Drunken Escapades

Here’s a story I heard from a friend a while back.

His uncle was an alcoholic. Chubby, giant beer belly, balding and rosy cheeked. He lived in a small town, and his house was on the edge of city limits, in a quiet neighborhood. To get into town, he had to take a few unlit roads, through sparsely populated areas. One night, he was out celebrating a football victory with his friends at a local bar. Had a couple shots of tequila, chased with a pitcher of Guinness. Hammered by the end of it all. Of course, through his traditional buffoonery, everyone had forgotten about choosing a designated driver. With drunken logic, he decided the easiest course of action was to drive himself home. He had an old wreck of a car, rusty and smelly. Just like him. It was back from the 70’s, and somehow it still ran, albeit with the occasional hiccup. Anyways, he gets in the car, fumbles with his keys, and starts to head home, knocking over a trashcan on the way. Leaves town, gets to the part of his inebriated journey where the streetlights end. It’s pitch black except for his single working headlight. He’s half on the road, half driving through some farmer’s field. His car begins to make a chugging noise and the engine peters out. Son of a bitch car broke down again. He gets out of the car and kicks the tires, hoping it will miraculously come back to life. A pair of headlights blare behind him. It’s a police car. The officer steps out. He’s a young guy, probably in his early twenties, and most likely a rookie.

“Is there a problem here sir?”
“Damned car just died on me.” He slurs and stumbles on his words.
“Sir, have you been drinking tonight?”
“Nu – uh.”

He then pukes all over the policeman’s shoes. The officer steps back – it’s a particularly rancid vomit. He covers his nose, and turns around to get away from the stench. But as the officer is distracted, the uncle has a brilliant idea. He decides to run to his car and make a quick getaway. The tires screech as he slams on the accelerator. The officer is cussing, screaming at the top of his lungs. He can’t hear him, too concentrated on trying to get home. Somehow, he makes it the next five miles to his house. Wonders why the officer didn’t chase after him. The neighbors are all asleep. It’s three in the morning. He drives over his lawn, pulls into his garage, and closes the door. He attempts to make it to his bedroom, but he passes out on the floor. Four hours later, he wakes up to banging on the door. His head is pounding. He has bile in his mouth. A horrible hangover. Answers the intruder angrily. “What?!?” He opens the door, only to see the officer from last night. The officer’s eyes are bloodshot. He has a vague memory of last night. All he can recall is he bumped into a policeman, and drove home afterwards. The officer sheepishly asks the uncle to open his garage. He grumbles a few words, and opens the door. The police car is there. Apparently, this dumbass was too drunk to realize that he took the wrong car. The officer had somehow resuscitated the other car, and had been looking for his uncle all night. He didn’t press any charges. He was too embarrassed.