|The pictures never show you the reality of these rooms - namely, they are invariably occupied by a small, balding, fat guy named Murray with a combover, and he's spilling cigar ash on the carpet while he tells his pal Frank so she says Murray, I want green, and I say fine, green. Then she says Murray, I want yellow, and I say Muriel, I don't give a shit if you paint it as red as a baboon's ass, just do it, already. And then she buys this sofa. Seven hundred beans. Looks like hippee-puke. Feel it! It's rough! Seven hundred dollars and I got a sofa you can't even sit on without getting a rash.