If you’re going to drive drunk, at least challenge me a little. Walk a straight line and make me second guess my investigation skills. Even if you can’t walk straight, don’t take 18 steps when I only tell you to take 9. If you’re having trouble balancing with one foot in the air, don’t tell me it’s because you had too much to drink. And for Pete’s sake, before I first contact you at your car, take of the Mardi Gras beads.

I’ll be honest with you, It’s a pride issue with me. When I tell my sergeant I arrested a drunk driver, he’s going to ask for some details. I’m going to have to tell him how you were vomiting out the open door while you were slowly driving down the street, or how you said you could recite the alphabet backwards even though I didn’t ask you to, and you couldn’t get past X, or how your shirt buttons were off by not just one, but two buttons. He’s not going to be impressed with me. He’ll be glad I got you off the street, but a six year old would have been able to tell you were drunk.

You’re going to go to jail regardless, so I guess it’s up to you how easy you make it for me, but could you at least pull up your zipper?

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