Hot, Sexy, ALL NUDE Space Ranch Pics Vol. 1

As promised: hot, naked ranch house pics.

What in the good God are these supposed to be? They're fake kitchen implements, for Chrissakes. Since nothing says "kitchen" like "things I can't actually cook with, but which remind me of cooking. Sort of." I threw these into the street about thirty-seven seconds later.

Space Ranch! It was built sometime between 1952 and 1960 (we're saying 1956 for convenience, but we don't actually know). It's about 800-900 more square feet than Josephine Street, and way more energy-efficient (we hope).

Trucks full of books. The first of many such loads (I said "load").

The hearth or ancestral shrine, complete with Fo Hi, candles, and incense. The incense is an Indian brand that's so strong we had to open the windows after 5 minutes. I can't recall the actual name of the brand, but we re-christened it "Cholera Cover-up: For When You've Gone Poo-poo in Your Sari". Perfect for those August evenings when explosive diarrhea fills the Ganges from bank to bank!

The hallway/utility room (utility closet is on the right). I dig that wallpaper! I mean, I'm gonna be digging it out of the drywall at the earliest possible opportunity. We went ahead and hung up some family pics to make the place feel like home.

Mary, caught in the middle of sanding and cleaning the paneling. Lord God almighty, the paneling. It's already beginning to vanish under layers of Killz and some truly beautiful paint colors (look for photos in my next post).

It's PANELING! What's the matter, don't you like paneling?

Clay is always drafted for home improvement projects because of his height. We only have to use the stepladder on days when he's not available. Also, he's really good at this sort of thing and actually seems to enjoy it. Thanks, Clyde!

Yes! The paneling loves the kitchen too! Paneling loves you ALL. Paneling has wood for all mankind!

This will eventually be the new home for Wintermute, our beloved desktop PC. I love how the kitchen counters include a built-in desk space.

The figure barely visible in the panel-shaded gloom is Clay, attempting to light the gas logs. NOW do you understand why we're painting this shit? It's as black as Satan's broom closet in that room.

Cara sands like a mofo. Even if she does have to use the stepladder.

And finally: here comes the primer! The paneling protested, but we told it to keep its splintery trap shut if it didn't want to be ripped down without anesthetic and replaced with some less sassy drywall. It has since decided it likes its makeover, and so do we. Coming soon: COLOR COMES TO THE SPACE RANCH... same space time, same space channel.