That sure brings back memories. My first one was the time I got drunk with some Jehovah's Witnesses that lived up the hill from me. I went home and my first wife gave me the skunk eye. We had words and I jumped in the truck and headed for town. The cops were waiting for me when I got there because she called them. That ended my first marriage right there.
The second time happened in Dallas. It cost me a fine, community service, and a suspended license for a year. That's why I hate bicycles to this very day.
The third one happened in Wisconsin. I got into an argument with my dad and decided I was gonna hop in the truck, drive 150 miles, and stay with a girlfriend. I didn't even make it out of town, but being the drunk state Wisconsin is, I got off easier than the second DUI.
Now I have a wonderful wife, a home on 100 acres, and do all my drinking right here. Of course, there were other times I was drunk as a skunk and drove stupidly before now. Like the time in Missouri when I accidentally ran a park ranger off the road. He was pretty pissed and I spent the night in jail, but didn't lose my license.
Then there was the time in Arkansas when I had just enough sense to pull over, shut off the ignition, and fall out of the truck on the ground. I woke up sometime later and some guy was asking me if I was ok. I told him to fuck off.
Then there was the time in Dallas, when I drove a pickup truck through a park in a black neighborhood, and knocked down some posts.
Then there was the time in Dallas when I was drunk and pulled into a 7-11 store, and locked my keys in the truck while it was still running. I stumbled around to the back of the store, found a rock, and busted out the window, so I could get out of there before the cops showed up.
Then there was the time in Dallas when I got thrown out of a bar for smashing a shot glass on the floor. That pissed me off, so I set fire to a newspaper stand that had a bunch of left-wing fag papers in it. That cost me a night in jail, but I never paid the fine. They called me a bunch of times after I moved to Wisconsin, but finally quit.
Then there was the time in Wisconsin when I was hanging out at a lake. The cops had to take me home, and my dad was so pissed he was spitting bullets.
Good times, yup.