Monday Notes

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

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

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

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

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

BROS ICING BROS