Lords of the Loop

closing time

2011-02-03T14:13:00.001-06:00

We're held up somewhere in Norwegia furiously birthing rebate contracts for impatient supply chain managers and their hungry masters. Our hotel room kicks senses with its break room microwave size, temperature and funk as we hurl persusives at the void in our laptop which demands more, faster. The pitchfork we employ to furrow hunky prospects through our engorged sales funnel is presently sharp with market-ideal new products and cashy development projects at multinational planet owners . We're the street wise Herculeses whom keep the pumped blood from falling out of your global economy. You need us...until the morning light.

The cab driver escorting us to our next great triumph keeps singing ' it's okay' after every U turn and icy fishtail. We question his allegiance to the traffic laws of this socialist republic when he passes a caravan by racing through an adjacent car park. Its ok. Sure it is Laslov, our doubts reflect off your shiny forehead and back into our frightened cringes.

Achebrained from bosss' monologue surrounding a 3000 krona bottle of wine and too many expenses classed OTHER, we hold the phone up to Laslov's unsolicited reassurances . It's okay. Look sire, if you can find the one pep dealer in south Finway who takes chip n pin, then let us know. Till then, stop bringing it up, it's making us anxious.

We finally pull up to a medical device manufacturer you'd definitely recognize and thank Laslov with exact change. It's okay?

Our prep for this visit is mighty, our proposal, murderous and confidence, godlike. We are the Delta.

Stay warm loopsiders. See you soon

Please be advised

2010-08-10T08:06:00.003-05:00

OTL: Canada, the new Dallas

2010-08-02T14:36:00.001-05:00

The winds of corporate whoremongering have swept us north this summer season to pluck sticky revenue from cool mangroves and generally assault a different populous with our empty promises and emptier moral ground. We sell like a fat man breathes: hard and only when requisite.

Lords in Canada

Niagara Falls. We approach any immigration line with the same caution Papa Smurf would a slice of blueberry strudel. Since we tend to live our lives generally tight roping your laws, we run through a mental checklist each time an authoritative representative stands in our path or on the back of our head.

In this instance, our mask of innocence proves too translucent as we are asked to kindly take a sharp left and park where that officer is standing. A bearded Canuck tosses our Corolla whilst another asks us really an exorbitant number of questions. We've got a script for his answers and one for the purple drank they rooted out (thank you Dr. Stolenpad!). Fortunately the tender palmed border monkey didn't locate the key of dat sniff taped to a Christian infant in the spare tyre housing.

"No sir, we were unaware of the child's addiction. We blame the schools."

We ease into the stench-rich city of Hamilton, ON for our first meeting. Most of what we learned about sales and marketing can be traced back to Nelly's debut album Country Grammar, so our style's raw and we mack like Todd Shaw. Singing loud, we from the Loop and we proud

Here it goes. We hate our customers generally. every ounce of acting and Xanax is poured into our performance in front of them whilst we mentally plan for the Apocalypse when we'd have an excuse to track down and kill them; something which we imagine would be fun at first, but, like anything, eventually would turn into a tedious chore.

The Canadian flavor of fuckstomer has a specifically dallas taste. While polite, EVERYMOTHERFUCKINGTHING is about how great Canada is compared to the US. It's a miserable blend of insecurity and misplaced pride. "How do you like our highways? They were designed to simulate the German Autobon." Amazing. We're amazed. We get it, you've got smooth roads and free healthcare and cheap pills, we've got pocky streets, HMOs and lil JoJo's markup on grainy Vike.

It reminds us of our Dallas friends who indiscriminately hate Houston and claim everything for Dallas. Sports teams, sushi, chicks, nightlife, water, gay clubs, talk radio, cocaine, skyline, latitude are all shinier or less cut with baking soda in Dallas.

Canada meet Dallas, Dallas, Canada. You two can go fuck each other.

Monday Notes

2010-06-21T14:37:00.008-05:00

1. Stephan and his Gang over at the Pantheon that is The Loop Scoop introduces you to Phil's Texas Barbecue on Washington. We're all for the addition of another BBQ estab in our circular hood, especially after getting blackballed from Beaver's for misdemeanor vulgarity and excessive puns.

2. The e-sperm recepticle known as Click2Houston is holding its election for best Houston Blog 2010. For the second straight year, your Lords of the Loop are left off the active ballot. It looks like our hard work and even harder deathwishes will be overlooked this annum; when you consider Click2Houston is the same organization that rated Taste of Texas Houston's best steak house in 2009, we're pleased with the unassociation.

3. Unless murdered by a released circus bear gone ravenous, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy plan to ruin House of Blues with their airborne brasscancer Friday night. That's a malady you just can't negotiate with Mentholatum salve. On a seriously bright note, Slum Thug and Friends* will be there Wednesday. And We Run......

...to find an angry beeeeaaaaarrrr.

4. Question of the Week: Outside of The Olive Garden, if you were forced to punch food in your face at ANY restaurant ITL once a day for the rest of your sad existence, which Houston locale would you choose?

*Friends (n.) - Bun B, XXL white t-shirts, bullets and Hi-C powder mixed with cocaine.

poker night, son

2010-06-17T02:57:00.002-05:00

cunts with jack/two preflop raises
rod and a load of anti semitic phrases
the poker chips always get forgot
so Audi keys and barbiturates sit in the pot
stakes increase and senses get numb
it's midnight and Diesel has lost a thumb
vicodin antes and a master card bet
we play guts,anaconda and mexican sweat
carlos just wagered his fucking spouse
satan calls it with a monster full house
a few more pulls off that xanax and sprite
and surely someone is dying tonight

In Rod We Trust

2010-06-10T17:13:00.005-05:00

The passage from mortal to God is reserved for only a select few. This metamorphosis is as violent as a 17th century offshore amputation, as rumored as the clitoris and as magical as the Malaysian textile industry.

Part of this shift is a maintenance of nature's fragile equilibrium, therefore:

One Lord lives, one Stranger dies.

The choice is up to you our friend

Please join us in welcoming your newest Lord:
Gen. Roderick Boxhammer

OTL: Captain D's Lethal Injection

2010-06-02T16:01:00.001-05:00

During one of the least charming periods of our life spent harvesting revenue/profit/organs from this planet and its Sentian beings, we lived serious levies of hourglass sand in the satellite they call Sugar Land, TX. Even though we've cracked the egg from within of our career to soar far from that stretchy-pants never never, the occasions do arise when we must brave the mist and return to our oozy birthnest.

So we go to Sugar Land like once a week to monitor our goings-on and mentor the savagely retarded that work in a network of beaver holes near the haunted Imperial Sugar factory off HWY 90. Lunch options in SL are like choosing your own form of capital punishment: death is inevitable, you're just left deciding the quickest methodology. That's why we ALWAYS choose the aorta kickers at Captains D's Motherfucking Seafood Kitchen to fill our souls with delight and our hearts with breaded whitefish.

Every Tuesday, the benevolent Capt'n D opens his treasure chest to share a bounty of $10 all-you-can-eat cod. You can bet the The Jenny Jones Show will be on both 37 inchers, which is fine, since the iodine overexposure gives you the lobotomy required to enjoy such daytime television delights. Take care, because it's slippery. Look, you don't use peanut oil at that clip and not have a thin coating of shine lathered over everything in looking distance.

Just because our days in Sugar Land are long, doesn't mean our life needs to be.
Thanks matey!

Site of the Day: Bros Icing Bros

2010-06-02T10:22:00.003-05:00

We simply can't condone this behavior, but we can't refuse it either. You were warned.

BROS ICING BROS

Top 10 Songs of the Alpha Male

2010-05-26T16:19:00.002-05:00

10. Under My Thumb (The Rolling Stones)

It's down to me, the way she talks when she's spoken to
Down to me, the change has come, she's under my thumb

9. Voices Carry (Til Tuesday)

He wants me, but only part of the time
He wants me, if he can keep me in line
Hush hush, keep it down now, voices carry

8. Untouched (The Veronicas)

I feel so untouched and I want you so much
That I just can't resist you, it's not enough to say that I miss you
I feel so untouched right now, need you so much
Somehow I can't forget you, I've gone crazy from the moment I met you

7. Boombastic (Shaggy)

I'm Boombastic rated as the best
The best you should get nothing more nothing less
Give me your digits jot down your address
I'll bet you confess when you put me to the test
I'm Boombastic say me fantastic touch me on my butt she says I'm Mr Boom...

6. Piece of My Heart (Janis Joplin)

Never, never, never, never, never, never hear me when I cry at night
Babe, I cry all the time!
And each time I tell myself that I, well I can't stand the pain
But when you hold me in your arms, I'll sing it once again

5. Magic Man (Heart)

"Come on home, girl" Mama cried on the phone
"Too soon to lose my baby yet, my girl should be at home"
But try to understand....try to understand.
Try, try, try to understand...
He's a magic man, Mama...ah...he's a magic man

4. Big Poppa (Notorious B.I.G.)

Who they attractin with that line, "What's your name what's your sign"
Soon as he buy that wine I just creep up from behind
And ask what your interests are, who you be with
Things to make you smile, what numbers to dial

3. Red House (Jimi Hendrix)

There's a red house over yonder, baby, that's where my baby stays.
Well, I ain't been home to see my baby in about ninety nine and one half days ...
I might as well go back over yonder, way back yonder 'cross the hill
'Cos if my baby don't love me no more, I know her sister will!

2. One Week of Danger (The Virgins)

Well is there something that you like about her? Yes.
I like the way that her body bends in half.
And is there something that you love about her? No.
There ain't a woman in this world I wont let go.

1. You're So Vain (Carly Simon)

Well I hear you went up to Saratoga and your horse naturally won
Then you flew your Lear jet up to Nova Scotia
To see the total eclipse of the sun
Well you're where you should be all the time
And when you're not you're with
Some underworld spy or the wife of a close friend
Wife of a close friend

Nearly forty years later, people debate the identify of the barb-cocked lothario who inspired this tormented wailing. Well played, sir.

Such Great Washington Heights: scene 65

2010-05-19T12:02:00.006-05:00

Such Great Washington Heights

Scene 65

We pull up to River Oaks Cleaners on Washington in a car full of fine linens & silk, like a modern day Marco Polo returning to the canals of Venice with fragrant curries and small brown slaves.

We heard Cova went out of business and recall on thoughts of what dildos the barstaff were the one time we overpaid for a small piece of Alexander Valley there. We make a silent wish that they are all struggling for rent money on this day and the next.

There is a budding line to the counter of ROC. A man in scrubs, our age, is sifting through most of his wardrobe with the accommodating Hispanic woman counting collars as he shuffles his Bugatchi shine from one edge of the Formica to the other. Separating him and us is a blond woman donning a pair of face swallowing sunglasses and badly wrinkled clothing of her own.

Woman leans back, quietly asks: Who dry cleans jeans?

Us back to the woman loud enough for all to hear: Probably someone who wears powder blue scrubs on their day off.
Woman, mockingly: Right

The scrubbed man, still rifling through his garb, turns to look at us with a sort of angered embarrassment. He turns back towards Hispanola and states his name and phone number.

Scrubs: Last name, ..., first name, Rayden.

Us to the room: We loved your work in Mortal Kombat.

And scene.

If you are interested in purchasing the entire Such Great Washington Heights manuscript, please contact our agent: Kurt Stingpenis at what!motherfuckers@stingpenisinc.com.

Saturday TStorm Haiku

2010-05-15T12:56:00.004-05:00

say fuck the weather

electric pool opera

still swimin' lawya

Wednesday To Dos

2010-05-12T08:11:00.002-05:00

Mondays are the infant-cooking bandersnatches that poke at our joysockets and taunt wrinkled slacks. We reserve Tuesdays for a jelly bean assortmant of stolen pilldrugs and general mid to high cap shoplifting. On Wednesdays we work. Don't believe, mira...

To Dos (5/11)

- Two Sunrise breakfast taquitos and a med vanilla hazelnut coffee

- Call on a large healthcare account, listen to complaints about delivery/quality/attitude, pledge change/resolution/brimstone, take no actions

- Construct strategy to derail the May 21st occurings at Verizon Wireless Pampatheatre

"Hello critical mechanical failures, we'd like you to Meet Virginia."

- Draft dangerously threatening pay raise demand letter to boss, sign marketing horseface's name, stamp, mail

- 11:00 appointment with Gerri at Wachovia

a) apply for loan to market and manufacture our new product: The Odor Eracist*

b) don't mention her 6th digit and cleft tongue

c) DS to lather on the sexual charm if denied

- Remove hubcap outside nearby magnet school, replace with palm frons

PM
- Murder Bowl at BRC, two IPAs, no tip

- Nap like a sweet kitten

- Finish thesis entitled: The Relevance of Synthesized Xylophinic Melody in a post Billy Ocean Musical Landscape
- Pick-up ketchup bottle at Randalls on Shep, pull fire alarm, tell manager that little brother is still inside/missing, leave

- Try on blue dial, gold Submariner at Deutsch & Deustch, lord over the cunty sales goon by pretending to be filthy, hairchested Greek yachting tycoon, attempt purchase with Chevron card

Former first lady not included

- Put a cool bill on the 'Stros to beat the Retardinals (+245)
- Spend remaining afternoon squeezing aliquots of ketchup into various vending coin returns ITL, The Exact Change Bandit Lives Motherfuckers!
- Meet at Kay's or Branchwater or Kenneally's, torpedo senses with Scotch, lose keys, mock guy in khaki shorts & docksiders, find keys, swear revenge on Tommy Manzella, punch someone undeserving, sleep with foot on brake.

*Patent Pending

Weekend Review

2010-05-10T20:35:00.003-05:00

Slow weekend at the Mansion
Sweet babies? Few
Time these Lords shall ponder
"Really? You?"

For brews there is Armandos
The fish tacos are divine
The Red Room shines with promise
But alas, it's only nine

Give it time, they say
And in walks the prey -- shiny, and new
But the bitch shields are steep like a castle keep
"Really? You?"

We will perservere
The battle is near
More scotch. More crown
More sarge. Get down

"For the price of a bottle
All this table can be yours"
"Um, fuck you, Jamison
Who needs these whores?"

Because the tennis is strong on the pirate ship
And we're VIP at the Mic. Sip Sip
Dont think for a moment that these Lords are through
You can't see us but we can see you

Loopalderdash

2010-05-04T09:44:00.003-05:00

You choose the correct definition!

WAUGH is --

(1) Active ingredient in Bill White’s hair thickening shampoo;

(2) The maiden name of Webster’s biological mother;

(3) Title track of Snow Patrol’s latest Japanese bootleg release; or

(4) A dull flint tool used by Andy Roddick’s strength coach for encouragement.

Miss me? You can find me at the Red Room every Thursday night between 1 and 3 am.

Pennance

2010-04-30T09:42:00.004-05:00

We slacked on our postings for a loooong, long time. Truth is, DB was in a coma from straining to play guitar using nothing but his cock. BB was in county for robbing a Licka Stoe. It took several months to convince the stoopid pigs that we own the Licka Stoe. EW had a six month internship as a gaffer with Vivid Video. Your own DS just returned from a peyote-infused vision quest in the remote jungles of Ecuador. And CV -- hell, no one's actually seen CV in six years. We just hear the war stories from the Washington Shore. "Did you see Carlos at Brixx last night? Mad mutha was going CRA-AAAZZZY."

But these are not excuses, and we acknowledge our sin. Even the Lords are not above the law -- well, except for Jude Law, obviously. We're above that shit sandwich like the frank's above the beans. But we're not above Man Law, and for our pennance, we are lifting our normal shroud of secrecy to share ten heretofore little-known facts about the Lords with our loyal Loopizens. This shit is explosive; please be discreet.

10. Bleach dies every night in his sleep. But he is always reincarnated as himself, only slightly better looking.
9. Diesel once bested a pack of West U collarpoppers using nothing but a hippie mind trick.

8. The water in Dick's pool is collected from the tears of baby unicorns. It heals what ails you, and increases penis size.

7. Ed has not eaten since 2005. He is nourished by the respect of men and the adoration of women.

6. Carlos bedded an entire pride of Palm Beach cougars in a single night. Those "ladies" still gather once a year to commemorate the last good rogering they ever will know.

5. Every Lord received more than 100,000 write-in votes for President in 2008.

4. When Diesel plays Monopoly, he never ever goes to jail.

3. OJ Simpson lives in Bleach's guest room. We call him Kato.

2. When Ed frowns, an earthquake happens. But every time he smiles, a kitten is born.
1. The Lords love things with seashells and seahorses on them, like blankets, and towels, and little bags.

Seahorses. Forever.

BRC Ain’t No Hen House

2010-04-29T10:49:00.002-05:00

Cock-a-doodle-do! Like a Red Giant perched on the thoroughfare that is Shepherd Drive, BRC is the new celestial beacon of light in the life of the Lords. Yesterday evening we had the pleasure of bathing our bodies in Maytag blue cheese mac & cheese and gargling Dr Pepper-infused floats to our royal-hearts’ molted with delight. Not since the days of the Great Cockfight of ’67 deep in the slums of Quito has a bird come out fighting with such miraculous force.

Your crest and wattles are showing you dirty polygamous bastard

On track to be our go-to nesting place, this divine eatery fails to disappoint in any aspect. The walls are coated in divine red velvet ecstasy and the fine leather seats offer a free hand job with every dessert. Paradise awaits you if you aren’t chicken shit.

Congratulations to Jeff, Lance, Shepard and Lee on your newest grand champion cluck-cluck.

State of the Gene Pool - Spring Fever Edition

2010-04-28T13:15:00.004-05:00

Spring is here, and we're out on parole. The weather in H-Town is nothing short of orgasmic. We erupted like Eyjafjallajökull just glancing at the crytal pool this morning. Fortunately we fuck like the Man from Fire Mountain, so that's only an appetizer. No, not even; an amuse-bouche.

Amuse-bouche? Amuse-douche, also known as every single night on the Washington Shore. Coming soon to a NOX near you: Dancing With the Bores. What did you say honey? We can't hear you over the oontz oontz and the din of braying goomba. Hey bro -- do you speak retard? We said, do you have a playa card -- wink at the baby, wink at the baby -- cause we don't think you're allowed to wear that t-shirt without one. Can we borrow your friend? There's this really cool trick she needs to see. Hey baby, buy us a drink. Swoop -- and scene.

Next Wednesday is Spanko de Mayo. Three things you'll need to celebrate Lord-style: (1) an attitude the size of a BP oil slick; (2) a spanking device of your own choosing (we like a wooden spoon, but a bare hand will work if you cup it just so); and (3) a pocketful of excellence! No jimmies allowed. We call that improving the gene pool one swoop at a time!

Peace out playaz.

Bonus quote of the week: Every time a fat chick manages to get laid, god smites a kitten. By sitting on it.

Hot Tub Time Machine

2010-03-31T13:00:00.002-05:00

Just a hunch, but we think this could be the next Bill and Ted's EA.

Chlorine killz it every time!

To the Valet Guy at Block7

2010-03-24T15:47:00.003-05:00

The Lords of the Loop, along with its loyal followers, would like to offer you a collective, "Go fuck yourself!" You are the supreme ruler of all things that are the color orange and have a cone-like shape.

Congrat-u-fuckulations! Now move that shit out of my way so I can park my own fucking car. Keep your greasy, little paws to yourself and off of our luxury foreign automobiles.

Choose your own Loopventure: Nazi Fun

2010-02-09T09:30:00.003-06:00

So we're fucking around at work on Craigslist, when we came across this...

"Hello selling lots of military items us uniforms ww2 and newer about seven uniforms lots of badges on them also one original nazi banner very large will take 2,200 for all flag alone is worth at least 1,200 i paid 1,500 for the uniform alone over ten years ago. i also have lots of barn collectibles old saws one large cross cut several oil lamps, several cotton scales and other old scales i have over 1,000 in these items which i have collected around 15 years if you know how to ebay you can almost double your money i will take 2,800 for the whole lot. call me if interested 409 682 5634"

Did someone say barn collectibles? We decided to email our new friend in League City:

Dear Sir, we are very interested in your antique saws and other WW2 fanfare, are they still available? Can you give the estimated size of the uniforms? We are a 42 Long, any chance they will fit? How big is the flag (dimensions)? - Mr. Brown, inside the loop

His response in a day:

Mr. Brown, yes they are still available. the uniforms very [yes, we know] in size so you will need come and try them out. the flag is about 10X12'. please come look.

Us:

Great! 10X12 would make for great bed sheets for our son, he's a bit of a history buff. We'll bring a pick-up truck to get the antique barn treasures. Please have all these fine things out and available for viewing and ultimately transport. We assume $2,800.00 USD in cash is fine. We'll be down in LC on Saturday, we will call around lunch time.

His response this morning:

I don't appreciate waiting for your call all day saterday. I have the collectable all ready for you to pick up. Are you still interested?

CHOOSE YOUR OWN LOOPVENTURE

We could:
(a) Truck down to League City with $2,800 in cash, try on all the uniforms, take pictures with the flag and get cold feet at the last moment.
(b) Email back that we are still interested, then email under a different CL user name and start a Fuhrious bidding war.
(c) See if he'll drive the stuff up and give him an address to a quaint home in the 5th Ward.
(d) Don't mess with a man in possession of ancient barn saws and Nazi flags, go get some low-cal Berripop instead.

You decide

Alpha Rev - New Morning

2010-02-06T11:56:00.006-06:00

We spent the better part of a decade inhaling drugs with AR's bass player, though are surely not the only ones. This is their new Coldplay rip. Strong.

Keep up the good work!

Notes from the Never Never

2010-01-21T16:41:00.004-06:00

Our weekly two hours of work are being put to the ultimate test as it's Quarterly Sales Meeting time, cuz! Can we get a fucking siren please!We're upchucking our miserable 2009 fortunes on to 16 digital slides and tomorrow we'll throw a nickel in the spaceship ride outside the Alpha Beta of our minds, as we stand in front of our peers and superiors wishing for simpler times.

Our 2010 sales bridge is fashioned from spider webs and soggy crackers. We'd likely strike a greater impression if instead we quickly ejacutate on a frisbee and hurl it into the crowd.

"Our 2010 forecast can best be described by Peter Gabriel in his song Big Time. Enjoy."

Peter Gabriel - Big Time
Uploaded by bebepanda. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

"Alright. Any questions?"

Work tomorrow. Scotch tonight/ It beckons...

Wednesday Wrap

2010-01-13T12:01:00.002-06:00

So we just barely gutted enough trout last year to keep our jobs on the kill floor of respective firms/companies/snakepits and in an effort to spin back into our normal lives of not being a child eating troll to capitalism we're here to tell you the goings on in your town and ours...

1. The Branch Water Tavern opened up a few months ago and since a broom stick through our mail slot pokes this touted establishment in the short ribs, we couldn't refuse paying handsomely for slices of undercooked duck served over minute grits. They have a large collection of brown liquior, though how they intend on using it seems up for debate.

2. We received funding for our new project where we rent out dogs for the day/weekend to people who like the idea of a mutt but cant keep to a heartworm schedule. Be on the look out for LOTL's Pimpa Bitch in your neighborhood. 3. House of Blues intends to host the reunion of the Goodie Mob tomorrow night and just in time for MLK Day. We'll be there. Now, if the despotic overlords at HOB could lure New Edition back together, we'd die happily.

4. Sorry ladies, Colt McCoy is engaged.

5. Historically Damaging Fact of the Week:
Florence Nightingale did not subscribe to germ theory and was also a serial nymphomaniac. She used filthy, filthy sex to heal dying solders during the Crimean War. This is fact.

Take it from FloNite and spread your meds!

Happy Wednesday Motherfuckers!

Happy New Year Bitches

2010-01-08T16:39:00.004-06:00

The Loop awoke this morning to a cold new reality -- the depeest freeze it has seen since Beyonce broke up Destiny's Child. Basic city services have ground to a halt as the gray-collar serfs scurry off to drain their pipes and wrap their plants in swaddling clothes. The beggars and bums have all gone home, toasty and warm in their 2/2 bungalows, heated with the dimes and dollars of naïve Houston motorists. Down at the 'Fold, the nipples on Sweet Caroline and her friends have grown hard as -- well, not hard at all actually. Those nipples haven't been sensitive to environmental stimuli since Clinton was in the White House. But you get the point. It's fucking cold.

As for your Lords, we take this arctic blast for what it obviously is -- an ominous sign portending doom for the year that lies ahead. We woke up confused to find an empty bed, universal health care, and a hot tub encased in ice! What the what? If we'd wanted that, we would have stayed at Harvard. Something obviously went awry in the blackout we like to call … the second half of 2009. Judging from the meth pipes and nitrous balloons strewn around the living room floor, we hosted Burning Man. Hope we had fun.

Do we need a permit for this?

So here's to starting a New Year inside the Loop. The Horns didn't win, but with a little luck, the Rockets will make the playoffs, the I-10/I-45 interchange will return to normal, and the new mayor will lez out with Victoria Osteen on the set of Great Day Houston.

Za tebya, comrades. Let's fuckin win in 2010.

Our Fever

2010-01-04T10:41:00.003-06:00

It's only getting hotter...

Goosebumps are normal.

Terrence Cody's mother is a ball return in a southeastern Mississippi LazerBowl. The height difference between Texas WR Malcolm Williams and Bama CB Javier Arenas can be measured in Nick Sabans.

We're going to get nasty with it. See you in LA.

Definition: WALK OF PRIDE (n.)

2010-01-01T12:22:00.006-06:00

Walk of Pride (n.) (1) Departure by a young lady from the home of a Lord in the early morning hours. (e.g., She took a long walk of pride after exiting the home of Dick Swisher following an eye-opening night of coitus.) Antonym: Walk of Shame. Especially appropriate when a group of cougars exits a lair together, as in a pride of cougars.

Own it in 2010 bitches!

Happy New Year's!

Giving Thanks

2009-11-25T09:24:00.007-06:00

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

2009-11-04T22:58:00.003-06:00

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

2009-10-25T16:51:00.002-05:00

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

2009-10-23T12:13:00.006-05:00

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

2009-10-15T13:46:00.002-05:00

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...

2009-10-05T16:22:00.005-05:00

that is Shepherd Avenue under re-construction...

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

Tuesday Binge Drinking Poem

2009-09-29T16:10:00.004-05:00

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

2009-09-23T06:32:00.001-05:00

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

2009-09-22T15:32:00.005-05:00

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

2009-09-22T01:02:00.003-05:00

Hang in there good citizens...

2009-09-21T14:12:00.004-05:00

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...

2009-09-09T17:11:00.003-05:00

Wednesday Haiku

2009-09-02T11:36:00.002-05:00

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

Porch Swing Epiphanies

2009-08-30T10:34:00.006-05:00

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

2009-08-29T08:28:00.003-05:00

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

2009-08-26T17:21:00.003-05:00

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

2009-08-25T13:19:00.002-05:00

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

2009-08-24T15:16:00.002-05:00

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

For Different Folks

2009-08-14T11:05:00.003-05:00

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

2009-08-04T12:05:00.003-05:00

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

2009-07-30T12:55:00.001-05:00

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

2009-07-30T12:52:00.010-05:00

Welcome, new trainee!

Not all that cute but you'll do;

Fresh stroke imagery

Tuesday Tirade

2009-07-28T12:28:00.004-05:00

We arose early this morning for the annual examination of the Lords' corporeal wellness, and we are none too pleased. It's not our health. Our hearts beat strong, we get erections of steel, and we fuck like the man from fire mountain. But every encounter with our healthcare system reminds us of the sickening decay that spreads across our land, and plummets us into a mood of general foulness so dense that the light of a thousand suns cannot penetrate its fog. We know that it's several months until Festivus, but we have a lot of problems with you people, and we need to air some grievances. In no particular order:

The Sears store on Main and Wheeler. WTF? No, seriously. W. T. F?? Are Midtown Loopizens lining up to buy Craftsman socket wrenches and Lands' End cargo shorts? Keeping a Sears store open on this piece of prime loop real estate is exactly the kind of management genius that caused our SHLD stock to wither from 200 to 40 in a year. Fuck you Eddie Lampert. We're out.

Potato sack dresses. Ladies, this is not a good look for you. Even the trendy cute ones make us fear the worst. What is she hiding under there? A baby bump? Maybe a puppy. If you want some attention from the Lords, show us what you got and prepare to be judged. If you want us to do the same, just ask. We'll whip it out.

Please shoot us.

Lance Armstrong. No explanation required.

Sexting. Keep sending the boob pics, please do, but send them to our email. A new study shows that texting while driving makes us 23 times more likely to have an accident. http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/ap/nation/6550046.html We don't need the distractions, and neither do you.

Beer pong. This is the dumbest drinking game ever conceived. It takes an eternity, no one gets drunk, and the rules are more complicated than Hammurabi's Code. We'll play flip cup or liar's dice, but get your weak shit out of our bars.

Neighbors. We turn the music down after midnight. We remind our guests in the grotto to soften their voices. We even stopped playing Rock Band in the driveway. In other words, we try. But the Lords were born to rock, sometimes well into the night. If you can't handle a little revelry late on a Friday, move to the Woodlands. We hear it's nice out there, but we wouldn't know. We live ITL.

Jeebus Tebow Is a Born-Again Virgin

2009-07-27T13:43:00.006-05:00

Last week, you may have seen the ridiculous article on Tebow’s virginity, which surrounds a question posed to Timmy at SEC media day last week. We’re sorry, but Tebow must be employing the Iraqi Minister of Information for his PR this season.

"Guy's, I know it sounds ridiculous, but Tim Tebow is a great lover."

Here are five reasons why Tebow is definitely not a virgin:

1) If you have circumcised multiple Thai boys over spring break, you are not a virgin;

2) If you've raped Oklahoma a BCS championship game, you are not a virgin;

3) If you’ve showered with Urban Meyer, you are not a virgin;

4) If you’ve only had sexual intercourse at church lock-ins or on a missionary trip and cried afterwards, you are still not a virgin; and

5) If you’ve dated the girl seen below, you are most definitely not a virgin (or is a closet homo).

If this girl hasn’t blown TT, then we’ll devote our blog entirely to

discussing Tony Danza’s wardrobe on Who’s the Boss?

After all, Oprah says oral sex is sex.

Monday Music

2009-07-27T12:14:00.002-05:00

This is not a music blog, but if you haven't heard of them you should check out Delta Spirit. Enjoy.

Have a great week Loopwalkers.

Friday's Complaints

2009-07-24T08:44:00.003-05:00

It's been a cactus enema of a week. Once the unchecked sheriffs of business mining through fruit-heavy profit orchards, our occupations are now a fish head potpourri which includes some East Texas ditch making when we're not acting as our boss's boss's leathery, corporate dildo holster.

The displaced anger we feel over our recent joblynching descends upon this city as we have a standing weekly meeting with the foam arm of consumer justice that is Houston's BBB. Today's complaints include:

- A goblin that looks like Kathy Bates after a car accident works bar at Cahill's on Saturdays noontime. Someone please exercise her.

- With the addition of Block 7, there are now more wine bars than churches in Gomorrah... err...Houston. We sip our Cakebread calmly awaiting brimstone.

...brimstone and fire from the Lord[s] out of heaven... (Genesis 19:24-25)

- The moneytaker at Splash Hand Car Wash on Shep called us "bro" 5 times in under two minutes. We believe this to be a bit excessive as we were not purchasing marijuana from him on this occasion.

- There is a black hole at Roeder's Pub which only effects heterosexual woman.

Have a Motherfucking Looptaculous Friday!

Which Wich? - Open Up and Say Nothing!

2009-07-23T12:46:00.006-05:00

How freaking great is this place? Fresh ingredients. Coke Zero. And virtually no interaction with the sandwich artists! Yes, we Lords rate many restaurants on how annoying the restaurant staff can be and strive to avoid small talk with complete strangers. In an ideal Loop-world, we would be able to order food from deaf-mutes.

Superior sandwiches without the annoying small talk.

For example, the jerk-off, overly-joyful Pot Belly staff always asks us how our day has been going and wants to talk about the devilishly hot weather H-town has been experiencing. Do you not realize that it's 8:45 at night, we are obviously just getting off work (See the neck noose and suit?) and that we've been at the office for the last 12 hours? Please don’t be surprised that we’d rather put your face on the meat slicer and slow-roast your flesh through that little toaster oven than have some trite exchange with your worthless fastfood serving ass. Please focus, we came to your establishment to get in and get out as quickly as possible, not to find new pals. Also, if we are the only person in line, don’t ask us if we are having a Wreck on wheat when you know god damn well-in-good that of course that’s our fucking sandwich coming down the conveyer belt. We are the next person in line. Do you think there was some sort meatball-sub coup going on behind the counter? We are the next person in line, so the next sandwich is ours. We know, it's a complicated concept.

On the other hand, at Which Wich?, we enter, fill out our order by checking off boxes on a brown paper bag to inform the sandwich maker of the specific condiments and dressings we have selected. It’s like a Scantron test with your grade being an edible prize! No interaction, no confusion. Not sure exactly what we want? Re-read the sandwich bag! Even monkeys could do it, it's so easy.

Easier than the SAT and comes with a heavenly processed-meat reward

ITL, we frequent the one on Richmond across from Cocks-Co. Traffic can be a little dicey and parking is usually a bitch, but we think these minor inconveniences should not discourage you from checking out the best (hassle-free) sandwich in town.

Nom-nom-nom! Enjoy!

P.S. The Diet DP poured over Sonic-style ice is a can't-miss complement to your meal.

Additionally...

2009-07-23T07:51:00.005-05:00

Fuck you Ryan Franklin and the mullet on your face:

Two Back

2009-07-22T14:53:00.003-05:00

Your Astros are poised to sweep the division leading team from Slut. Louis and pull within one game for a share of the Central. The Eater of Planets, Carlos Lee, yoked a gratuity grand slam last night; this coming after single-handedly relieving Monday night's scoring constipation with a messy 3 run bomb in the 4th.

He only smiles when he's hungry

Not to go unnoticed was a shimmering performance by Wandy, who went 7 innings and 1-3 with a motherfucking double.

Our fondness for this team never dies, though the struggle to understand it continues...
Oswald v. Carpenter tonight. 7pm. Go 'Stros!

OTL: Metairie...or, the Deceitfully Safe Part of New Orleans

2009-07-20T17:19:00.023-05:00

There are only two things that are acceptable about New Orleans. First, to be considered an adult you must be an alcoholic, regardless of age. Second, Metairie, their sad attempt to birth a cosmohood in N'awlenz. Praise be to Lee Majors it exists though. And the nicest of the most affordable hotels (according to our fucking boss) sits right on I-10 so a Lord can get the fugk out promptly (with a daiquiri to go, snap).

Mother Nature has a constant period and she has it on New Orleans. If you've been you know the dew-like paste permanently waxing everything from concrete to metal to souls to the air inside our "upgraded" Starwood Preferred Guest "suite". There is no real reason to be in New Orleans or for it to be. It exists as our country doesn't agree with genocide - or any of the finer points of Hitler's wise side. We regrettably don't agree either, but only because the Marines staying down the hall escorted us to a human shielded-drink at Laffite's Blacksmith Shop on the edge of the Quarter. There was good jazz and we don't go to the Quarter alone at night no matter the severity of cabin fever.

Longest continuously open bar West of the Mississippi, check...no electric light, check...

freaky ghost-like pianist, check...and the bare necessities for a breathtaking culture...check!

Gun shots, e.g., are more muffled, almost endearing in Metairie, however. There are just two or three abandoned cars of low value noted along its major thoroughfare. You'll likely not be held at gun-point for healthy sperm or an organ. Sparse are the homeless and even less-sparse are the homeless with recently-living fowl in their hands.

There are few visible street signs in Mayor Ray's city and those that are findable are out of position, on the ground, and/or make no sense - it was like that before Katrina, so don't give us that shit. But in Metairie, if brave enough to ask, you might just get detailed directions to the nearest Hooter's from a local obtaining the simple and subtle sense of responsibility for the general welfare of common folk. We thank you for that one, Metairie, even though you were wrong. It was late, like 4pm. We knew you were already drunk and we respect that.

Website of the Day: Don't Even Reply

2009-07-20T09:57:00.002-05:00

Link

Here, Kitty, Kitty: Cougar Evolution ITL 101

2009-07-19T10:12:00.010-05:00

For far too long now, the term Urban Cougar, or simply cougar, has been tossed around too casually and without proper focus. It's often used in an incorrect manner, thus causing potential prey to become befuddled as tiger-horny men stagger forward through the night with a mischaracterizations of nocturnal felines taped to a Post-It note on the inner-wall of their skulls. With this helpful explanation below, you will not only be able to properly identify women falling into their respective places on the urban-cat evolutionary chart, you will be able to take this new-found knowledge and use it your strategic advantage to obtain an invitation back to her lair or repel, if so desired, using the proper safe guards.

It's a Labrynthian Atlas of feline maturation at your fingertips*

*As a disclaimer, although many of these species are broken down and defined, to some extent into age-specific phylums, by falling into one of these age ranges does not necessarily place you into one of these specifically defined orders. First and foremost, these groupings are attitude driven, so the age ranges are more of a guide than a rule.

Kitten - Any pre-pubesecent girl looked sexually upon by pedofiles, dweebs, Joel Osteen or R-Kelly.

Jaguar - Any fertile woman who desires a man that has no desire to procreate or settle down. Such creatures typically exhibit the general estrogen-laced attitudes of females by complaining about how human men really don't do anything else in life except for playing video games and fist bumping other members of their wolfpack. As a whole, this creature stalks its prey at a regular non-specific drinking establishments and rarely acts "desperate".

Bobcat - Most often falls into an age range of 26 to 39. Has had at least one long term alliance with a member of the opposite sex. Emanates a larger degree of attitude than a kitten but less desperation than a cougar. May also camouflage themselves as a peahen, gathering with other peahens in synergistic forces to bitch about other peahens roosting too close to their nest. Warning: Sexual desire may just be a mask for their soul mate search. Men, stay focused on the task at hand, which is intercourse not suicide. Cuddling is not usually an option but a requirement. Fuck that.

Cougar - The big Panthera. The center of the cat kingdom. Age range most commonly falls between 39 and 54. These testosterone carnivores target young men inside the Loop between the ages of 18 and 33. Silverbacks need not apply. They aren't interested in money or cars. They want one thing: Your cock in and around their mouth. Typical lairs include Moe's Steakhouse, The Remington at St. Regis, and Uptown Tasting Room. Enter at your own risk. Claws only, no house cats here.

Saber-tooth - Just too fucking old to really be in the game. Drier than the Mojave desert. Officially brought back from extinction with the aid of KY's lubricating jelly. Pros: May have a bevy a cash and could be a potential geriatric sugar mama. If you can secure a spot in her will, you may have it made, because she's roamed the Earth for nearly a 100 years now and the end is near.

Repellants for any potential undesirable feline attackers: (a) shots of vinegar (b) moth-ball cologne (c) face urination (d) pre-ejaculation (e) boat shoes (f) baldness (g) gold chains (h) a sense of responsibility (i) curfews (j) school (k) political discussions

Fear of the Day

2009-07-18T19:18:00.003-05:00

Is the braided belt making a comeback? A true waist noose many Loopers are now embracing again. Panic has set in. Consternation leaks out of our pores. We may be close to the end. Good-bye and good luck.

We dare you to taunt this leather Python.

Name our Band

2009-07-17T14:22:00.005-05:00

Each Friday, your Lords gather around a handle of 12 year to review our week, ongoing religious based Ponzi scheme and general sabotage plots. It's less a meeting between friends and more Houston's Plutocratic congress.

For years we've been tossing around the idea of cultivating our inherent harmonic ability and starting a band. We've got the talent, the instruments and the sex appeal, but what we don't have is a proper name. We could use your help; here's a few to get you thinking:

Freon Panda
Wound Gone Shitty
The Yourmommameters
Diesel and the Xenophobes
The IUDs
Daddy's Hitting Secret

Ran right into a door...it was my fault

Help?

Braying Asses

2009-07-16T10:59:00.000-05:00

Woot woot. Booyah. Snap! Boop. Beeyotch. Whoop! Hey-oh. Bump! Da man. Da bomb. Da schiznit. Fo schizzle. Fo sho.

Faux pas.

Website of the Day: Hellen Keller Simulator

2009-07-14T13:48:00.001-05:00

Link

That Gym Guy

2009-07-13T16:47:00.018-05:00

Please pardon the interruption, but does anyone happen to have a blow torch, some duct tape and a dirty sock? We’d like to go Guantanamo Bay on a few of our newest Loopcquaintances we’ve run into at the gym lately.

You know who were talking about. The guy who transports his gallon-sized milk jug full of water to impress us with how hydrated he is. He’s just finished his seventeenth set of curls and has been grunting like a zebra in heat on mescaline and Adderall. It’s no surprise he’s acting like a Baboon given all the Alpha Male dust snorted prior to each of his weightlifting raves.

If it looks, smells, and sounds like a Baboon, you are probably at a gym ITL.

...

On another note, when the fuck did someone permit the donning of Capri pants by men at the gym? We saw you the other day, Toni and Guy. You and your clam diggers. What. The. Fuck. Are those shorts or pants? We just call them fags. Actually, never mind, because regardless of what your answer will be, it won’t change the fact that you probably wore culottes to your last White Party in Montrose. Why do we even bother covering this utter non-sense when you are oblivious to common heterosexual fashion-sense? You make Richard Simons look like Charlton Heston. If gay were a planet, you'd be Jupiter. Are you the new assistant-deputy director of Homo-land Security?

Rant over. Please disperse to go forth and mock.

The Washington Avenue Drinkery

2009-07-10T11:05:00.008-05:00

4115 Washington Avenue
(Formerly The Daily Grind)

Loyal Loopjects may have noticed that we don't give many positive reviews. Don't expect that to change now. The Lords have high standards, and besides, nice is never funny. (The combination of our biting wit and utter inability to resist the joke has wilted more budding romances than Carmen Electra has B-movie flops. Count 'em.) But we also always try to see the bright side of everything ITL, so in that spirit, we present The Drinkery.

Post time for happy hour was 6 pm. The office wife was late to the starting gate (two demerits), so we took the opportunity to inspect the premises. This joint is a one-room schoolhouse for learnin to love us some liquor. One big room, stained-wooden columns, not much seating, and techno music at happy hour. Huh? Did the Red Lion and Pearl Bar have a baby? And apart from the dormant internet jukebox in the corner -- trend application rejected -- there is nothing to do in this joint but imbibe the squeeze and observe the Loopdrones. (More on them in a moment.) So we ordered up a scotch to quench our Thursday Thirsties, and wandered out back to view the deck. Oops. Might be nice in November, but human skin ignites at 1,400 degrees. Can't risk it in July. Back to class for some lessons in sociology.

The Drones at the Drinkery are a bewildering mix of over-40s and under-the-age-of-appropriate-Lordmates. Not many students in our "target demographic," if you catch our drift. And the techno music playing in broad daylight on a Thursday had not yet whipped the class into a libidinous fervor. Shocking. So we had to content ourselves with studying the schoolmarm behind the bar, and we are pleased to report that this is one area where the Drinkery excels.

We brought our pencils, give us somethin to write on!*

The Drinkery did not invent the buxom bartender, but they might have perfected it. Sadly, they have not perfected how to serve an excellent cocktail. No disrespect meant to the teacher; our drinks were mixed perfectly. But they were served in oddly-mishapen, acrylic cups. Excuse me? Are we sitting poolside at the Bellagio? No? Then please serve our firewater in appropriate glassware. We don't know about you, but the tink-tink-tink of ice in an old-fashioned glass is soft, sweet music to ears worn down by the whining demands of the worklife. Plick-plick-plick is just not the same.

The Drinkery is young and has potential, but it doesn't know what it wants to be when it grows up. Hipster hangout or chill spot to throw back with friends? For now, we reserve judgment.

* Not actual photo of Drinkery bartender. The Lords have respect for the ladies of the Loop. We took this photo of a random skank way way OTL. Nuff said.

Looporons: Man Jewelry

2009-07-08T18:52:00.004-05:00

Quick turtle. Chaste hooker. Virtual reality. Do any of these oxymoronic things actually exist? Unfortunately for the rest of us, there's something we've noticed lately gripping the stylistic tendencies of countless Loopdrones. Despite its incongrous nature this epidemic has infiltrated the Loop in an unwelcomed way. The giant pink elephant inside the Loop that everyone is thinking about, but has failed to acknowledge: MAN JEWELRY. Say what? That's right, you heard us. And it's not just the Jabronies any more. It's your neighborhood BerriPop servers, your local Subway sandwich artist, and even your company's IT guy.

Your shit's so shiny it's like staring into a thousand suns.

WTF is man jewelry? Man jewelry is any metal object adorned by a heterosexual male. Notable exceptions are obviously a watch or a wedding ring. The watch is acceptable because it serves a functional purpose. Although many of you jack-holes have been wearing some the size of Smart Car tires lately. The wedding ring is your license to get laid (at least once a week, we hope). Anything else is unacceptable. Class rings past high school? (Whoop!) No. Dog tags? You are not G.I. Joe. You did not participate in Wrestlemania III and you're name is not Junkyard Dog. Thumb rings? Jesus, we don't even know what to say. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? Your man card has officially been revoked.

Other questions you may ask yourself to determine whether it is permissive to stray beyond the scope of our general rules:

Are you Brett Michaels?

Do you have a medical condition that requires you to alert other to said medical condition?

Do you write or perform rap songs for a living?

Is your first name Sigfried or Roy?

Do you rule the Kingdom of Zumunda?

Have you or any of your direct relatives ever been involved in organized crime, i.e. The Mafia.

Are you a member of the armed forces?

Are you a Thundercat?

If you fail to answer in the affirmative for any of the above-referenced questions, please step away from the metallic ornamentation and then go jump in front of a Metro bus on Allen Parkway. Say hi to MJ!

Out,
The Lords

LoopHunt

2009-07-06T11:16:00.002-05:00

As Lords, we are not immune from the summer's wicked tedium and therefore must climb down from our thrones occasionally to cripple the jester for our own amusement.

In addition to killing organs with graded alcohol and pretending to lose little brothers in the Randall's on Shepard, we have taken to a high stakes game of Scavenger Hunt. Last week we got all gintarded and hit the streets in search of the following gems:

- A Cavalcade St. sign without a bullet hole (20pts)

- A picture with an All-Star (50pts)

Don't turn around lady, we think there's a monster behind you!

- A key to the St. Regis Governor's Suite (15pts)
- Paul Bettencourt's head on a spike (125pts)
- A working Teddy Ruxpin with a Straight Outta Compton cassette in him (15pts)
- The a's off the Catalan sign (35pts/per)
- Half pound of butterflies from the NatSci Museum (10pts)
- A same day, return receipt for the teen fiction Rainbow Boys from Border's on Kirby (15pts)
- A car dent matching the skull of one of the Armenian valet's at RA Sushi (40pts)
- 10 different Target name tags (25pts)
- A Mexican child, 8-11 years old, that answers to Paco and can work a fryer (15pts)

Our score:135. Think you can do better?

Blog of the Day: Manbabies.com

2009-07-05T18:22:00.001-05:00

Link

Lords to Austin - America’s Birthday

2009-07-02T10:39:00.000-05:00

The Lords will be heading OTL to inhale smoke bombs and guzzle Roman Candles in commemoration of the 233rd anniversary of severing the connection with our neighbors across the Atlantic. Billy Ocean style we’re taking our dream girls with us transforming a music video expression into our own angelic reality.

Have a good one and stay safe our Loop-disciples!

Definition: Shebroni

2009-06-30T21:09:00.014-05:00

Shebroni (n.) (1) feminine version of Jabroni. Known to frequent large-upscale apartment complex pools inside the Loop. Also spotted in notorious douchebag havens such as Pub Fiction and Tipsy Clover. Synonyms: Douchebaggette, dirty bitch, Gucci hoochy and cocky slut.

They travel in gaggles with their male counterparts never too far away.

Over-accessorization, tilted Ed Hardy hats, skunk-bleached hair, and visible tribal or foreign-language tattoos are the most distinguishing tell-tale physical markings of this fecund beast. Lately, Shebronies have invaded the Loop like a pandemic of swine flue. They ooze attitude and are easy to spot (but not identify) with sunglasses nearly covering their entire face. (It's the new paper bag! Shit-ugly girls magically become princesses!) We're guessing welding masks are the next big thing, so we've decided to go all-in and sell off our short-term California municipal bonds for a majority interest in Weldingmart.com. *Crossing fingers*

Careful, Shebronies only have BFF's and mortal enemies. We don't have to warn you which side of the fence you should choose. They also carry the innate reflexive ability to do the appropriate dance to any rap song playing within earshot. Fedora hats, sugar-free Red Bull in hand, toe rings, ankle tattoos, or constant texting? Like, you may like have a likely candidate, dude. Unfortunately, the also speak in surfer-dialect. And then there's the metallic cloth-like material and an arm full of bracelets. Is the Roman army approaching?

So what are you waiting for? Get out to your local pool or shot bar to behold these obnoxious fiends. Don't get too close though, or you're chances of having one of the Shebroni "Brahs" in your face increases exponentially with each step toward the brood.

Letdown of the Day - Megan Fox Has Toe Thumbs

2009-06-30T12:21:00.005-05:00

It's true, Megan Fox has toe thumbs. Alas, she is no longer perfect.

They also transform into buldozers as needed.

We blame it all on that insipid Shia LeBeouf. We've been LeBeoufed again!

Concert Watch: HEART - August 27th

2009-06-30T08:34:00.008-05:00

Defying space and time, the legendary power-ballad super group Heart has located a worm hole to Houston and will soon be violating our ears with sonically-driven harmonies and emotion-roaring riffs guaranteed to vandalize your inner-core and embezzle your dignity.

Details

The Lords and love will be there. What about you?

Libations to Loathe ITL

2009-06-28T17:29:00.008-05:00

As Lords of the Loop, we bathe ourselves in the most up-to-date knowledge of the flavorful libations Loopdrones are puring down their throats these days. Below are a few we've encountered, although not admittedly consumed, in the last week. Should your mixologist serve one you Loopbronies any of the following cocktails, we will not fault you for hurling it back in the face of the cunt-smirking bartender feigning friendliness for her $2 tip.

Perfect Pussy - the ever elusive paragon of our blissful sexual desires has now been liquified into a single shot-sized potation for every horny bastard with an attitude and $6.75 to waste. We thought Peach Schnopps and Red Bull could only be comingled at 8th-grade sleepovers and Pub Fiction, but the gypsies of Corpus have managed to recently flavor-inject the Loop with another metaphorical mouthful of this ridiculous concoction. Panties are sure to drop in Summer '09 with this poison on the menu and a hand-job of hope.

Volcano's frozen screw driver - East meets West by pureeing Japenese-orphan baby bits and frozen Tang into an Arctic slurpee that is sure to cool you off during what appears to be the hottest summer since Nagasaki. Dosages not to exceed more than four per hour to avoid pressure-releasing skull surgery the following morning.

Dark and Stormy (Anvil) - this allegedly refreshing drink will euthanize both your pride and self-respect all in one sip. With hints of Cap'n Crunch and Black Cats and topped off with a sprinkling of George Clooney's whiskers discarded from his days on Rosanne, it may be exactly what you are thirsting for to celebrate a suicidal 4th of July.

This guy obviously had a few too many at Anvil

So what are your favorite drinks inside the Loop that you love to hate?

Friday Quick Hits

2009-06-26T08:27:00.002-05:00

1. K-Ham graciously suggests the best Houston food merchants who don't charge a cork fee on the 80 ounces of Mad Dog you brought with you as lubricant on date night. Though a relatively infrequent poster, her words are gospel...also, she's our sponsor.

2. Steve Winwood made a sexfire in the Toyota Center Wednesday night. If you missed it you're probably still hunched over in agony from the 11-4 kneecapping delivered by the purple and gold glitteratti that is LSU baseball.

3. The smelly proprietors over at Indie Houston press on with their crusade at trying to make Houston independent music relevant. We share their same delusional affliction, as to this day we refuse to believe that Macaulay Culkin's character dies at the end of My Girl.

Wanna go tree climbing Thomas J? He can't see with out his glasses.
Fucking bees

4. Hair Balls scribe and prostitute frequenter, John Royal, gives his take on the organ blending plague that is this year's Astros team. Royal ultimately suggests the tack hammer mercy killing of Jason Michaels, a charity to which we'd happily donate.

5. It's someone important's birthday this weekend and to celebrate you will find most Lords flipping a lobotomizing amount of alcohol as we crash the moat of one of our many Height's castles. This anticipatively jubilant weekend is best discussed amongst the angelic tones and godly hair of sisters Wilson.

Happy Friday Motherfuckers!

R.I.P. Michael Jackson

2009-06-25T18:29:00.002-05:00

So say the monoliths of integrity at TMZ.

We stopped paying attention to anything MJ did after Dangerous and therefore only mentally prosecuted him for the Remember the Time video. He leaves behind a splintered legacy. As Lords we will always thriller on Halloween, walk with rhythm in a parking garage and pretend the sidewalk illuminates with a simple touch of the foot in honor of a fallen King.

We will...finally. Rest in Peace MJ.

Also Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett and the next generational icon to die tomorrow.

Dean's Credit Clothing, The Sequel

2009-06-25T10:36:00.006-05:00

315 Fairview Street

We strolled into Dean's at 5:30 on a Friday, heady with anticipation for the happy hour to come and the FOBs that we hoped would come with it.* Or maybe we were just heady from the fumes in the air. Paint fumes, to be precise. We imagine the conversation thusly:

"Why is no one here?"

"It can't be the monotonous post-industrial space and uncomfortable minimalist furniture."

"It surely can't be our beers that are only two degrees shy of a Nick Lachey boy band."

"Maybe it's the color of the walls."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

(In unison) "BABYSHIT BROWN!!!!"

What really made these fudgesicle facades stand out, however, were the price tags for art that wasn't there. We can only assume that these were offers to BUY art in a desperate attempt to mask the terrifying ugliness of the walls. Offer accepted. Our newest piece, Goat Penis Fandango, will be delivered shortly. You're welcome.

Inspiration

Listen, we'll take our drink anywhere. Greyhound bus terminal? Check. Playground at River Oaks Elementary? Check. Fortified wine under the Pierce Elevated? Double check. But this is precisely why we don't quite get the existence of Dean's second locale. At least the original is actually in an old clothing store, which imparts some playful kitsch, if not some retro authenticity. The deuce is just a shitty bar serving warm beer in a useless location. Skip it, and meet us in the parking lot of the Chuck E Cheese on Weslayan. We'll be there at 3. You bring the Boones.

* If you need to ask, you're not ready to know.

Definition: Jungmanns

2009-06-24T10:57:00.002-05:00

Jungmanns (n.) (1) ginormous elephant-size testicles. (e.g., The Texas pitcher punked the entire Tiger hitting lineup and then rested his Jungmanns on the forehead of the LSU coach following the victory.)

Unfortunately, Les Miles was too drunk to notice.

Loopeve: Boat Shoes

2009-06-21T12:31:00.001-05:00

Let's be clear here. Boat shoes are for two types of people: sailors and fags. Since we were forty miles away from any body of water of significant size, we will assume the latter. Unfortunately, we've been seeing this Loopeeve pervasive throughout the Loop during our random surveying of the Loopasites in our immediate vicinity. To begin to explain the origin of this ridiculous phenomenon would be but mere conjecture. Calling it a fad would give this happening way too much unexplainable credibility, which we do not. In addition, these same sea-faring closet homosexuals also are under the absurd impression that GAP jeans are also acceptable forms of clothing to cover one's legs. They are not. If you look in the mirror and your are no longer in grade school, it is simply unacceptable to shop at the GAP unless you also have food stamps in your pocket or are not heterosexual.

We assume you prefer to be the catcher because slippery surfaces
are just too much for you to handle without your uber-grip shoes.

Yes, that's right you stupid gaggle of pathetic fucks hanging out at Escalante's last Friday night. We were trying to enjoy a lovely evening with our beautiful dates, when you had to come outside with your untied ruh-tard slippers and your overly worn-in Gay and Proud jeans. And no, those Marlboro Reds did not excuse your poor performance for a human being and place you back inside the Looper map of existence. Why attractive women were hanging out with you is more of a mystery than the disappearance of the Air France flight over the Atlantic. The only conclusion we can surmise is that you had cocaine in your glove box.

Got Boat Shoes? Definitely Gay.

Houston's Own Soup Nazi: The Dumpling Lady

2009-06-20T12:31:00.001-05:00

"Next," the weathered old archfiend of a woman shrieked like a Vietnamese prison camp warden to the emaciated lunch heathens in line before her. A quick snap of the neck may be your only hope. Exact change is your only defense. Downtown drones have come to know this heathen and dictator of the food court simply as the "Dumpling Lady." She's Houston's very own Soup Nazi.

Mouth-watering bliss awaits you in hell. Caution, they've never taken out the garbage.

A mouth like a fly trap and a toxic uzi-like gaze. The Dumpling Lady, as many of us affectionately refer to her, is a cross between a rusty lawmower blade and Ginghis Khan's liver. Some wish they had been warned. The Park Shops is her lair. Most recently her empire has expanded much like the Mongols plundered old China. Thoughts of her venomous stare and threats of stir frying our spine are enough to make use clench our jaws in fear and crush our molars into Pixie Straw dust. Nevertheless, brave souls risk their very beings each day to consume the best dumplings Houston has to offer at Doozo.

Which Houstonians do you fear the most and would not face without a Honzo in tow?

Dream to dare and wager your life to dine; however, we'd rather be on the front lines in Afghanistan than look her in the eye. In our opinion, Chik-fil-a will do just fine.

Thursday Haiku: Chivas/Soda

2009-06-18T12:48:00.009-05:00

Nearly there lawyer,
Where we getting rocked tonight?
Scotch, soda, repeat.

Cutting edge computer technology meets handicapped percussion in music video heaven. Seriously, after today we need to fucking kill our thoughts.

Have a very Adrenalized Thursday Loopatrons. See you in jail tomorrow!

Enemy of the Kingdom: Cargo Shorts Guy

2009-06-12T14:36:00.005-05:00

We saw you last night at the bar. We see you every night. Your date looks so pretty in her cute little dress, with her trendy shoes, overpriced purse, and perfect hair. So why the fuck are you wearing cargo shorts, a baseball cap, and ironic canvas tennies from 1955? Are you carrying tools in those pockets, Tim Taylor? Are you time-warping to a basketball game against Richie Cunningham? Or are you bathing in irony to cover up the stench of your own self-loathing? Maybe you don’t realize you’re on a date. Here are three clues:

1. Wherever you go, there is a girl standing beside you. She seems to know your name.

2. When you picked up that girl, you had to wait ten minutes for her to finish her hair. Because she’s not wearing a baseball hat, douchebag, because you’re going on a date. At night. And not to a baseball game.

3. You want to make the sexie-sexie with this girl, and despite every ounce of wanker pouring from your being, there remains a chance that she will let you.

We’re not saying that you need to spend as much time on your couture and coiffure as she does. This is Houston, after all, and you’re not (openly) gay. But jeezus, shitbird, show some respect! She has chosen to spend the evening with you, so the least you could do is take off your hat and put on some pants. You'll still be a tool, but at least it won't be so obvious to the rest of us.

We measure your tact against a scale of Mossad torture methods, and you rate a Glasgow Smile.

A wag of the finger and a slap to the skull, Cargo Shorts Guy, because you are an Enemy of the Kingdom.

Many thanks to JR for pointing out this specimen of class. Have a Fucktastic Friday, Loopizens.

It's Thursday and It's Awesome

2009-06-11T09:06:00.005-05:00

To celebrate this most awesome Thursday, we ordered Rocky III on fucking LaserDisc. Why? Because we're awesome and Rocky III in HQ is awesome and Thursdays are awesome. A perfect storm of awesome just crashed your mind.

We'll be holding a private screening of this timeless epic at our palace in the sky next week (or as soon as the webmerchant ships our collector's item). Enjoy.

In time the goosebumps will pass.

Written and directed by genius. "I'm going to crucify him, real bad." Perfect. We'll let you know a date and time. Until then, you'll easily find us in yellow tanktops racing our former enemy/best friend on every beach.

Happy Thursday Mutherfuckers!

Wednesday's "What the Fuck!?"

2009-06-10T15:08:00.004-05:00

Old people...they have false teeth and bad breath. They drive slow and cause wrecks. They are without control of their bladders and wear diapers. They also claim to be wise.

Bullshit.

Kathryn Winkfein, 72, proves that old people are stubborn, feel entitled, and, in all their wisdom, make really fucking stupid decisions.

After being pulled over for, uh hem, speeding (a "what the fuck!?" bonus) Miss Winkfein jewily questioned the officers nerve to interupt her day using only explicatives and surplus saliva. Having then been threatened with a taser, Miss Winkfein called the officer's bluff. He tased her.

Miss Kathryn Winkfein...WHAT THE FUCK!?

Here in La Porte

2009-06-10T11:34:00.005-05:00

Here in La Porte,
Cat shit, to Snort,
Test grades, fell Short,
Kin sex, a Sport,
Here in La Porte.

The San Jacinto Monument
Because nothing salutes the brave men that fought and died during our Texas Revolution like erecting a 30 ft granite cock.

We hate us some La Porte with a fever. Which OTL community could you proudly set ablaze with little concern?

Definitions: Kirby

2009-06-08T11:07:00.001-05:00

Kirby (n.)

(1) A surgical procedure which fractures the skull to make it smoother and just slightly bigger.

(2) The cost of new suspension mounts on a BMW.

(3) Thin heated copper wire inserted into the penis during techniques of persuasion developed by Koreans.

(4) A Mr. Mister song.

"Kirby frustration down the road that I must travel..."

From the latin: testes kirbitum. or the medical condition commonly refered to as "dusty nuts."

See also: kirbily (adv. the method used to dig out of one's own grave, hastily with no progress), to kirby (v. to scribble autistically in a coloring book with disregard for the lines) or kirbable (adj. able to be fucked, fuckable).

OTL: Sao Paulo Vol II - Fogo your Face

2009-06-05T05:51:00.000-05:00

Last night, we slapped our wallets inside the original Fogo de Chao and got fucking Diesel'd on warm cachaca and bacon wrapped llama thyroid. If you've been to the Fogo on Westheimer, then you know it's the eatery equivalent to a day spent at SplashtownUSA on Beatles-grade angel dust. It's the same in SP, only buffed with Amazonian goodness and more skewered meat than a New York prison shower.

Pie Charts ooze credibility.

Our general safety concerns were expressed among the table, retorted by a Latin colleague who compared all things Brazil, which frighten our blood flow into a red steam, against a Venezuelan baseline. If we fear the taxis, abductions, lengthy eye contact, packs of bloodlusting dogs or gunshots up ahead, we'd never make in Maracaibo where they brand "VEAL" on your pickled face at immigration.

We sat enchanted by tales of the doorknob ease one could sequester the facility of a genuine transvestite at any hour AND the intimate details by which our host coworkers knew of this apparently habitual delicacy other travelling Eurostaff partake in regularly. We felt the belt of our job security tighten a notch with each senior manager's name revealed as we cleared our glistening plates of peppered marmoset heart and bathed under a shower of golden Caipirinhas.*

........................................................................................

The brain stem refuses all requests this morning, no matter how trite or necessary. We would have accused you a liar if you claimed one could vomit chunky brown via the eyesocket. "Not possible, couchfucker," we'd declare with assertion. Today... we witness the truth.

CO92 sets sail at nine tonight and we'd like to think this bull got tamed domestic, but we know it's us who felt its unruly horn.

*We have no clue what a Caipirinha is, but we know for a fact it IS NOT Portuguese for tranny urine. Putting that shit to bed.

OTL: Sao Paulo

2009-06-02T17:48:00.003-05:00

We decided to hop on the red eye and go where it's winter. Equipped with a pillow case of cel phones meant for women of the battered variety and our collection of slightly used hypodermics we find ourselves in Sao Paulo.

Cleveland was out late slumming it with some of her girlfriends. She met her Omar Sharif in Cairo and his tempting roofie teabag. Their unwanted brown spawn grew up to be a very obese and dusty Sao Paulo. It really is a love story.

We just ordered something you can only pronounce under water. It's a plank of fried cheese covered in meat. The beer we are confronted with doubles as a tool for fire suppression.

Ironically the meat is battered too.

Not pictured is a garbage can of fries, two unfiltered packs of Newports from WWII and a coupon for complementary back-alley angioplasty/heart abortion.

The English television is a choice between soft core American pornography and one of the Delta Force sequels. In truth, we would choose nothing else.

Our outbound flight to Paris was cancelled for some reason, so we'll see you back loopside in a few days. Obragado!

Don't Take Us Literally

2009-06-01T18:43:00.003-05:00

TGIF

2009-05-29T14:01:00.002-05:00

Half Past Eight

2009-05-27T15:10:00.000-05:00

After a sun-soaked Saturday watching our Strohs give it up to the North Houston Ass Rangers, and then frolicking with the dogs in the Mansion's crystal pool, we needed to get out. We first tried Pearl, but oh how sad are we now? Young and pretty has left the building. What comes after "Cougar," anyway? (Answer: the Lord.) Not even the presence of one Shane Battier could resuscitate this bastion of quatragenarian gypsy dancing. Our out-of-town dates deserved a better show, so we rolled down the Wash to Eight Lounge.

That's right, we said Eight Lounge. As in, "Ei8ht" is not a word, and we inside the loop be a literate mob. The Lords, however, are as forgiving as we are magnanimous. We will overlook this linguistic tomfoolery in our quest to find the next best thing. And so we did, only to find ourselves confronted with a sight more rare than a crowd at a Quanell X rally.

Don't call me Ralph.

Eight Lounge had itself a line. Out the door. To get inside. Say it slowly and let it sink in. We make it our business not to patronize joints with lines because we don't fucking have to. This is H-Town, and we are the Lords, and the fun follows us like fucka follows mutha, so we are not waitin in no mutha fuckin line. We will take our hollapalooza to someplace chill, and that's all we have to say about that.

But see the paragraph above regarding Pearl. Maybe we should rethink our policy? Our dates were getting antsy. And this is where our story turns sublime, because just as we began our march forward to grease the palms of the palace guards, an unlikely savior appeared from nowhere, as if sprung full-grown from the head of Zeus. Some sort of benevolent Jabroni-king had taken a shine to our dates' friend! This gentle man of indeterminate Mediterranean origin offered to slip us in the side in exchange for her digits. And so it came to pass that we did visit Eight Lounge that night. Thank you, Jabroni king. We are not sure about your judgment, but you are a credit to your kind.

And the sights we saw! We admired the Houston skyline from Eight's impressive rooftop terrace. We sipped champagne and admired our beautiful smiles. We danced to the oontz oontz until the lights came on. And then we broke up a catfight by the ladies' room, just for good measure. To the cute brunette who eats, it was the coked-up skinny blonde's fault. And we will testify.

It's Where You Died Last Night

2009-05-27T15:07:00.000-05:00

The Manor on Washington
4819 Washington Ave, Houston, TX 77007 (713) 426-0123

Had we stuffed our liquor scarred epiglotti with ranch pounds of freshly picked Crockett, TX shroomberries, our creative upchuck of velvet horror would only half decorate a train lavatory compared to the Omega force which belligerently spewed checkerboard seizures and partially digested Gummi Bear shimmer into this former car wash.

The Manor at Washington and the hideous faces within its dark walls and snappy patio amplify the sins of its hostile, vanestruck barstaff and blind Moroccan interior designer. Upon entrance you're subject to charm rapists serving up below average cocktails in a room ripe with 70's pornset dumpster furnishings and dyed camel pelt wallpaper. The Manor succeeds in its aim to scrub mouths (and lives) of taste vigorously with a cold wire brush whilst being firmly handled by faceless patrons and an eyeborn typhoid of Off 5th discounted euroflash.

of the eyes...and this is not a game.

Sadly, we live within urineshot of this sense assaulting Arcadia which only manages to pour boiling mineral spirits over our rage inferno, since stains like this one lay the shredded newspaper down for more saloon miscreants to breed, feed and toilet in our fragile neighborhood.

Our rating system today is based on Time's list of the 100 Worst Ideas so we're forced to slot The Manor on Washington somewhere betwixt those pioneering entrepreneurs who founded the Heaven's Gate cult and the public announcement: "in left field, batting 6th: Michael Jordan."

Jabroni Sandiego

2009-05-27T08:51:00.008-05:00

If a tree falls in the middle of the woods and nobody is around, will Jabroni's still flock to Midtown like flies on shit?

Last weekend, we actually had the pleasure of experiencing an hour long conversation with a fully-certified, Axe-Body-spray-sponsored Jabroni sitting by our pool. His tattooed murals of skulls and women gripping penis-shaped daggers would make the hair on Salvador Dali's paintbrush moonwalk on your face. The only problem was, this young gentleman had no idea of his Jabroni classification. It begs the question, do Jabroni's actually recognize their d-baggery status level or are they in just as much denial as Roger Clemens testifying before Congress? Let's look at the context clues:

1. Dolce & Gabanna wrap sunglasses - CHECK;

2. Pinky ring with ominous skull head - CHECK;

3. BMW 3-series key ring - HALF-CHECK (He actually drove an Accord);

4. Memorial Day-weekend Airbrush tan - CHECK;

5. An attitude laced with Jager and Red Bull: DOUBLE CHECK;

6. Blueberry-infused Stoli vodka for the ladies of the pool - CHECKMATE.

Needless to say, we were taken aback when Memorial Day Jabroni was describing places he doesn't like to hang inside The Loop because of all the Jobbers. The only thing he was missing was a mountain of awareness. Have you ever listened to yourself in the mirror before?

We don't mean to judge, but it looks like we have a dead ringer for J status and it's like staring down the exhaust pipe of a 1976 Dodge Challenger. OK, we're lying, we even pre-judge the words you speak before they even consider exiting your talk box. So J-bags, if you walk like a duck, and talk like a duck, you're a fucking Jabroni. There's no hiding from these sleuths of the Loop. We're your worst Carmen Sandiego nightmare.

Son, you are even less subtle than the North Korean government.

President's Club

2009-05-17T10:29:00.005-05:00

We're sitting calmly in Houston's Club Prez awaiting a flight that will take us to Seattle, San Diego, Boston and Sugar Land. We measure hangovers against a register of despotic genocidal leaders and after last night's liver whoring, based on the Idi Amin scale, we're a brain throbbing Tamerlane.That facial hair tells our tale of misery

Since we fly more than a Serbian mafioso hitman, we've come to appreciate watching the brain liquification process that occurs to our fellow co-travelers during the distressful holocaust that is a security check point. We love the attention paid to us, as we carry on various prototypes and stink of ammonia passing severely noticed through the screening area. Chad tenderly pats us down and questions our loose citizenship. Notice us! that's all we want.

Have a good week, you faceless mass of society contributors.

Friday: Bacon Heros

2009-05-15T15:02:00.004-05:00

Let the erosion of the five day work week continue. Friday Children!

We're going straight Footloose this weekend. Playin' the new kid in town, rocking some tractor chicken, smoking meth until our teeth rot, quoting scripture in city hall to the horrible cast of 3rd Rock from the Sun, beating our neighbor about the skull with Kenny Loggins Essentials and teaching simpletons the ways of dance.

Bringing high waist jeans into your office and beyond

Subpoena a fucking terrific weekend and enjoy life inside the loop.

Happy Wedding to S and T

We Hate You

2009-05-15T09:38:00.003-05:00

Dear Fucktard at Catalan wearing scrubs last night:

Did you not receive our previous memo? We thought we made it unbundantly clear that under no circumstances are you to wear scrubs in public, especially in food establishments. You may only be a dentist but you had your hands in people's mouths all day and your lazy ass was probably wiping your hands on your "uniform" all day because of shortage of Purell inside the Loop in light of the swin flu pandemic. You're not even the most important person in your own office. That would be the hygienist.

We were having a perfectly pleasant evening with our 22-year-old fifth-year-seniors from UofH celebrating the end of finals until we looked over at your nasty face and saw you wearing those bacteria-infused work pajamas. We'd rather lick a urinal cake than sit next to you in the same restaurant.

We want to slap chop you in the face more than this guy:

BTW, the Colorado lamb chops from Catalan were almost as good as the Rocket's win over the Lakers in game 6.

On to game seven and death to the rapist, we mean Kobe.

Gibbs Boats and Motors: Serving You Proudly Well After the Apocalypse

2009-05-14T15:11:00.001-05:00

1110 W Gray St, Houston, TX‎ - (713) 526-4349

Defying all of man's reason, there is a boat store selling boats and general boating apparatti on the poppy corner of West Gray and Montrose. We pass by this this hull merchant weekly and throw up a meaty fist in abound confusion. If this crystal hammer idea works why didn't our dog optometry clinic ever make it?

This picture mocks our terrible, terrible ideas

Then is hit us. Perhaps after the Great Yucatan Asteroid of 2113 and resulting tidal wave which crashes near Humble, a new Texas coastline is formed and Hugo's becomes a really delightful seaside locale to have Sunday brunch. In a civilization crushing instant, boat sales in the gay friendly quarter of Houstantonio break the sky and Mr. Gibbs laughs his sinister laugh pushing a wheelbarrow full of global currency all the way to the spacebank.*

In a kingdom of spoons they are the fork

One day we will meet this Gibbs genius and we will learn from him. Until then, we tip our hat and crown thee:
Most Inappropriate Business Location in Houston
Kudos, sir...kudos.

*In the future there is global currency, spacebanks and racist machines, but remarkably, people still use wheelbarrows.

Hubcab Wednesday

2009-05-13T09:30:00.003-05:00

We just witnessed a young gentleman walking through downtown Houston wearing a red track suit and a hubcap around his neck. What's even crazier, we think it was a spinner. We thought Flavor Flav made his comeback years ago. Looks like the trickle-down effect is just now reaching the Loop.

On another note, here's a link to our new favorite blog outside the Loop:

FU Penguin

Happy Hump Day!

The Ugly Baby

2009-05-11T21:40:00.005-05:00

So what are we supposed to say when you bring your newspawn into the office?

"Gee, Jennifer, that sure is a cute baby. I especially like its horns."

"Wait, wait, wait...we think we saw this episode of The Outer Limits."

"Wow, you don't typically see an infant quite this hairy normally.."

"Margie, your baby just tried to buy our soul."

It's not that we don't like your baby, it's that we don't want to live in a world where that sort of wet orgy of horror is allowed to grow and continue. Your baby punches our heart with its face.

"She's cute like a steel spike through the skull."

Please keep your ugly baby in the hole where you found it. --Lords

Monday Surprise

2009-05-11T10:13:00.003-05:00

Since we all experienced wood the first time we gazed at Susanna Hoffs and Co. and we regularly find ourselves apathetically meandering through cyberspace in false hope of finding something to latch on to for more than 2 minutes, we offer this jewel of motivation...

Any other slacking you do today is up to you. Have a good week boys and girls.

Thousand Words

2009-05-10T15:29:00.004-05:00

For everyone looking down the icy barrel of a furious mid-May work week, know that someone, somewhere has it much, much worse...

Umm...boss?! That sales funnel you needed is ready...

To our mom's and yours, Happy Mother's Day!!

Friday (Thank Christ) Headlines

2009-05-08T11:12:00.008-05:00

1. God bless the NRA: Some recently-without-steady-cooter dude barged his way into the apt. of a now-with-steady-cooter dude because the cooter he lost was the cooter the other dude gained. So the dude now-with shot his ass. Fuck yeah he did. We think tazing is more funny, but it doesn't change people's ways like a bullet does.

2. La Porte has herpes: We all knew this. But we really can't be reminded enough to stay away from the town heralded as having the most beautiful haze in Texas. We don't recommend visiting the website mentioned while you sit your unproductive stale asses in your personal hell hole HR calls "the office", although it would help pass time. But if you do, don't blame us when the tech cop rolls you. And trust us - keep out of La Porte.

3. Only 500K more: Now there's some good news! We think this is the point that the economy begins to get his ol' swagger back. A measly 539,000 more people are without a paycheck this month. That's so awesome!

4. Damn, we always had good luck with Emily's: But now we'll have to begin assuming at least 8 women in the bar are named Emma, which could totally confuse us when we talk to the cops the next day.

10,000 El Caballo bobbleheads are available on Saturday, cabrones. Since the 'Stros have officially gone Hoover Vacuum we'll be getting around 50 a piece as attendance is estimated to be about 200 including players.

Have a safe weekend.