Ryan's room comes last, and it deserves its own paragraph. If the art in Erik's room makes it look like it should be inhabited by someone caught in the struggle between good and evil, then Ryan's design seems perfect for someone who's given up on the good part and embraced super-villainy whole-heartedly. The room -- walls, floors, everything -- is, as the Rolling Stones once advised, painted black (except for three racing stripes that ring the walls). A series of circular designs hang from the walls -- they're chairs, but they look like targets where the client can practice hurling Bowie knives or throwing stars or some other item that's been outlawed in most states. And the bed, which is about chest high on a normal-sized adult -- is surrounded by a crude stick structure that will be great for keeping the feral pigs from attacking you while you sleep. Oh, you don't keep feral pigs in your live-work space? What kind of super-villain are you? I also want to point out that Ryan has covered the bed with the pelt of a oversized stuffed animal that he has gutted and skinned. I'm beginning to think that Ryan needs the sort of help that Todd Oldham's soothing words cannot offer. "It looks a little Willy Wonka," Michael observes of Ryan's room. Yes, but only if Willy Wonka was wanted by authorities in nine states on weapons charges. Ryan professes not to care what the judges think: "If I lose, fuck 'em." If that's the case, then going by the expression on their faces as they looked at what Ryan wrought, I'd say that some judges are about to get fucked.