as a newly built 2 bedroom guest house. There does not appear to be either a swimming pool or a tennis court, but there is 215-feet of water front.

According to Mister Big Time, this is not the first time Mister Imus has tossed this big house into the real estate rodeo ring. Apparently, back in 2005, the mouthy and opinionated radio icon wanted to sell the house and listed it at $30,000,000.

We find Mister Imus and his radio ways to be rather repellent and since it makes us feel a little dirty to even discuss him, the only thing we're going to say about the day-core of Mister Imus's digs is that they are far more dignified than we would have expected from a man who has shown a stunning lack of decorum and class the last few years. None the less, since fair is fair, we'd be completely remiss if we did not acknowledge that Mister Imus, who very recently announced that he has been diagnosed with stage two prostate cancer, has spent a great deal of time, money and energy founding and running their 4,000 acre cattle ranch in New Mexico where children with cancer and and blood disorders are invited to experience what it's like to live and work on a functioning cattle ranch. Ain't nothing wrong with that.

Records reveal that Mister Imus also owns a penthouse apartment on Central Park West that he's owned since at least 1994. Records indicate Mister and Missus Imus also own a maisonette style unit in the same building which they purchased in February of 2006 for $2,030,000.

Lenny Kravitz Lists Another One

SELLER: Lenny Kravtiz
LOCATION: Biscayne Point Circle, Miami Beach, FL
PRICE: $2,850,000
SIZE: 5,717 square feet, 3 bedrooms, 3 full and 2 half bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Amazing estate home, point lot in guard gated Biscayne Point. Ultra modern luxury on a large 12,000 sq. ft. lot w/ unparalleled wide open bay views, with over 1,100 sq. ft. of tiled dock, and 100 feet of waterfront. Everything done to perfection, custom marble baths, polished concrete floors, custom wall of glass totally opens the large living area to incredible water views. Backyard is resort like w/ pool & spa, amazing dock area.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Poor Lenny Kravtiz. The pierced, tattooed and dirty looking singer/songwriter turned interior decorator has been having a bitch of a time selling his Manhattan penthouse apartment which he's had on and off the market for years. The 6,000 square foot nightclub-like doo-plex on SoHo's cobbled Crosby Street has had asking prices as sky high as $19,500,000 and as low as $12,500,000. Currently the five bedroom party palace carries an asking price of $14,995,000. Whatever the damn price may be, Your Mama recommends the listing agent discourage any prospective buyers from running a black light up in there because lawhd have mercy, who knows what kinds of fluids would turn up and where. It gives us the shivers just to think of it.

Anyhoo, in addition to the New York digs and a pad in gay Paree–where our recently nuptialed friend Falsetta Knockers and her louche literary lover/huzband are honeymooning as we type this missive–Mister Kravitz has long maintained a real estate base in Miami Beach, FL. In May of 2005 he sold his 9 bedroom Mediterranean style pile on Sunset Island's W. 25th Street for $14,500,000. However, that was not his only home in the Miami area. Property records show that back in December of 1996 Mister Kravitz picked up a waterfront sprawler for $725,000 which, thanks to Donna Summer, we've learned he recently listed with an asking price of $2,850,000.

Listing information for the Biscayne Point Circle residence is slim, and Your Mama was able to scare up only an itty bitty bit of information about the the recently renovated Kravitz krib which measures 5,717 square feet and has three bedrooms and 3 full and 2 half bathrooms. Out back a new swimming pool hangs over the Biscayne Bay where Mister Kravitz (or the new home owner) can park a big boat.

As far as we know, Mister Kravitz continues to maintain and run a two story, 2,500 square foot state of the art recording studio in the penthouse of Miami Beach's The Setai, a swanky ocean front condo-hotel located on bizzy Collins Avenue.

Discovering Pamela Peaks

A search for one Ugly Girl Porn leads to another. I was searching for background info on Rubee Tuesday not too long ago when I came across an interview she did with Pamela Peaks.

For those of you not familiar with Ms. Peaks, let me draw you a picture: fake boobs, fake tan, press-on nails, hair extensions, collagen-injected bass lips, cheek implants. And get this: her makeup is tattooed on! What we're left with is this grotesque Bride of FrankenPorn. Reminds me of Escape from LA when Snake finds himself in that enclave filled with people addicted to plastic surgery. I should've continued my search for Rubee Tuesday smut or better yet, stopped looking for porn altogether and done something constructive with my life. I should've found Pamela Peaks disgusting. And yet, at this point predictably, I was intrigued.

It took a bit of work, but I found a hardcore scene she did. Let me tell you, it was god awful. The guy had a small dick and a potbelly. He looks suspiciously like the nut job who fucks crackheads. The whole scene lasted all of five minutes and were interjected with odd clips of Pamela getting hit in the face with could have been a high-powered mayonnaise gun.

[EDIT: I got another look at Street Walkers #3 and I don't know what the hell I was thinking. The guy wasn't potbellied. He had a stocky middle aged body, nothing to be ashamed of, and his dick was as big as mine if not bigger. Strange what you remember. Mayonnaise gun bit is pretty accurate]

And I got off. I think the situation has grown dire. It's only a matter of time before I start beating off to pictures of Jocelyn Wildenstein. The line has been crossed long ago. The end of the road is near, Please, friends, say a prayer for me.

Only a matter of time

Candy Spelling Officially Asks for $150,000,000

SELLER: Candy Spelling
LOCATION: S. Mapleton Drive, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $150,000,000
SIZE: 52,503 square feet, 11 bedrooms, 16 bathrooms (as per assessor)

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Fetch yer nerve pills, pour a tall gin and tonic and hold on to your britches children, because Candy Spelling's 123-room Holmby Hills monster mansion has officially and finally hit the open market with a knee buckling and record breaking asking price of $150,000,000.

Although records we accessed show a purchase date in December of 1991, a recent report in The Wall Street Journal states that Missus Spelling and her now deceased boob-toob producer huzband Aaron Spelling purchased the approximately 5 acre property on swish S. Mapleton Drive in the early 1980s. We're gonna believe the Wall Street Journal, but whatever the case, the couple proceeded to raze the former home of the legendary Bing Crosby and erect a massive, multi-winged monument to their wealth which they called The Manor.

Records on file with the County of Los Angeles show The Widow Spelling's hotel-sized house measures in at 52,503 square feet with 11 bedrooms and 16 bathrooms. However, those numbers are somewhat in dispute as The Wall Street Journal puts the residential beast at 57,000 square feet and during a televised interview and tour of her palatial pile poor Candy Darling herself couldn't remember if her huge house has 23 or 26 bathrooms. It would seem that only the terlit staff knows precisely how many poopers are on the property.

Some of the only in a mega-mansion features of The Manor include the bowling alley in the basement, a beauty parlor and a barber shop in the 17,000 square foot attic, a gift wrapping room, doll museum, a home gym, a wine cellar and wine tasting room, a humidity-controlled silver storage room, a room just for the China, and a leviathan living room that does double duty as a screening room where the screen rises up out of the floor.

The fastidiously maintained and gated grounds include a major motor court with a spitting fountain in the center, covered parking for a fleet of fancy automobiles, meandering pathways that circle the property, formal gardens including a rooftop rose garden, a swimming pool and spa complex and a tennis court which we like to imagine Miz Spelling has never even seen let alone used.

Miz Spelling's attorney Stephen Goldberg told The Wall Street Journal that ever since his client announced she coughed up a staggering $47,000,000 for a yet to be completed 16,000 square foot doo-plex penthouse in Century City, the wildly rich widow has had about 12 calls from interested and qualified buyers.

Your Mama assumes these calls and queries are coming from the same dozen or so qualified buyers that have peeped and poked around the insanely decadent rooms of Suzanne Saperstein's $125,000,000 Holmby Hills behemoth for which it is rather bizarrely rumored that scantily clad superstar Mariah Carey has made an offer. We don't believe it, but that's another story.

Anyhoo, only time will tell how long it will take for The Widow Spelling to unload her big house, at what price and to which bizness baron, mogul, magnate or foreign potentate. If the ladee gets anywhere near the $150,000,000 asking price it will most certainly set a record for the largest amount of money paid for a single family residence in the United States.

Miz Spelling is still trying to sell both of the homes she owns in the gated Century Woods community which lies in the shadows of the towers of Century City. One is an 8,424 square foot Faux-Tuscan sitting on a double lot with 5 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms and an asking price of $7,895,000 and the other a quasi-French farmhouse sort of thing measuring 4,843 square feet with 5 bedrooms, 5.5 bathrooms and an asking price of $4,795,000.

photos: Pacific Coast News

List of Reality TV Stars I Want to See in Porn

I've already written about my two successful searches for Reality Show contestants who've done porn. I got my fill and I'm glad it was over.


But spending more time at home during these hard times means watching more television. And since Rock of Love Bus, I Love Money 2, For the Love of Ray J, and Real Chance of Love is never not on VH1 I've been watching an unhealthy dose of reality show again. The result--you guessed it--is a list of girls I hope has done porn.This time, fortunately, there is nothing urgent about this list. If I were to stumble across a flick they've done I wouldn't turn it down, but I'm not spending hours of precious time actively looking for it the way I did with Frenchie and Brandi.


Just a note: Many of these women weren't the ones I found to be their show's prettiest. It's just that something about them sticks out and made me notice them. Usually, it's not being an obnoxious loud mouth or flagrantly stupid.

Corn Fed

I hate the douchebags on Real Chance of Love. Women masochistic enough to put themselves through weeks of humiliating reality TV just to date either one of those losers are naturally suspect. Personally I think there's more dignity and payoff in doing porn. There are two girls however who have warmed my heart. So, naturally I'd like to see what they're like in the sack.

The first is Corn Fed, who won and was chosen by Real (if winning means dating a Stallionaire, losing has to be worse than prison). I couldn't help watching Real Chance of Love because it had to have been on 5 times a day everyday all winter. That's how they get you. I never sat through five consecutive minutes of the show but I could tell you what happened in every episode. And I've never seen Corn Fed make an ass of herself.

Maybe it's the hair cut. Maybe it's the fact that her roots are showing (I really don't know what's up with that but I like it). Maybe because she's cute as a button, laid back and demure. But I'm into her and I'm glad (for her sake) that the relationship with "Real" only lasted a couple days. If I come across a flick with her in it I definitely wouldn't pass it up.

Milf

The second Real Chance of Love contestant is Milf. She's older, funny enough the ideal age for Milf Porn. She is actually a mother so it would be authentic if that's your thing. She's a cuter mix of Vicky Vette and Dana Hayes. It is perhaps for this reason I could totally see her doing porn. She's also on I Love Money 2, another show which is never not on VH1 so I got a second dose of her immediately after Real Chance of Love ran its course.

Nikki

This one caught me by surprised and was the only reason I watched Rock Bus of Love for as long as I did. You see, I know Nikki as Lady Tribe, a DJ and (retired) graffiti artist from LA. Seeing her compete for Brett Michaels' affection was a shock, although in hindsight I suspect she might have done it for the publicity. When I first encountered her I entertained the fantasy of seeing her in porn but never thought it would happen. Now after seeing her make an exceptionally trashy ass of herself on Rock Bus of Love, porn might be a step up.

Gia

I didn't watch much Rock Bus of Love so I only came across this woman when I was looking for a decent picture of Nikki. The show's got plenty of hawt women but this one stuck out. I would totally love to see her do gangbang.

Ice

Apparently this girl was on Flavor of Love. I really can't see that, but OK. I've been watching her lately on I Love Money 2. She's laid back, in the cut, not saying to much. As cool as Ice. I would totally date her. She's like the polar opposite of Becky Buckwild (Who I NEVER want to see in porn, not even Ugly Girl Porn). Apparently she's an on-air personality in her hometown of Detroit. I'm guessing the likelihood of her doing porn is slim, but a boy can dream.

Megan

She's appeared on Rock Love, I Love Money and Charm School, but I didn't take notice till she scrapped with Sharon Osbourne on the Charm School Reunion Special. Now I have a burning desire to hate fuck her and splat on her face. Crazy huh? I mean, yes, she's a cunt but there's something to be said when she's the only woman I want to see run through by the lovely gentlemen at Meatholes.

Unique

I rarely watch For the Love of Ray J, but I'm rooting for him out of spite for Kim Kadashian's completely unwarranted fame. Whenever I do catch a few moments this girl always catches my attention. According to her bio, she's dated a pro ball player. So I'm guessing her chances of being in porn are what, 50/50?

Trishelle

I hate the Real World and I wouldn't trust anyone who follows that show religiously. I really go out of my way to avoid it, but I got ensnared during the 12th season by Trishelle. I think she was the first reality star I really wanted to see in porn and this list has dredged her up from the back of my mind. She was a worthless drunk, mildly retarded, vapid, materialistic, slightly racist, just the kind of girl I would have nothing to do with IRL, but man did I want to see her fuck. She did go on to pose in a heavily airbrushed Playboy spread, but that's no real consolation. Besides, this self portrait has much more character than that fakery. I think a $5,000 flick made in someone's living room would capture that same essence.

Something about this list bothers me. Does it jump out at you? Every one of these women are blondes, you say? Yeah, I don't get it. I'm a lifelong brunette man. I'm going through an intense redhead phase in porn (e.g., Leighlani Red, Shannon Kelly). How is it that every one here (even the black chick) is a blonde? I don't know, but the bigger problem is whether I can stop watching reality TV.

James Perse's Pad in The Birds

SELLER: James Perse
LOCATION: Oriole Drive, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $4,995,000
SIZE: 2,235 square feet, 1 bedroom, 1.5 bathroom
DESCRIPTION: ...This residence designed by James Perse exemplifies the Southern California lifestyle: flr. to ceiling walls of glass provide abundant light & seamless indoor-outdoor flow, fantastic master w/ FP, huge walk-in closet & luxurious bath, lrge open eat-in kitch. w/ stainless steel appliances, wonderful open living rm w/ FP & wet bar opening out to private lush landscaped grounds, pool, spa & outdoor shower.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Last night, as we were watching those skinny bitches strut their wannabe model stuff on that dee-lishusly undignified America's Next Top Model program, we were also perusing the newly available properties in the Bird Streets high above Los Angeles' Sunset Strip. It wasn't long before our beady little eyeballs beheld a re-worked ranch directly across the street from the architectural tour de force of Ricardo Montalban, may he rest in peace, and around the corner from Leo DiCaprio's recently remodeled crib. As it turns out (and as the listing so boldly declares), the desirably located property is owned and being offered by t-shirt tycoon James Perse.

Unless you're in the tax bracket where you can comfortably afford to fork over more than fifty bucks for a cotton t-shirt or 145 clams for a pair of cotton cargo shorts, you might not know who our James Perse is or how he can afford to bed down in the Birds. See children, young Mister Perse was born into Los Angeles fashion royalty. His fatherm, Tommy Perse, is the man behind Maxfield, the super swank Melrose Avenue boo-teek that has been selling high priced and fashion forward duds to rich and famous folks since before the dawn of time. For those the children who think Los Angeles is a fashion wasteland, Your Mama suggests you haul your heiny to Maxfield and check out all the dee-voon tailored Dries Van Noton and gloriously avant Comme des Garçons garments that fly off the rack and into black shopping bags that get loaded into idling automobiles that cost as much as a damn house in Middle America.

Anyhoo, starting when he was just a baby-faced 22 years old, young Mister Perse followed his father into the rag trade selling pricey pared down basic pieces to celebrities and other folks with black Amex cards and money to burn. Although Your Mama is certain some of you will have all sorts of sassy and snarky things to say about people who plunk down $295 for a thermal lined hoody, we're also quite sure that Mister Perse will pay you no mind because whether y'all think his relaxed fit boxer shorts are worth 28 bucks a pair or not, he's managed without your financial assistance to successfully expanded his casual clothing lines into an small empire that includes 9 architecturally minimal boo-teeks stretching from the shimmering shores of Malee-boo to the casually glizty streets of East Hampton.

Property records show Mister Perse picked up his Oriole Drive property in May of 1998 for $875,000. Records on file with the County of Los Angeles show that the 2,235 square foot house includes 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. However, listing information shows there are just 1 bedroom and 1.5 bathrooms. That's right children, 1 bedroom and 1.5 bathrooms. Let's just pause for a moment and try to get out mind around the staggering optimism and impressive real estate cajones it takes to list a one bedroom and 1.5 bathroom house for almost five million dollars in a luxury market that is, by all accounts, less than brisk.

The 1/3 acre property is properly gated and fully hedged for privacy and listing information reveals the wonderfully pared down pad features walls of floor to ceiling sliders that open every room to the out doors. The crisp, clean lined and barely furnished living room has a fireplace, several seating areas, shiny blond wood floors, and a wet bar. The living room leads directly into to the master bedroom at the rear of the house where there is a second fireplace, more floor to ceiling glass sliders opening to the pool deck, a large walk in closet and a bathroom with a shower large enough for Mister Perse to scrub down with a few friends should he desire.

The minimally designed kitchen with its white cabinets, black counter tops and blond wood breakfast bar is open to the dining room where Mister Perse has placed a picnic table painted a gleaming black. We know the children are going to skewer us for saying so, but Your Mama loves us a picnic table moved indoors to become dining room table.

The long, low and lean house wraps around the rear terrace where there is a simple rectangular swimming pool, spa and a good sized grassy area. Somewhere, according to listing information, is an outdoor shower. For those not familiar with the pleasures of showering outdoors, you are missing out on one of life's great simple pleasures.

Mister Perse has admirably adhered to a strict palette of black, white, cement grey, grass green and blond wood in his minimally designed digs. While Your Mama goes weak in the knees over such decorative restraint, we fear that things have gotten a wee to minimal even for us. Perhaps all of Mister Perse's personal effects have been removed from the premises, but we feel strongly this house would benefit greatly from some thought provoking art hanging on the expansive white walls and a few stacks of books and magazines tossed about would make it look like someone actually lives up in here as opposed to just occupying it.

Presumably, the asking price of Mister Perse's property is partly justified by its stellar location at the white hot center of the Bird Streets. But given that there's just one bedroom here, any new owner will need to be single, childless and/or prepared to spend another few hundred thousand adding additional bedrooms and bathrooms. Your Mama wishes Mister Perse all the luck in the world unloading this one because, we fear, he's going to need all the luck he can get selling a one bedroom house at this price.

P.S. As noted by one of the children and despite the language in the listing description, this house was indeed did up and done up for Mister Perse by an architecture firm called Standard.