Published during that alcohol-surfed wellspring of the mid-thirties, So Red The Nose or Breath in The Afternoon, was a point of pride for the dazed and heavily intoxicated muckety-mucks in their Gatsby-like fandangos. Prohibition had robbed a society of dipsomaniacs the right to live up to their name for almost 15 years, and these noble world-class winos, the upper crust, needed to up their game in order to make up for lost time. Its rush job into the press was a way to reach down and grab that quintessential ideal that America was founded on: Our right to get hammered, talk nonsense and do whatever we damn well please with our liberties. For all claims, so Red The Nose was New […]