Disclaimer: 'Father Ted' was a Hat Trick Production for Channel 4, created by and written by Graham Linehan and Arthur Mathews.
“D’you think we should exercise that O’Leary-a, Ted? We could take her to the golf course, or maybe we could just take her for a brisk walk, or, I know, I could lend her my rollerblades.”
Father Ted raised his eyes to the Heavens. “What are you talking about, Dougal?”
“Well, Ted, she’s a demon, and wasn’t Bishop Brennan saying that you’re supposed to exercise demons? We’d get her head to go spinning round, and then she’d say nasty words, and there might be vomiting so we’d best put some newspapers down or something.”
“Dougal, that’s not how you do an exorcism.”
“Oh. Right. Well, shouldn’t we do it anyway, on account of her being a demon?”
Father Jack stirred in his chair. “That would be an ecumenical matter,” he said.
Father Ted looked at him with some surprise. “The Bishop’s not really here, Jack,” he said. “Dougal was just talking.”
“Arse,” Father Jack growled, reverting to his usual speech patterns. “Feck! Drink! Girls!” He slumped back into his normal comatose state.
“He’s actually right, Dougal,” Ted said. “An ecumenical approach would be best. No exorcism. Just in case she gets offended and pulls off our arms and beats us to death with the soggy ends.”
“Would she do that?”
“Well, I suppose I shouldn’t really say, as being her Qwa'ha Xahn is probably like the sanctity of the confessional, but, well, yes she would.”
“Oh. I wouldn’t like that, Ted.”
“And another thing, Dougal,” Father Ted went on. “If we did exorcise her she’d change back into that nice American lady who scared you so much that you hid under the table.” He added “You great daft eejit” under his breath so that Father Dougal didn’t hear.
“Oh. Yes, Ted, perhaps we’d best leave well enough alone. I won’t let her use my rollerblades.” Dougal’s cheerfully vacant smile was replaced by a frown. “Where’s she gone?”
“She’s in the other room with Mrs Doyle,” Ted said. He opened the door and listened.
“I have told you, creature, that I do not wish to consume this ‘tea’,” Illyria said.
“Ahh, go on,” said Mrs Doyle. “Go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on!”
There was a crash of glass and the sound of running footsteps.
“She’s jumped out of the window and ran away,” Father Ted observed. “Ah, well, it’s probably for the best.”