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,
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.