Here’s Forty looking tough and manly, until you realize he’s wearing a Roman Helmet. What’s a Roman Helmet, you say? Well, let’s let Urban Dictionary do the talking. Needless to say, when this new definition was discovered, The Rail turned into a bunch of little schoolgirls giggling and tittering about. Yeah — we’re a veritable 3rd grade class of scholars. Coulter even wrote a column about it. Sort of.
Pay no attention to the blood-sucking machines behind … pay attention to the happy Hamm’s Hat winner!
Who loves The Rail?
I do, I do!! Yaaaaaaaay, Rail!
Only 42 days til opening day, and here we see Baltimore ready and waiting in his White Sox hat, on top of his Hamm’s Hat hat. This Joyce is pumped! But he’s not to be confused with being a member of the completely, perpetually, and utterly shit-faced venerable “Joyce Brothers”, although they do have some similar talents. I think at last count there are sixteen or seventeen Joyce brothers — Baltimore is not one of them. In fact, when he gets asked if he’s one of the Joyce brothers, he slowly lowers and shakes his head, heaves a big sigh, and says, “no …”
And don’t forget: the frat formal is tomorrow night starting at 8:00p at The Rail. Dress to the nines, bring your wife, and get your drink on!
Caw!!
Freshly off of the train known as Amtrak, we see here the adorably cute Kate who walks into the bar, calmly orders a cool refreshing cylindrical can of Hamm’s, and guess what: HAMM’S HAT, baby … It’s a beautiful thing. She was a little unsure about the hat construction technique, so yours truly stepped in and gave her the classic Hamm’s Hat look. Admittedly it’s still harder with 30-packs than 24s. Can we please go back to 24s!?!? No? Fine.
Let’s watch:
And here she is stumbling about because she can’t see …
Oh, here I am !!
And we have another victorious soldier in the annals of Hamm’s-Hat-ness. God Bless ‘Merica.
Holy fucking fuck. So I stumbled walked into the bar and calmly planted my ass on my favorite stool, ordered my usual, and I hear some words that I pretty much just ignored. I then ordered my usual AGAIN, and once more … I’m hearing just BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH … I mean what the fuck. C’mon, man … Finally, I decide, well, maybe I should actually pay attention to what I’m being told since I still have yet to have a beer in front of me.
“We have no Hamm’s.”
“Say what, mother-fucker?”
“Talk to the distributor.”
Holy fucking fuck. Yes, I said it again. The Rail is out of Hamm’s. Now you could order a buttery Hamm’s, but, well, that’s your choice.
One funny outcome, however, is that River Rat decided to announce this on The Brass Rail, uh, “announcement board” — for lack of a better term — and instead of writing “No Hamm’s”, he wrote “No Hamm’s Hats”. When questioned about this, he thought about it for a second and realized that he just kind of wrote it without thinking about it. I find this amusing and poignant at the same time.
So there you have it. Stay tuned for further details.
Or not.
Oh, and P.S.: New chips. So you got that goin’ for ya.
Here’s River Rat serving up some delicious tasty aluminum goodness for a happy patron. And look at that — he decided to dress for the occasion. Now I must confess I don’t know the whole story behind this particular shot — this pic was forwarded on to me by the lovely Margarita — but I assure you he ain’t opening up that can for himself. Oh no no no … there is absolutely NO drinking behind the bar. (There are also no Matties allowed behind the bar, but that’s a different story.)
Not only is that a despicable unlawful practice in and of itself, but if a Brass Rail bartender were to make such a foolish move, the camera would slowly pan to a shot of Fu Dog sitting in his recliner, taking a nap, when all of a sudden his eyes would suddenly burst open with laser beams shooting forthwith. Word to the wise: Don’t mess with Fote. He can kill you WITH HIS MIND. True dat. I saw it once.
Twizzler! A jack of all trades. Or a queen of all trades? This lovely lady won a Busch hat and then proceeded to wow the crowds with a demonstration of her martial arts skills. Ya gotta love a sophisticated chick! Oh. But then she married Coulter. Ah well. Ya can’t have everything.
Ya like the rock? Ya like the roll? Ya like the Hamm’s Hats? Then this post is for you. The other day the band No Bails out of Kalamazoo played in town on a tour, and naturally, they decided to hit The Rail. Cuz who wouldn’t? And guess who won a Hamm’s Hat? Lindsey, their drummer, that’s who. Fuckin’ A.
Christmas Eve at The Brass Rail is a magical time.
Typically all of the riff-raff are out of town, folks bring in food, and one of the most extraordinary things in the entire universe occurs: You get a free drink on Fu Dog. Hot damn!
Well, this particular Christmas Eve was no exception, and you could smell the holiday spirits in the air. (No, that’s not the mensroom.)
So dig this: the lovely Andrea was sitting at the bar having a couple of drinks, chatting it up with the gang, and lo and behold we come to learn that she was laid off that very morning when she came into work. WTF. Who fires somebody on Christmas Eve!? A certain hotel that shall remain nameless. Assholes, that’s who. And to make matters worse, she had actually passed on family plans because her employer claimed they were going to be extra busy over the holidays and need more people. AND THEN SHE GETS SERVED? SERIOUSLY? Oh, Em, Fucking Gee.
But then you’ll never guess what happened. A goddamn CHRISTMAS MIRACLE, I tell you!! Yup — you guessed right: She won a Hamm’s Hat.
Let’s get a closer look at that …
… and this …
Now that’s artwork.
She’s a veritable Ionian column, amirite?
It was such a good hat, it made a beautiful addition to the Rail Hamm’s Hat, that oversees all other hat-making efforts and, well, shenanigans and hi-jinx in general.
Don’t you just love the holidays?
Ted does.
P.S.: Happy Fucking New Year, Bitch-ezzz …
Here we see River Rat apparently collecting for Danny’s trust fund. I really have no idea what that last sentence means, other than that’s what I was ‘tweeted’, or whatever the fuck the kids call it these days. I really hate the Internet. But you know what I do like? Hamm’s. And Hamm’s Hats. Yup, that’s pretty much it.
Looks like there are three quarters in his mitt. Know what six more quarters would get you? I’ll give you one guess.