Once again I have fallen behind on my HHPDs. This simply will not do, so let’s get right back into it with a healthy shot of Hamm’s-Hat-iness and our good pal Quicksilver, who is clearly in the right spirit of things.
More posts will be coming forthwith … I’ve got a nice queue assembled, so stop in at The Rail, order a delicious can of Hamm’s, and let’s get it ON!
‘n shit.
Ah — twas the night before Thanksgiving, and all through the bar, not a creature was stirring, not even a, uh … um.
Lessee now.
Ummmm … oh fuck it.
Anyway, it was a wonderful Wednesday night at The Rail. With a four-day weekend for most on the horizon, everyone was having a good time. Various folks brought in food, which was pretty damn awesome. River Rat once again was the lucky recipient of a Hamm’s Hat, so here’s me making sure it is ready for deployment.
After determining said headpiece was of a sound and robust nature, I handed it back to River Rat who seemed at a bit of a loss what to do with his new-found chapeau. Seeing as it was the holidays, I offered my assistance and got down to work.
And here we go:
And now for the back-side …
Teamwork! Amirite!?!?
From both of us all of us some of us a handful of us us at Hamm’s Hat Dot Com, Happy Thanksgiving! (Albeit a few days late.)
“Are you gonna eat that cartoonishly large drumstick?”
After parting from the manor house, Sir Jeff mounted his trusty steed and headed forthwith to Ye Olde Brasse Raille.
A hearty meal of pottage, roast capon, Slim Jims, and Cheese Nips thusly ensued. Pray thee what shallest I quaff? Why a delicious Hamm’s, you currish beetle-headed scullion!
Pfft. Commoners.
It was a glorious Sunday afternoon at the Rail, and the joint was hopping with regulars and everyone was having a grand ol’ time. Lou the barber was in town from Panama, where he freaks out the locals and cavorts with various women named Vanessa. It seems like everyone he knows down there is named Vanessa. Federali also showed up with shit-tons of food for Hoss, including a pair of gigantic chili dogs. I swear I have never seen a hotdog that, uh, thick.
Later on, Gibby walked in as he was on break from his job. Naturally when you’re on break, you relax, and what better way to relax than to swing by your favorite watering hole and harass people into working for you. Alas, there were no takers, so Gibby decided to do a shot.
And lo and behold …
Whoa whoa whoa … hold it … easy there … Eeeeeasy …
And then Gibby went back to work. Something about nuclear missiles or brain surgery. I forget which.
Because the Brass Rail is a black-tie kinda place, it only makes sense that folks come in dressed to the nines. To wit:
But please: no tuxedo t-shirts. That’s just not classy.
Ahh, Boilermaker. He’s like a big Teddy Bear. A big Teddy Bear that likes Purdue, Busch Light, and MC’s. What’s an MC, you say? Some might say it’s a Matty Cocktail. Others might say it’s the most vile mixed drink you could imagine. But I’ll leave that to your imagination. Instead, here’s another shot of Matty before he spins around like a top.
He looks like some big elephant that traded in his snout for a sharp set of teef. Whatevs.
Great Lakes asking the bigger questions.
Ahh … Hamm’s Hats. The creativity just keeps on giving. In retrospect, I’m surprised no one thought of this sooner. Submitted by Trent, and that’s apparently Scott’s ass, in case you were wondering.
…
Leave your worries on the doorstep,
Life can be so sweet …
On the sunny side of the street.
Can’t you hear the pitter-pat?
And that happy tune as your step,
Life can be complete …
On the sunny side of the street.
I used to walk in the shade, with my blues on parade.
But I’m not afraid… this rover’s crossed over …
If I never had a cent,
I’d be rich as Rockefeller …
Gold dust at my feet,
On the sunny side of the street.
I guess it goes without saying — if you’re gonna get into a plastic knife fight, bring two Hamm’s Hats. That’ll do the trick. Just sayin’.
[Ed.: What the hell are those red things, anyway? Pepperoni off of a delicious Premium Butch’s Pizza? Mmmmm … Butch’s Pizza.]