Stop being anal about your surroundings.

Pick any non-beige non-grey colour

Get that mirror actually hung up rather than lazy-ass leaning

Picture above the couch is too small

Add some vertical elements

Coffee table is too large for the space

Add other lighting rather than unflattering ceiling lamp

Get a rug

Ask your gay friend for some advice

Geometric shelves with plants, nerdy hobby paraphernalia, inconspicuous switch for bisexual LED lighting (edit: WITH DIFFUSING COVER, gah, it’s so important. No one wants bright LEDs shining in their eyes while having unexpected drunken steamy makeouts)

NEXT!

More butt exploration obviously.

As I entered the dark, dank cave, I switched on my head lamp and pulled forth both my climbing pick and trusty Colt. The path upwards was dim, with twists and turns just barely visible at the edge of the light. I could only pray that the hints of methane and sulfur in the air did not bode ill.

As I secured the first eye bolt to the side of the tunnel, I felt a quiver beneath my feet, and the air vibrated, almost sounding like “right there daddy”. I secured my rope to the bolt and strode forward. I took the near immediate right hand turn to see more of the same. Fetid stench and an oozing slime dripped everywhere, but this new territory needed exploration, and I was just the man to do it.

As the tunnel snaked on, I noticed an increase in the almost word like vibrations, “oh yes, oh god”, and I feared that it might increase the shaking of the floor in the tunnel, or cause a collapse that could trap me there forever

But, soon enough, the tunnel became straight. Ish. Straight-ish, as there were still some bends and curves, but the path was forward. Before long, the light shone upon a wall; brown, stinking, with yellow and orange protrusions. The way was blocked with some kind of accumulated mass; perhaps shoved from the other end by force of something powerful.

I went at it with my pick, dislodging some of the corn shaped protrusions and unleashing an unholy reek.

As I carves my way deeper into this mass, I noticed that it was shaking; about to come loose from the pressure behind it, and I ran back along the tunnel, seeking shelter.

None was to be had. I was washed along, buffeted by a stinking deluge back out in the gaping, whistling mouth of the tunnel, still dripping from whatever foul rain had opened the hole in the first place

I passed out as the fumes overcame my strength of will

When I awoke, it was with gratitude for my life, and that I had gone no further up that dark highway into hell.

A trophy cabinet dedicated to all of the butt exploration equipment.

Is that what we are calling colonoscopies these days?

A roommate