You'd have to drive all the way to the seedier backstreets of Galveston to find a hive of villainy as delectable and Star Wars cantina-like as the Blue Lagoon, the dean of Witte Road dives. Beyond the deceptively folksy latticework entryway in this old Spring Branch strip-mall hole-in-the-wall is a bare-bones main room with a full bar. On a recent visit, we found three customers — a long-bearded guy who looked like the ghost of a Confederate general; a skinny, late-fortysomething dude with an enormous growth on the bridge of his nose; and a fortysomething woman in a boater cap, linen pants and a cotton blouse who fucking loved Elton John and didn't care what you or any other fucker thought about it. "This is a B-side of some great Elton John," she was telling the Rebel Ghost as we made our drink orders. "I don't want any fuckers talking over my fucking Elton John." There is also an amazing little smoking patio out behind the place. An old oak draped in white Christmas lights adorns the tiny backyard; a couple of picnic tables sit under a tin roof hard by an antique wood-burning stove right by the back door.