In the food and drink section of the Houston Business Journal is a brief snippet about a new restaurant opening in The Woodlands with what is, perhaps, one of the shittiest names ever.
Beef O’Brady’s Family Sports Pub.
The name sends chills down my spine. It makes me feel like warm plastic is being poured down my gullet, coating my throat and paving the way for easy consumption of fried food nuggets and over-carbonated Coke-with-a-cherry. I see paunchy fathers in tight coach’s shorts sitting at indoor wooden picnic tables, their balls almost exposed but somehow staying hidden within their tight polyester prison. I see stage moms about ten years, twenty pounds and two kids past their prime forcing their unfulfilled dreams on their closeted, nervous, Ritalin™-popping offspring. I hear the high-pitched screaming of over-indulged children and the exasperated exhalations of the few childless couples who stupidly wandered into this hell hole. I see a heart struggling to pump…there’s blockage…and then some over-carbonated cherry-flavored Coke burns that shit out and the heart is okay again. Until the next bite of deep-fried pork ribs dipped in ranch-infused gravy topped with onion rings…
Eh, but what’s in a name.