Defamer Real Estate: Fred Durst's Nookieland Ranch

It's been too long since we've heard from the Defamer Special Real Estate Correspondent, who atones for an extended absence from the celebrity open houses beat by offering a guided tour of Fred Durst's onetime nookie palace so detailed that we almost feel like we've been on the receiving end of a videotaped doggystyling. This, of course, is not a good thing, but we're going to share it anyway. We don't want to be alone with these icky feelings.

Imagine my twisted joy when my trusty and long-term real estate agent tipped me off that the Fred Durst "sex tape" house was open this Sunday and for sale. Had to go! Right? Just under $2.7 million? Almost a bargain?

The trip began by turning north off Sunset, onto one of the more well know "royal" streets and then onto a lesser known street that actually has some of the finest real estate in the Hills, rarely for under $4 million. You could imagine Fatty driving the Benzo quickly up the hill from his many nearby night time haunts, a little buzzed, some girl's head in his lap. Better that way; she won't be able to find her way back the next weekend.
The optimism continued as I turned up a steep and private shared driveway, above the street. However, the enthusiasm was short lived.

Pulling up in front of the house, you are faced with a generic two car garage door, some peeling paint and a white low-rent security gate. Passing through the gate into a very narrow front yard, the house's best feature is immediately apparent: a true 180 degree view, from Catalina to the ocean, to Hollywood to downtown, unobstructed as you are above all the neighbors.

As I walked in, I could see why he bought it: it's exactly the kind of house that impresses 22 year-old club girls, up-and-coming porn stars and the Russian "models" who are only a cell phone call away in the city of Angels. Although one can't imagine it impressed the slightly more sophisticated Britney or Paris unless the coke and the view combined to create a 3AM sex-crazed vertigo.

Built in the late 30s, it was probably once an amazing Moderne home. Laid out in railroad style to maximize the views from every room, the house is now a mix of its original style, some mid-century influences and late 90s "modern" touches, such as polished concrete floors and oversized white marble tile in the bathrooms. The entire house had been hastily and sloppily freshly washed in new white paint, blowing out the details of the architecture. Had he peed on the wall? Smeared blood or worse that had to be covered, Pink Floyd "the Wall" style? Furniture was contemporary, Italian and expensive. More bachelor than chic, but a cut above black leather sofas. The lone "rock and roll" detail was the endless in-wall speakers, at least two per room, every room. I think he even mentioned that on his blog feeling "alone, as music played throughout the house, the lights below..." I got a chill in the living room. I've also not seen a worse kitchen in a nearly $3 million home. A tiny Sub-Zero does not an "updated" kitchen make. How did Fred stay so chubby trying to eat out of this room? I guess high-fat take-out is what did him in.

As you walked across the public spaces and into the Master suite, you could almost smell the stale bong water and dried bodily fluids. Concrete floors gave way to dark "zen" wood floors (the Asian influence says "I'm sensitive" and "I have access to good drugs"), the requisite giant "sex" shower and endless mirrors, with walk-in closets hidden behind them. Perhaps also a good place to hide the recording equipment. Ugh!

On my way out, I peeked over the edge of the front railing and saw how the hillside had previously fallen onto the neighbor's house and required six month's repair.

Once home, I almost wanted to find that video clip again and place it in the house. But the thought of hearing "touch my ass and my balls" after being in that house would have required a bath in more Purell's hand sanitizer than I had in stock.