You should be shot if you try this one

Find some Southern Host (generic equivalent of Sothern Comfort). Have friends like Podbillion and his friend Merloid invent SoHoCo (a snort of SoHo chased with Coca Cola). Hook up with Phid at 8 Barrel’s house after a day at the big lake or something like that. 8 Barrel is probably working for a living – maybe at the BK Lounge, although that would be an excuse to do this nonsense there.

Anyway, do your own sohoco marathon in his driveway. Since this embalming fluid was in an ice chest all day, the label will just slip right off. Stick it in the middle of the back window of the 8 barrel wagon, so he knows you came over.

Since you’re both well past stupidly drunk, Phid will go home. Your home is closer and almost in a straight line. Obviously, you can’t go there now – you’re in Penis, Lord of Scum mode. Hot ladies want you, cool dudes want to be you. So go to your frat house, which is a couple miles farther, and requires driving on a state highway. Get almost there, then remember it’s summer and nobody is around. Turn around and head for home.

How’d it get so dark and late(?) all of the sudden [it was just late afternoon when you were swilling rocket fuel in the driveway.]

As you’re driving, observe the cop waiting for scumlatoids like you to drool past. They will treat your inadvertent lane change in their direction (because your hands are following your head, which is pointed at the cops and not the road) as a sign of respect, so don’t give them another thought. Miles later, check your mirrors for s***s and giggles. Mmmm, what pretty blue and red lights.

Wonder to yourself if they could be after you.

Well, anyone in your house will see you from your house on the corner so drive right past your house, hang a right and stop suddenly in the middle of the street on the opposite corner of the block, safely out of the view of your Mom. The oil light in your Boink-mobile (Karma:  you wish!) will come on, because you never check the stuff, so pop the hood and jump out. You must check the oil right now!

The Police will have to wait! (Yes, they followed you and parked right behind you.) Explain the oil-checking imperative to them in as few words as possible (“Must… check .. oil… red… light… BOOOOM!”) Cops understand.

Deny drinking. Deny intoxication. Make fun of the plainclothes off duty officer by asking if he is an explorer scout. Cops respect smarmy talk from drunkards who can barely stand up. If you’re lucky (like its 1983 or something), the cops will ask you if you can make it home (200 yards away). Lie and say “yes,” then take off before they change their minds. Park in the driveway of the 100 year old lady across the street from your house. You can kick her ass if she complains.

Plus, there’s no fucking way that you can get your 3-ton, 22 foot long, 8 foot wide land yacht in your own driveway unless its sideways and resting on top of the car that is already there. And the cops are watching.

If you are really lucky, you will never be dumb enough to drink soho or soco ever again.

Karma:  You’re not that lucky