Giving Thanks

We at LOTL Ltd., like you plebs, are not immune to the holocaust of family that is Thanksgiving. Some of us accelerate through this wall of misery heavily liquored and punchy, others go to Vegas with an Oslo chaser.

Just because posts are infrequent and frankly horrible, does't mean we aren't working behind the scenes to cripple grammar and subtly insult waitresses throughout the Houston metroflex. Don't think that because we aren't here means we don't care.

Like another heavenly gangster, we ain't mad at cha.

We "used to fiend for your sister, but never went up in 'er."

Tupac. Family. Respect. Thanksgiving.

Ode to the Fall Classic

The big bats are silent. The dugouts are bare.
All cheers for the victors. For the losers? Despair.
No more bratwurst, no ice cream. No nachos, no beer.
For us fans of the Astros there's always next year.
Til then there is football and basketball too.
We'll cheer for the Texans and Rockets, wahoo!
And what do we say to the season just past?
Nick Swisher? The Yankees?
They can all kiss our ass.

Two DBs and a Dart Board

Bro, it's your throw. That mirror will still be there when you're done.

I had to check out my new shades. They're DG. Why can't I hit this last bull?

Maybe you should take off your sweater. What size is that anyway?

It's a smedium. Like I should wear a medium, but I buy a small so everyone can see how ripped my delts are. See?

Dude, chillax. You just gave me a semi. Your throw. Why can't you hit your last bull?

Bro, you know I shredded my lats and traps today. I totally can't raise my arms above my waist. You're up.

Your sunglasses fell off the back of your head, broseph! You're such a tard.

Bullseye!

Cool dude, you win. I guess I'm bottom tonight.

Fuckin A. Now lets go find some hipsters and totally swoop their dates.

Hurricane Bitch-Rating System

Fellow Loop brethren, as we enter a new season and autumnal weather change, we feel like it’s our firm duty to offer you a new rating system for your benefit. For far too long, the men of the of Loop have had a difficult time quantifying what we know as a typhooning bitch and we’d like to take this opportunity to offer our new warning/rating system for your practical application. At first blush, this seem not exactly PC or offensive to some of the slaves of the Loop, so we have a message for you: Piss off. If this makes you uncomfortable, go back to your Regis and Kelly Live to pontificate about the latest Sex and the City movie and whether Samantha will abort her baby in a NYC taxi.

She annihilates anything in her path

Without further ado here’s our system:

Tropical Storm: Every female enters this category after exiting her mother’s womb. This estrogen-spiked classification recognizes the general bitchiness and complaints spewed by the XX-chromosome members of the population. For the most part, has sympathy on your soul and allows the men in her life to remain close to her calmest side, namely the eye of the storm.

Category 1: Mild to average bitch with slight gusts of male bashing with her friends. Usually takes some egregious act to set her off. Isn’t likely to make landfall unless you actually forgot a birthday, hooked up with her best friend, talked shit to her Mom, you know something reasonable that men can appreciate why someone would be upset.

Category 2: Often the jealous type, but only exerts her bitchiness after consuming large quantities of alcohol.

Category 3: Has no sympathy for you having any contact with a person of the opposite sex, but otherwise acts fairly normal.

Category 4: Most of her damage is caused by the storm surge, namely her foot in your junk. She’s more likely to cause physical pain rather than pure emotional trauma. Is known for her tendency to stalk and obsess over ex-boyfriends. For the most part, these are not common and only appear every two or three years. If you see one coming, we recommend utilizing the I-10 evacuation route, changing jobs and moving to a new home.

Category 5: The shit always hits the fan with her. Straight. Up. Cunt. Seek cover immediately. Preferably, a bomb shelter. Don’t even think about talking back or offering an opinion to anyone in this category, they probably have more testosterone pumping through their veins in a single day than you have produced in a lifetime. You thought Hurricane Andrew did damage to your bank account? This one can totally wipe you out in a single fit of rage. May just be upset b/c she’s actually a closet lesbian, and unwilling to admit it to everyone else. Example Cat-5 celebrities: Lohan, J.Lo, and Speidi.

So men, go forth and classify and help your fellow slaves avoid a shit-storm vortex of bitch hell.

Thursday Flashback

We were flipping though our collection of CDs, like it's 1997, soul searching our past and really beating ourselves up over how much fucking ska we amassed during some of our more awkward stages.

Then we come across it. Our first CD, possibly THE first CD.

Robin Givens, Halle Berry and Eddie Murphy.

Yes.

The Boomerang Soundtrack.

At the time, we didn't grasp the concept of digitized music, we just knew that snapping fingers repeatedly and wearing aquamarine velvet secured a life of flourishing success in this world.

We'd Do Without seeing this video again.

We know now that a cyan velour onesie and contralto ability gets you exactly one punch in the kidney from a larger boy after gym class.

Whatever babe. Whatever bay bay.

Welcome to the Hell...

that is Shepherd Avenue under re-construction...


And so it begins. God help us all...except Carlos

Tuesday Binge Drinking Poem

As the economy slumps,
And with nothing to sell,
Just cold calling cunts,
In our own private hell.

While five draws close,
Our palette does wet,
For that pill's first dose,
And this day to forget.

The low tide smell,
In our favorite pub,
We begin our descent,
With scotch, splash of club.

Starts with three singles,
Then two doubles down,
Our car keys a jingle,
We're hitting the town...

Wednesday To Do List

Mondays are always a surprise kidnapping of joy. Tuesdays were created for Laredo taintstrapped bars of grainy Xanax and slow sips of motherfucking Hennessey VS. On Wednesday we work, don't believe us? Gander...

To D0s (9/23)

AM
- Two breakfast tacos from El Rey and a small cantelope juice
- Diligently complete our reality series pitch where Danny Glover, of Lethal Weapon fame, searches for true love by going on a string of blind dates with slightly racist older women.

Look out Daughters of the Confederacy, Danny's at the door and he's changing minds.

- Rip other arm off S. Bradford voodoo doll, wrap in bacon and feed to chow next door.
- Buy Bob Schneider tix for Friday.
- 11:00 appointment with Cheryl from Comerica
a) seek financing for our new bar called Licka Stoe
b) don't mention her bad eye or wingless pterodactyl voice
c) EW to make aggressive sexual advance if denied
- Two Cuban tacos from El Rey and a small diet Coke

PM
- Write a coworker's suicide note, mail to work
- Leave a few unwrapped Snickers bars in the Belle Meade pool
- 3:00 appointment with Ernesto from Amegy

a) seek financing for our new record label called KinderBlunts, Inc.
b) don't mention his garage door forehead or foghorn halitosis
c) DS to make aggressive sexual advance if denied
- Check PO box for income/pornography

- One Hot Acapulco Sandwich at El Rey and an Orchata
- Educate Doghouse Tavern on the plight of a brave nation by plugging their jukebox with a $20 and an endless loop of Cherokee.

Sky punches, dusty leather pants and legacy.

- Meet at Porch Swing or King Biscuit or Red Lion, juice liver, vomit in a urinal, blame the last guy, sleep clothed on raft in jacuzzi

Note: If you have any interest in investing in future megabizzes like Licka Stoe and KinderBlunts, Inc or are Danny Glover, please contact our agent, Lawrence Soapblade, at whatmotherfucker@cloudychamber.com

Tuesday Peeve

Hey lady at the Starbucks creamer bar -- do you think you could arrange your fat ass anywhere besides the very middle so others could get a whack at the half and half? And what is taking so long? Are you trying to split the atom with skim milk, two Splenda, and a stirrer stick? You carefully placed napkins on the bar before you began your delicate operation. Why? This is not an operating theater at Mount Sinai. You are not a heart surgeon. Open the cup, pour in the milk, dump in the sweet stuff, stir it all around. Goodbye. You're fucking out.

You owe us for two minutes that we'll never get back. That will be $15.66.

Exhibit A: Proper Way to Sarge a Peahen

Hang in there good citizens...

The Lords have taken a much-deserved hiatus over the past several weeks to celebrate nuptials, offend Asians on their home turf, and generally to recuperate from the meth-fueled sex romp that was our summer. We will return in good time with new stories of valor, advice for the deserving, and warnings for the unwary. In the meantime, to hold you over, now hear this:

This is not a political blog, but this healthcare debate has gotten our hackles up. We know that we're expected to reflexively weep giant salty tears of pity and grief whenever Anderson Cooper tells us that 40 million Americans have no health insurance. We know that we're supposed to hang our heads in self-immolating shame whenever we are reminded that some of those uninsured are - gasp - children!

But what about the children?!

But we are not persuaded. In fact, we find the voices on all sides of this seemingly interminable row to be shrill, uninformed, and generally without redeeming social value. So, in no particular order, here are the Lords' prescriptions for meaningful health care reform:

5. Sell Florida to the Indians. (Think Apu, not Cochise.) We'll ask for Goa, but we'll settle for 50 shares of Tata Motors and a poster of that chick from Slum Dog. Florida is America's wang, and we're gonna have to cut that thing loose to save the republic.

4. Sin tax on health insurance for smokers and the obese.

3. Exception to rule No. 4 for hot girls who smoke to stay thin. Puff away, babydoll, the Lords got your backside. Need a light?

2. Legalize abortion through the 15th trimester. How's that for late-term, Connor McWhinesalot?

1. No boner pills unless you present the girl to our self-appointed "sex panel." The Lords will decide whether your dip in the honeypot is worthy of our tax dollars.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

Wednesday Haiku

Want in the biscuit.
Tuesday Night Tequila Fight.
No salt or lime, thanks.

Porch Swing Epiphanies

1. Sniffing Tide to Go Pens provides a much quicker way to get wasted than snorting Goldshlager

2. The symphony of urinals in the men's restroom is magical. Even Mozart would appreciate what is happening in there.

Be afraid, Tinseltown.

3. Metallic heart-shaped balloons do attract women. Especially when celebrating a maniversary.

4. If the bartender from the Porch Swing would have been present at the Alamo, the Texans would've walked away with an easy victory. We dare you to fuck with her.

5. Diesel's chest hair deflects stray bullets. To you common folks, it's known as Kevlar and woven into police vests.

6. There are many, many things we'd risk our lives for rather than watching Pay It Forward with commercials.

Big Things

Counting down the minutes until our DSW/California Pizza Kitchen double header on Sunday. It will be an EPIC victory of biblical proportions in the form of Malaysian-stitched leather and cheesey mushroom delight. See you bitches there.

Top 10 Recent Porn Titles

10. TrannyFarmers
9. G.I. Hoe: The Rise of Cobra
8. Slobknob Millionaire
7. Taking Woodcock
6. Revolutionary Rod
5. The Curious Case of Benjamin's Bottom
4. Burn After Breeding
3. 3'10" to Uma
2. Marley In Me
1. Julie and Julia

Looprivia Vol 4: It's not working out

Welcome back to another edition of the fungasm that is Looprivia! A game where you, the subservient troll, can spin the wheel of fate and win really the most atrocious set of prizes, all of which will surely burn down any semblance of the life you hoped to live.

Here is just a taste of what you could win:

- A trash bag of mushrooms picked off genuine Crockett, TX cowpies by D. Byrnes ( hand-drawn identification legend, indicating which species will yield tracers and which will make your insides burn with a taqueria green cholula fire not included).
- A Kaz Matsui autographed hemorrhoid pillow. Also, since he no longer requires them, you can have his Japanese baseball bats.
- The Garden Yeti

John Lithgow does not approve

- Ernest Goes to Jail (1990) on VHS. Yes the epic.
- Breakfast in bed prepared and served on the crotch of Mr. Venezuela

If you believe by answering the following scantroids with precision will have you waking up to a scrumptious crab omelet and a direct debit account with the credit score plunderers over at Fingerhut, then you couldn't be more correct.

- Looprivia Vol 4: Gymbo Jones -

1. The sneakthieves running Crew Heath and Fitness out of Soma's kitchen on Washington play a mix derivation of something by Moby...
a. more than a gay singles' bar circa 1998
b. less than was played at Guantanamo
c. right now, and then later on in the hour
d. all of theses answers are tragically correct

2. There is a $20 entry fee at the 24 Hour Fitness on Post Oak due to its ratio of scrippers to non-scrippers. T or F?

3. The YMCA in midtown is a great place to...
a. push out a hernia
b. have your identity stolen
c. dodge the gauntlet of swinging Hemingway crotch in the locker room
d. All of the above and a staph infection

First to answer watches arguably the weakest Ernest movie in the comfort of their own cave. Good Luck!

monday blackburry haiku

just jumped the lunch bill
royalty pays it today
thank you sushi king

For Different Folks

We were reminded recently of the time when we were little and got in trouble because of The Different Strokes. We were playing pretend in Bleach's back yard, acting out the episode where Arnold got abducted by the creepy neighbor dude. Dick played Arnold, Bleach played Willis, Diesel was Mr. Drummond, and Carlos was the neighbor. Ed played Kimberly.

We were just to the point where Willis realized Arnold was in trouble when our friend Rodney showed up wanting to play too. So we told him he had to be Webster, and he was all like, "Yeah! Webster's dad was a football player!" And we were all like, "Fuck you Webster! Our dad owns half of New York! He owns your dad. Suck it!" Rod and Ed were just about to go maelstrom, but Bleach's mom heard all of this and grounded our asses. We called her Seaward. She was a funsucker for sure.

Anyway, we thought of this recently after we were on a plane with Honey and the flight attendant started giving his saftey spiel. He deftly fastened a seat belt, and then he told us "a complete list of unapproved electronic devices can be found in the magazine in your seatback pocket." So we looked it up. Cell phone, radio, TV...that all makes sense. But it didn't say anything about 14" vibrating big black cocks. So you can imagine our consternation when we pulled "Willis" out of the overhead and started working on Honey, and the flight attendant was all like, "Haaayyyy! You can't do that heere Mister!" Retard. Long story short, that airline does not understand what the word "complete" means.

So now, 20-some years later, it comes full circle. We were arrested because of The Different Strokes. Had to spend a night in jail. They let us have the big black cock though. Not talkin about Willis.

* Bonus points to the Loopizen who sources the borrowed joke in this post.

Vegas, Baby, Vegas

In two days, the Lords head en masse to Vegas. Sin City doesn't know what's coming. Highlights of our agenda:

1. Open call tryouts for Thunder from Down Under. None of us is Australian, but Carlos has dropped so much acid that he thinks he's from Oz.

2. Kidnap Danny Gans. Demand $1 million ransom. Settle for a free spin on the Wheel of Fortune and a fistful of drink tickets at Binions.

3. Round up a few cocktail waitresses, sneak onstage at Cirque du Soleil, and grease the pole.

What pole were you thinking of?

4. Play the Martingale system on the single-green roulette wheel at Monte Carlo. It could never come up red nine times in a row.

5. Foolproof plan for entertainment: couple of hookers and an eight ball!

Help us out Loopizens. What have we missed?

Back to the Future

When the hell did fortune cookies stop delivering messages about the future and start providing recommendations about how to live a better life? For example, take our fortune that we received today at Cafe Ginger (formerly Cafe Le Jadeite on West Gray): Take some time out for yourself. No shit, Sherlock. Thanks for the tip. Who's authoring this crap, Dr. Phil?def. fortunes (n). (1) things that happen or are to happen to a person in his or her life.
(2) (Idiom) tell someone's fortune, to profess to inform someone of future events in his or her own life; foretell. -- Really, it's not that difficult to comprehend.

Although we have fortune back-up at Magic Island, because it's been closed since Hurrican Ike, and the 116-year-old Guinness Book of World records holder for the oldest woman in Houston isn't going to be around too much longer, we anticipate that we will have to rely more heavily on the cookies in the future to give us clarity as to what lies ahead. Plus, MI Gypsy Lady is always having flash-backs about assisting soldiers on the battlefield at Antietam. Trust us, her shrills are colon-shattering. In short, we need you fortune cookies to pick it up a notch. And don't even think about blaming it on this economy. There are plenty of future-predicting contractors to go around these days.

On another note, the Tea Monkeys inside the Loop need to step it up too. We are tired of having to Gary Payton our drinks just so we can maintain the proper lemon and sugar to tea ratio. You monkeys are always so eager to keep our glasses filled to the brim, when you should appreciate how difficult it is to consumer that boiled Bayou leaf water without a little sugary citrus assistance. Going forward, please inquire whether we would like our glasses topped-off or we're going to shove the salt and pepper shakers up your nostrils. Attention restaurant owners of Houston, your are required to immediately implement Lords' Executive Order 593 requiring all Tea Monkeys employed by you to query whether your patrons would like their iced tea glasses refilled prior to execution of the pour. Any Loop-violators shall be purged of life by virture of complete submersion in a frothy bath of Kombucha Tea.

Thursday Haiku

Welcome, new trainee!

Not all that cute but you'll do;

Fresh stroke imagery