A wolf in sheep's clothing

Great show yesterday kid. The highlight of the show was Mr Coyle yelling,
"I don't know what to drink with pizza."
Tommy my cat threw The Chilean Chronicle from him and yelled,
"Let him drink cake!"
I cooled Tommy down by running him in a circle while giving him risers from a pair of pristine, Northern Ireland, football boots.
GOOOOOOOOOOAL!" I yelled, while Tommy whistled frantically for full time.
After applying a liberal application of E45 cream to Tommy's rear the feline spoke thus,
"I have been keeping a word check on Gerry's great show. The results are in and are are truly staggering. In today's great show Gerry spoke for 49% of the time and Mr Coyle spoke for 50% of the time. Which means in essence, Mr Coyle owns a controlling interest in the Gerry show."
"Great balls of high octane fuel!" I cried. "How did this tarra situation come about? Mr Coyle was only taken on by Radio Foyle as tea-boy and gopher at the bequest of Bishop Daly. He must be up to his ears in insider trading."
"That is the feeling in the city," said Tommy. "Mr Coyle has been buying short and selling long, while also trading on the margins."
"Gadzooks!" I cried. "Mr Coyle will probably pick up a three or four pound bonus this Christmas."
"He's a fat cat!" yelled Tommy. "Mr Coyle is one fat pussy."
"Hold the weddin' and change the beddin'" I cried. "You said Gerry spoke 49% of the time and Mr Coyle spoke 50% of the time, what happened to the other 1%?"
"Oh that was Janet," said Tommy. "You may remember at one point Janet screamed,
"HI! Get off me Batman, you're messing up my hair!"
"By jingo!" I cried. "That explains why Emma moved lock, stock and two smoking barrels upstairs."
"SEXUAL HARASSMENT!" screamed Tommy. "Sexual harassment from a man who wears a Matt Talbot badge on his lapel."
"A wolf in sheep's clothing!" I cried. "A Rottweiler posing as a shit-sue."
"To the stocks with him!" shrieked Tommy. "To the stocks with giggling, gigolo, Thaddeaus Coyle!"