Today's Complaints

In between taste trialing our cupcake batter which substitutes cocaine for flour and Bailey's for milk, we fire off about 20 or so daily customer complaints into the gentle hands of Houston's BBB with the destructive vigor of an executioner instigated by blood.

Some of today's complaints include:

At night, the neon gutter trim makes Cahill's on Durham look like a neighborhood hand job parlor or at least a place to get your palm spit on by a Cajun psychic with facial psoriasis.

There is an al qaeda cell that meets at Vintage every Thursday night. If yellow gold jewelry and 3 Series Beamers aren't qualitative signs of terrorism, then as far as we're concerned nothing is.

Hotel ZaZa rooms rape the eyes.

If you're looking for a rape joke here, you won't find one dirtbag.

The valet at The Lot told us they were Oxycontins, but they were really just cinnamon Altoids. Also they refer to their parking lot as a patio, someone needs to step in here.

The bartender at Bubba's has a black eye and she gave us ten ones in change, like we tip. Friends, the War on Awkwardness was fought on two fronts that evening.

We paid the tamale guy $3 for several hot beef tamales, but instead he sold us an earlier death.

Satisfaction. We Demand it.