..but it is too late, and the comely lass is soon sending empty beer bottles in every direction, whirling and tapping, her skirt swinging just high enough as she steps to leave MMario's jaw near the floor and his eyes looking like Auroch Saucers, fixed on the occasional glimpse of bloomers in the swirling rhythm. And the wild fiddle and guitar combo in the background swiongs from "Frankie" into "Uncle Joe, Uncle Joe", which heats the room up even more and starts a rich wafting atmosphere of whiskey, sweat, Guiness, jello and raw pheremones breezing from table to table and accelerating the rich spirit of the evening.

A