1. Head and shoulders. Dark blazer over white shirt with tie/scarf. Facing camera. Hair conservatively cut. Smile with teeth in a friendly, non-threatening way. Eyes scooped out of skull and replaced with cold, glass orbs that are almost lifelike but not quite.

2. Waist up. Dark blazer over open-neck white shirt (single button, no chains). Body angled, head towards camera, arms crossed, exuding confidence and trust, firm but fair, on your side. Frozen in place lest bowels let go all over cedar-plank floor of well-lit breakfast nook.

3. Pose and attire same as above, except underneath clothes an ever-increasing number of tattoos, compulsively added in an attempt to feel something, anything.

4. Waist up. Grey blazer over light blue shirt with tie/scarf. Body angled, but the other way. One hand across waist, the other holding a cell phone to ear, smiling at camera, even while receiving news that daughter has suffered severe lung trauma after placing her mouth directly under a powerful public washroom hand dryer, which is apparently some kind of YouTube challenge.

5. Waist up. Open-neck shirt, light blue. Body angled but just barely, so the viewer wonders, “Is his body angled or not?” One hand across waist, the other crushing a blueberry bran muffin, symbolizing the crushing of the competition, the crushing of carbs.

6. Full body. Profile stance, arms crossed, head towards camera, full smile, standing back to back with realtor partner: the skinned and gutted carcass of a white-tail buck—a team, fighting for you, two heads and six-point antlers better than one. Smile with no teeth, confident, assured, yet unable to fully hide resentment that the deer carcass is having a much better first quarter. The carcass does not smile.

7. Full body. Standing in a sun-dappled living space with endless possibilities. In fact, it looks uncannily like the spacious multifunctional room you’re sitting in right now. Your heart skips as you come to the unsettling realization. You sense a presence as passing clouds dim the light from the full-length windows. You hold your breath as you slowly turn. Lightning strikes! The realtor is behind you! And he has a muffin!

8. Full body. Casual attire, light blue and tan. Perched on a wooden stool that belonged to the realtor’s grandmother, whose Cape Cod house with central heating was always so welcoming, smelling of cinnamon buns, recalling more innocent times, though when she died, they found dozens of freeze-dried squirrels in individual baggies under her bed, each one marked with a best-before date, yet the house still sold for 60% over municipal value, and yours will too!

9. Full body. Deer-hide pants, bare-chested, notary embossing stamp held aloft, astride a majestic winged dragon that spews fiery acid down upon vendors who fail to disclose plumbing flaws and pervasive black mold.

10. Scratch and sniff.