Fill your gut to a comfortable level, and the LPA tells your brain to drop the fork. Trouble is, it delivers that information at dial-up speed in a DSL world.

Well, she schlumphed her Vera down the screech at a rate of knots, zhooshed up the riah, checked the slap in the mirror behind the bar, straightened up one ogle fake riah that had come adrift, and bold as brass orderlied over as fast as she could manage in those bats and, in her best lips, asked, if she could parker the omi a bevvy.

Tonight’s sumptuous two-hour gig butts up hard against the curfew. Minutes often go by during which Murphy dispenses entirely with the business of singing pop songs. She’ll vogue, or reanimate some acid house moves, letting the beat take over.

And goon to vigilyes al bifore, And have a mantel royalliche y-bore.