A Happy Place For An Angry Man


You’ll note that under Friends of Socrates, the name Gonz O’Lager links you to a friendly little place called The Bourbon Asylum. TBA, as we call it on the street, is a sort of sister blog to this one, and not just because we’re two girls who both look good in poodle adorned sock-hop skirts. No, it’s more than that; it’s about content and theme and attitude. Really, it’s about carving out some space for yourself and your mind, such as it may be, where you can cut loose, hang loose and let the mad dogs loose. It’s about standing up straight, no matter the beating you’re taking, and giving it right back to the pricks.

It’s like Jake LaMotta. “You never got me down, Ray. I never went down.”

Maybe it’s Guy Shit, yeah, I don’t know. Doesn’t make it a bad thing.

Though TBA has been around a bit, it seems Mr. O’Lager, in a moment of crystalline rage and defiance, has laid before us what can only be seen as his version of The Prime Directive. A clear statement of intent, a heraldic definition of what it is we’re trying to do out here/in here. There stands a man not afraid to run his Jolly Roger up the flag pole and here’s one sailor giving it a sure handed salute. And with more than just one finger, too.

So check out Persona Non Writer and all the other posts over there and be glad that you did.

Then, saddle up and ride with us for a bit, cowpokes. We’re not entirely sure where the trail will take us but the scenery and company are sure to be worth the trip.

Not to mention the whiskey.


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One Response to “A Happy Place For An Angry Man”

  1. Gonz O'Lager Says:

    You are the wind beneath my buttocks, mon frère.

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