Gerrard O'Caogain and the Bottle of Whiskey in the Trousers.

Poor old G-G-Gerrry, being holy and all of that. As a matter of fact, he was never really holy, he just carried around a consecrated host in his pocket and showed it to people to scare them at inappropriate moments, like when he was telling a group of youngfellas about how he got his hole every night when he was their age. That's why HH got rid of him off the curriculum. It was a shame really, because the randy youngfellas hadn't a decent example to follow now except that fucking bollocks Pete Doherty, who certainly didn't carry around a host in his top pocket and couldn't write holy songs about love and things of the sort.

But poor Gerrry was actually a desperate alco, and he used to drink for Ireland every Saturday night, as well as every Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Wednesday, and Monday, morning and evening. But on Sunday he went to Mass just to keep up appearances, and afterwards would come along for a bit of drink. But one day in the 1990s he met an American priest who could turn his vestments a different colour by just getting everyone to close their eyes and pray hard for ten seconds, and this convinced him for once and for all that there really was a Gawd, and so the priest gave him a lovely present of a golden monstrance and a host that he could use to scare children. It came in pretty handy, especially after Gerrry had told stories about getting both high and his hole in one night back when he was a youngfella and didn't have that silly beard.

One day Gerrry realized that being an alco was a sin and so went to classes in abstinence with the Legion of Mary, but realized that wasn't the sort of abstinence he needed when they took out the meat cleavers. Instead, he went on a six-week course with Archbishop Desmond Connell who made really boring speeches every night and drove everyone to drink, except of course Gerrry who was so enlightened that he vowed he'd never drink again and dedicate his life to Gawd. In fact, he did this with renewed vigour, taking out his guitar at the drop of a hat (bastard) to serenade all and sundry about the virtues of keeping your mickey in your trousers and all those things that Catholics do be going on about. Well done to him.

But of course, it didn't last. One night, Gerrry was walking through Baile Sord when he passed the establishment known to the youth of the area simply as Lamb. "O no," thought Gerrry to himself, "I can't possibly go there. Only youngfellas who want to get pissed, dance badly and get their hole go there." And sure wasn't he right. So he crossed the road and walked further up on his way to MacDonald's where he was looking forward to having a nice double cheeseburger to the glory of Gawd. However, passing by another establishment by the name of Cock, he was taken immediately with the delicious smell of pub and couldn't help himself. He ran straight in through the doors (in his confusion even pushing the right-hand one first) as Martin turned to him and raising his hands in a gesture of coolness said, "Look, take it easy." Gerrry ignored Martin and stood in the doorway for a minute breathing in the delicious smell of pub he had missed for so long. Striding up to the bar, he asked one of the pinkies to give him a bottle of Bushmills. Because they didn't have any on hand, they sent Stuart the hot youngfla down to the cellars to retrieve one. Gerrry tried his best to remain inconspicuous, but the silly little beard gave it away really. Having paid the barman, he grabbed his bottle of whiskey, shoved it down his trousers and ran straight out.

Reaching the wall over outside the Old Boro, he tried his best to extract the bottle of whiskey from his trousers, but somehow it had managed to become stuck. As he fiddled desperately with the bottle he couldn't manage to get it up for some reason. Maybe he was drunk on the smell of a pub. Who knows? But unfortunately for Gerrry one of the gardaí across the road had nothing to do and was staring out the window of his office, and jumped at the chance to run out to Gerrry when he saw him doing what he thought was a bold thing in public.

"Here, you, mister, with the silly beard. What's your name?"

"What's it to you, you big fuckin' culchie?"

"You shut up your fuckin' jackeen bollix mouth and get your durty cunt hands off your mickey."

"Me hands aren't on me mickey."

"I could see you fiddlin' your mickey all the way across the road, so don't give me that bollix."

"I mean it," said Gerrry, "I wasn't fiddlin' me mickey. I'd go to hell for that. I'm trying to get a bottle of whiskey out of me trousers."

"A bottle of whiskey me brown bollix. You're arrested."

And so Gerrry was arrested. And that is the moral of the story, because he was never again allowed to lecture youngfellas about drugs and getting their hole and things like that because he got arrested for fiddling his mickey in the street (or so it seemed). And worse still, he had a bottle of whiskey in his trousers, which was extremely embarrassing for a whole lot of reasons. So now when you see Gerrry it won't be with his guitar or his host, because both were taken off him. Instead you'll see him standing around Eason's looking at Mills & Boons books all day, and when Eason's closes you'll see him wandering in and out of pubs all around the town but not drinking a single drop. That's probably what hell is for an ex-holy like Gerrry, Gawd love him.