Arts ‘n Crafts, with Coulter.

Ok, kiddies … gather ’round. Uncle Coulter here to tell you how to make a Hamm’s Hat. With a snip-snip here, and a pasty-paste there … (this is beginning to sound like a vasectomy how-to, but I digress …)

… and there you have it. Place on thoust head and commence drinkitude forthwith. Huzzah! And PLEASE … clean up your table scraps or no recess for you, young man.

Matty-Poo (and yes this is relevant — wait for it …)

So the other day, we were sitting around at “the other bar”, when Hoss’ sharp eye caught a glimpse of bright yellow yonder in one corner. After close inspection, it was discovered that this was Boilermaker’s jacket that he had apparently left behind after a long night of drinking his brains out carousing amicably with his fellow cohorts. The hilarious thing about this jacket is that at first glance, it looks like some twenty year-old hand-me-down that mom made you wear to school and all your friends made fun of you. What’s even more bizarre, is that, and I shit you not, it’s “Ralph Lauren.” Duane (aka Purple Aces, who by the way is about 132 years old and could still bench press your ass) made the astute observation that when he once spotted Matt wearing it downtown one day, that our beloved Boilermaker looked like a mini-schoolbus walking down the sidewalk.

And with no further ado, I present to you, Matt’s Jacket: A Study in Sartorial Excellence.

Here’s Hoss, our intrepid spelunker who discovered the beast.

And Bermuda, taking the scholarly approach …

Hideout, who looks like he’s about to turn into a yellow bat and flitter away …

Frank, who looks like he’s just about to bust open …

Brick, who for some inexplicable reason decided that the jacket wasn’t complete without a large jar on his head …

And last but not least, yours truly, WEARING A HAMM’S HAT! I told you it was worth it.

No word yet on whether Boilermaker knows this has all gone down …

[UPDATE: Boilermaker apparently now knows this has all gone down.]

Some guy!

Meet some guy named “some guy.” No one can seem to remember who took the photo, who the guy is, or really anything for that matter. So there you have it. Proof once again, that it really doesn’t matter. Kind of like this “blog.” Yay Hamm’s Hats!!


Hamm’s Pants!!

A big shout-out to my good old friend Greg, who sent me this awesome shot of him wearing Hamm’s pants. We go way back … we both lived on the same floor of a dormitory on the UofI campus. When we weren’t studying hard getting high on top of Krannert, we would invent and subsequently construct new devices that helped mask our consumption of various substances to, uh, stay on the down-low. If ya know what I mean. Anyway, he now lives in Arizona holding a respectable job and taking care of his awesome wife and kids. Here’s what he had to say:

You can’t get Hamm’s in Arizona. You just can’t. I tried liquor stores big and small. No luck. I tried the online Hamm’s Locator. No dice. My wife’s grandfather worked for Hamm’s for decades, and we have all kinds of Hamm’s swag, but alas, no Hamm’s.

Then, in the liquor section of our local grocery store, something caught my eye: Hamm’s! Motherfucking Hamm’s! In a 30 pack!

Needless to say, we got to work. When we were done, I was struck by the fact that not only was this a rare occurrence (Hamm’s in Arizona!), but the container was larger than your typical hat. Hence, Hamm’s Pants.

From the land of scorching desert, wishing I was in the land of sky blue waters,

Kennel Master,
Dogs on Drugs

By the way, be sure to check out his web-site … it’s hilarious and updated frequently. He even got nominated for some kind of Webby award. Or is it a Bloggy? Who the fuck knows. Be good, mon frère.