Hoist by Her own Petard

Great show yesterday kid. A great show which averted a street fight between the Belfast winos and members of alcoholics anonymous. There they were, lined up in military formation, when a splinter group from the Legion of Mary yelled,
"Will youse stop your auld fighting! The Gerry Anderson show is on, so it is!
Members of alcoholic anonymous broke off and ran home in a straight line. The winos ran for their cardboard boxes in a curious zig-zag manner which was quite endearing to behold.
I ran down the stairs, leaving a trail of mystery and stupidity behind me and yelled to Tommy my cat,
"We really must get an inside toilet. It is dangerous in the extreme to have to hang out of the upstairs window the way we have to. "
"Are you mad?" roared Tommy. "Toilets don't grow on trees. Toilets cost money! And think of the harm it would do to our rhubarb!"
I was hoist by my own Captain Petard. I do love my Sunday rhubarb and custard.
"In that case," I said, "that gulpin of a cub across the road must stop shooting at my, you know what, with an air rifle."
"It's your own fault," said Tommy, picking up, "The pleasure I get from mooning" by Daniel O'Donnell. "You shouldn't have tempted the lad by drawing a bulls-eye on your arse!"
I found Tubby Nolan lying in the long grass behind Madam George's surgical supplies and massage parlour.
"No more dieting or exercise for me!" yelled the Nemesis of Weight Watchers.
"Soon I enter the,"Fat Boy" clinic in Chingford to have a large, reinforced, industrial, rubber, gastric band fitted to my large intestine. The rubber band will be flown into the George Best airport straight from NASA in a giant B52 cargo plane. When a gang of plumbers and welders have attached the gigantic band, my stomach will shrink to the size of a golf ball and a veritable avalanche of stones and pounds will fall off me, leaving me slim, thin and slender. Say goodbye to Tubby and say hello to Twiggy."
I giggled and said, "A gastric band will reduce more than the size of your stomach."
"You don't mean...!" screamed Tubby.
"Oh yes I do!" I tittered.
"Tubby whipped out his mobile phone and screamed,
"ABORT! Abort the mission. I will not have Anderson and Mark Carruthers laughing at me in the showers. ABORT! ABORT! I say--ABORT!!!"
What a big fuss over something so little!