When I was 17 and drinking and driving was just starting to become "unfashionable," I borrowed my parents Buick Regal one Friday night. This was the day after it came out of the shop from my sister wrecking it, so my dad reluctantly handed me the keys and said, "PLEASE, be carefull." I said, ok, and promply hopped in the car and went to pick up a friend, his slutty cousin and a bunch of beer.

Two hours later the three of us were hammered, driving around down by Beach Drive in Port Orchard. I pulled up to a stop sign, looked both ways and turned left onto a side street when slutty cousin puts her hand in my lap. So I mashed down on the gas to impress her with a possi burn and lost control of the vehicle. We hit a parked car on the left side of the road and I hit the windshield so hard I knocked the car into reverse and passed-out with my foot on the throttle, backed up the street and hit about 35 miles an hour in reverse before backing into a parked car on the right side of the road, knocking it out of park, so it rolled down someone's front yard into their house.

When I came to a few minutes after the fact their were people standing in all the front yards looking, while I rolled out onto the street and started puking amoungst the broken glass and plastic strewn all over the asphalt. About this time a Sherriff rolls up, walks over to me and says, "I'm not even going to write you up on the drinking charge, you're in enough trouble."

The part that sucked the worst was asking someone if I could use their phone, calling my dad, and telling him I just totaled the family car.

Beat that.