There was an article in Friday's Wall Street Journal on the abode of Adam Carolla, Interior Decorator:
The eight-car garage, housing part of his collection of historic race-cars, Lamborghinis and Datsuns, has its own sitting room and beer refrigerator. Parked in his office, where four flat-screen TVs are arranged stadium-style, is Mr. Carolla's prized orange 1970 Lamborghini Miura. It sits atop a hydraulic lift so it can be moved down to the garage below.
Then there's what Mr. Carolla, 46, refers to as his "ace in the hole"—his large man cave in the basement. There's a jukebox, mounted deer head and a pool table. Playing cards depicting nude women and coasters are adhered to the ceiling, and there's a red upholstered bar facing a series of portholes that look directly into the water of his swimming pool.
I detest the term "man cave." Whatever happened to just calling it what it is, your rec room or basement bar? Despite the poor labeling, it does sound like Carolla has a killer basement. This picture is too small to really do it justice, but it certain looks like the kind of place a man would feel very much at home in.