903 Durham
Houston, TX
(713) 864-9400
For us, Cahill's is a proximately choice. Close and easy, the same way Arkansas men choose eldest sister for wife. Every time we decide to slop into Cahill's, the one bartender that looks like a fucking Ewok assaults us with his alarming face and gross inability to pour a decent pint of Guinness.
- "What a'll it be boys?"Its unexplainable lack of seating and unplugged refrigerator scent make Cahill's the perfect place to ditch someone you hate. If you're the eighth person in the bar and still want a seat you're either leaning against the vomit stained walls or sitting on a toilet. We hear there's a rather fun patio over looking the barbed wire fencing on Durham, but since we doubt the waitress's translucent flesh has ever stepped outside to catch a single ray of sunlight, let alone take our drink order, we wouldn't know anything about it.
We regretfully ordered a hamburger there once. It becomes difficult to grade a dining experience when our plateful of greasy crime discharges antisemitic rhetoric and ultimately pulls a stolen .9mm on our blissfully Kosher digestive track. Our cowardly surrender lasted two porcelain nights, but in truth it never ended.
If you're like us and have awful friends who appreciate this black hole for all things enjoyable, then we'll certainly see you there.
We'll be the ones watering the circumference of the building with gasoline.
