Appropriated from the Brownell's Web Bench. ONE NIGHT WHEN THE BARS CLOSED A cop is sitting in his patrol car, 2:30 a.m., watching the entrance to a bar. A man lurches through the door of the bar, falls down, gets up, straggers to the nearest car, collapses against it, takes a ring of keys out of his pocket, drops them, crawls around until he finds them, gets up, tries each key in the car door. None fits. He staggers around to the next car – and the next – drops and recovers his keys at each car, tries each key at each car. None fits. Eventually, he finds his car, opens the door, gets in, starts the car, and with jerks and erratic steering gets it over the curb and onto the street, where he lays rubber on the pavement and disappears zig-zagging down the street. The cop takes off after him, and after a bit of a chase finally gets him to pull over and get out of the car. "What's the problem, officer?" "I'm going to have to take you in. You're drunk." "Oh, not me! I haven't had a drink since last week. Got that breath-a-wheezer thing? I'll show you." Sure enough, not a trace of alcohol. The cop's puzzled. "I don't understand this. Why were you driving like you were drunk?" "Oh, that! Tonight, I'm the designated decoy."