The Phantom phag nicker

"Oh come on. Give me my phags back. I'm gasping."
That's what we heard in the small hours as we gazed up at the toweriest tower of Tupfinder Towers.
Suddenly a plume of smoke and a fountain of orangey red sparks lit up the moonless sky. A lone figure stood leaning over the edge of the tower, silhouetted against the inferno. We heard him cry,"You rotten swine. Have a heart. Twenty Rothman's and a disposable lighter, and make it snappy. Or I won't be answerable."
A second figure caught our eye as it scurried down the ivy-clad walls.
"Hee hee hee!" it sniggered evilly.
What was going on? well, the T-G's had a guest staying in one of his upper rooms. The ones with the bars on the windows and the reinforced doors. Apparently, he's been there for quite some time. Like, his entire life. It's a cousin of Mrs T-G, who happens to have rather unfortunate maniacal tendencies. Seemingly, if he's let loose, he creates mayhem with an axe.
The only thing that keeps him sane is his phag habit - and now, someone has nicked his supply.
"I daren't go near him," quavered the T-G. "Not while he's in this state."
Geoffrey and I exchanged glances. This was most out of character. the T-G is usually someone we can turn to in a crisis.
"We'll have to administer a tranquilliser. We'll need to use the blow-pipe of course."
Of course.
"I've got one..."
"In the vitrine. Yes. But that means..."
"Going into the tower itself..."
"Yes, but surely..."
"He'll be safely locked in the upper room? I wouldn't be so sure..."
"Can we not just chuck him some phags?"
"I'm afraid it's gone beyond that now. The thing is, he's already reached such a stage of withdrawal that the strength of phag required would be beyond our wildest imaginings. It's simply not something that would be obtainable, in the normal way."
"Nothing's beyond OUR wildest imaginings. Maybe we could make him a special phag. A giant, superstrength one? Home-made?"
"Maybe..."