Confused malcontents swilling Chardonnay while awaiting the Zombie Apocalypse.
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The answer was "The Tasmanian Babes Fiasco", by John Birmingham. Great book.
"The Police Never Think It's As Funny As You Do."
You've got that right. Back in the Seventies I drove home after a party and a night of drinking, but when I got home, which was in the foothills, I couldn't find the key to my front door. I knew how to get inside through a second-floor window that was unlocked, but I wisely didn't try it, because I was afraid that I would fall to the ground and break my neck before getting into the difficult-to-reach window. Then I remembered that at the party, the hostess, who was a good friend of mine, had taken my car keys to keep me from driving home, but I had shown her my spare key. My house key was on the key ring with my car key, and so I figured that I must have left it at the party. So, I got back in the car to drive back to the party and retrieve my house key, but as I was driving there, I missed a turn and ran into a fence, damaging my car. I couldn't get it running again, the house was within walking distance, and so I started walking to the house in order to call a tow truck. As I was walking back to the house, I discovered my house key on my key ring in a DIFFERENT pocket from where I usually kept it. So, when I showed the hostess my spare key, I had put my key ring back in the wrong pants pocket, which I thought was funny.
I got to the house, woke the hostess up to use her phone, and called a tow truck. I was asked if I had reported the accident to the police, I said that I hadn't, and they told me that they couldn't tow my car unless I reported it. So, I called the police, told them about the accident and where I was, a police car came, picked me up, and drove me back to my car. I thought that it was very funny that I had driven home drunk without any trouble, had my house key with me all the time, and had the accident while driving back to the party with my key in my pocket. The policeman didn't think so and drove me to jail, where I was booked and spent the night. I was asked if I had enough money on me to pay bond and not have to stay in jail, and still believing I was being funny, I said, sure, if they would take a bad check. A night in jail is not funny, and the next morning, my one phone call was to the hostess, who came and drove me home. MORAL: Don't drink and drive, even if you think it's funny.
A story that should be told every Christmas!