Late one Saturday night, the police were on patrol near the local pub. The two officers saw a car driving in a meandering fashion along the streets and decided to pull it over. The policeman knocked on the window and asked the driver if he’d been drinking at all.
“Who told on me?” asked the driver in a drunken slur. “Well, I have. It’s Saturday night, you know. Me and my friends made stopped by the pub, but I only had six or seven pints, that’s all. But then they had something called ‘Happy Hour’ where they served these delicious margaritos, or margaritas? Anyway they are quite good. I had four…no five of those.
“Then I had promised to drive my friend home, and he invited me in. Well, I had to go in for a couple pints. I really couldn’t be rude, now, could I? Of course, on the way home I stopped to get another pint for later…”
At that point the driver began fumbling around inside his coat and suddenly lifted up a bottle of whiskey for the police to inspect.
The policeman gave a deep sigh and said: “Sir, you will need to step out of the vehicle to take a breathalyser.”
Indignantly, the driver replied: “Why? Don’t you believe me?”