Reviewing Miami and then some. Gratuitous vulgarity included.

Houston’s

[post_intro] [/post_intro]

What’s the most noticeable thing about Houston’s? The sheer amount of cougars you’ll find. Seriously. Last time I saw this many cougars in one place I was watching a special on Animal Planet. I dig the older chicks, they’re fantastic and buy their young prey lots of material stuff because they have these great things called “disposable income” and “divorce settlements.” If you’re a fan of cougars, then Houston’s is the place to be.

If you’re a fan of cougars, then Houston’s is the place to be.

You usually find people spilling out of this place any given night of the week, but it gets especially filled up on Friday nights until about 11 PM when they either close or all the cougars and sugar daddies in business suits go home to have their warm cup of milk and 8 hours of sleep. Because they’re old.

How old are they?

This is a copy of the ID one of the youngest broads there used to buy alcohol.

There’s a pretty big bar area here with bartenders that seem to have a thing for winking much more than any grown non-construction working adult should. It could’ve been some nervous tick or Tourette syndrome in which case I [should] apologize. I believe I had a Newcastle, or four. Newcastle Brown Ale is by itself a commendable effort in brewing, but couple it with the sight of a couple of 38-year-old divorcees and you’ve got yourself a veritable treat! Some of you might think a 38-year-old is a little too fine-aged for a 26-year-old chap like myself, but you’d only be just barely correct. There’s a formula for this which is her age divided by 2, plus 7. That would put her minimum prowling age at 26. This means I’m a prime catch for a 38-year-old divorced mother of two that knows her way around a penis, if you know what I mean. I mean she can perform sexual intercourse exceptionally well.

But seriously, I can appreciate a cougar.

The second bite cured AIDS.

I had a steak while my friend had a salad. He must’ve grown a vagina while I was in the restroom. It was a prime rib steak and when I bit into it Obama got elected again in my mouth. The second bite cured AIDS. The third made me gasp for air a little bit because I was so excited I swallowed it without chewing. Stupid move on my part. I taunted my friend about his salad and asked if he’d like to give me a little bit so I can let him toss it. We exchanged a few more homo-erotic jokes in the same manner then I continued with the steak.

The service wasn’t noteworthy, but that doesn’t necessarily make it bad. It’s like being second-class on the Titanic. Except for the whole being on a ship thing. And it sinking. And it being 1912. Actually it’s nothing like being second-class on the Titanic. Our waiter did join in laughter when I belittled my friend for his choice of entree.

If you like cougars, try Houston’s. Or the zoo.


So where the hell is it?
  • 201 Miracle Mile
  • Coral Gables, FL 33134
  • (305) 529-0141
  • hillstone.com
  • Houston's (Coral Gables) on Urbanspoon
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