An old Celtic grimoire specifies that the bassist of a band of troubadours is always the oldest... but not necessarily the wisest.
 

In the last century, a young Irishwoman nicknamed him "Goat," but — apart from the Celtic aspect — it has no connection. For decades, he has hauled his stout carcass across the most sordid stages in the guise of a Flemish tourist, always accompanied by his cooler (or Frigobox) filled with beers, bellowing into a microphone things one only thinks when truly, very, very drunk.

He even claims that's how a good song is composed and (almost) never refuses a pint.

 

If you care about the balance of the world, never challenge him — he has a real problem with limits. Especially if it's a stupid challenge.

The one thing the other band members envy him for is his legendary eloquence.