Smokers OK

What? It's just a little smoke damage. Don't be so fussy. I'm sure it was just a one-time fire.

(Frustrated with the high cost of Seattle-area real estate, I'm now eyeing property in Oklahoma -- just to make myself feel bad.)

"It's this or the nursing home, mom. Your choice."

I think this is the entrance to the mother-in-law apartment -- which is fine, if your last name is Lockhorn.

(Cue patriotic music)

I can't tell: is the flag in the bucket of dirt because they forgot to remove it before taking the photo, or because they thought it would make the listing more attractive?

"Appliances that stay..."

In an unprofessional lapse, the person writing the listing forgot to mention the barbeque area.

One VERY BIG bedroom.

According to the listing, this is a photo of a 345 square foot, one bedroom house in Seattle. With central air, and a walk-in closet. No garage, though; just a car port.

If your pants are over there... what are you wearing?

Ten seconds. That's how long it takes to pull the sheets up. You're not even trying, are you?

SINK FOR ILLUSTRATIVE PURPOSES ONLY

OK, I've never sold a house, and don't really know what goes into picking good photos. But I'm pretty certain that you shouldn't have a sign up reading "SEWER TRAP CLOSED. DO NOT USE!!" in your listing.

A ten-minute walk from Bill Gates's house.

So this is how the other half lives. I wonder if Bill ever strolls by on his postprandial constitutionals?

And yet, I say "no thank you."

This is how it looks when they try to sell it. Imagine what it looked like before they gussied it up.

If we sell it, we don't have to clean it.

Listed for 213 days so far... The house has two kitchens, so if you don't like that one, just use the spare:

Shhhh.

Shhh. We're sneaking up on the listing. Only a quarter of a million bucks, and all this can be yours.

The photo that started this all.

I saw this photo a few days ago, but the listing was gone next time I looked. I was so happy to see it again on another website. Hello, doorknob.

The sofa, furious, stormed off, taking the cushions with it.

The empty pillowcases were left to fend for themselves in the corner.

Not even trying.

It's in my budget... yet, I resist.

So... calm.

There's just no pleasing me. I complain if there's too much furniture; I complain if the house is an empty void.

Included: oven, plants, fridge, plants, water cooler, plants

The furniture is gone, but the plants remain. As do the dog food bowls. The house has a sort of The World Without Us air about it... (It's mine for just half a million bucks -- which goes well with the half a year it's been listed for.)

It's as if I already lived there.

From this photo, we learn that the house has a floor. And some walls.

So that's what chairs look like.

What is this supposed to tell me -- a potential buyer -- about the house? That it has walls?

Great... tracts of land.

Ah, the glory.

Stagers? Pshaw.

It does feel like home, it's true. (They're asking $875,000, by the way.)