Frat Formal 2013


Sure … there’s the Oscars, there’s the Grammys, there’s even the Nobel Prize celebration. All of have these have lasted for decades, and, well, so has the Pi Omega Omega Formal, which dates back to 1372. I think it was Pope Gregory the XI, who, after downing a couple shots of rail gin, said unto-est Moose, “do that shit.”

And so, Moose did, and low and behold, we have this wonderful tradition that has spanned countless bars centuries. I shit-est thou not.

This year the festivities were held at work. And when I say “work”, I mean, of course, none other than the venerable Brass Rail. DJ Otter was on the beats, Tumbleweed and Hideout were bartending, …

… and everyone was, OF COURSE, dressed to the nines enjoying their respective wives. There were also some new inductees into the frat, including, but not limited to: Tyrant, Hi-ho Silver (not sure about that one …), and Lightning, the last of which was bestowed on Greg, the only man I know who will wait outside the Rail at 8:45a in freezing cold weather for a Pepsi. Believe me when I say — Fu Dog doesn’t open them doors til 9 o’clock SHARP.

Let’s begin:

Here’s Hoss and Gibby. Hoss is being Hoss; Gibby is being, well, Gibby.

Trent and Cool-whip looking quite regal … nice tie!

New York, Moose, Cool-whip, and Skater lookin’ sharp.

Gibby & Skid, cuttin’ a rug …

Steakhouse & Margarita …

Big Black! … amongst others.

But hands down, the real winner of the evening was none other than Slim Jim himself. Seriously: Formals have been held ALL over town. So the last thing anyone expected was when Mr. Yamamoto himself strutted in WEARING A GODDAMN FUCKING SUIT. Sans hat; sans belt (of the red variety); sans stapled to plastic packing material. And I cannot stress this enough: KEITH WAS THE MAN OF THE HOUR.


Pssht. I don’t get it. That doesn’t add up.

So … Apple makes iPhones, and HP makes printers, right?

He almost looks like he’s smiling (i.e., not confused) in this shot with Bermuda …

There is a running theory that Keith has an IQ of 172, and his perpetual puzzlement is all an act. Judging by how he looked that night, there may be some truth to that.

Yaaaaaaay, Slim Jim!

And last but not least, there was a fucking Hamm’s Hat. Once again, relevance prevails.


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.]