Dead Drunk

                            By Dave Johnson

          I spent my before marriage years in New Orleans.
          New Orleans is a party city, and I liked to party.
          One night, I had a few beers, well maybe more than just a few.
          I  usually walked home  because my parents   had  an apartment in
          downtown New
          Orleans.   I  was walking  down  North Rampart,  Not paying  much
          attention to
          my immediate surroundings.
          I suddenly stumbled over a wine bottle, and grabbed for support.
          I found a short wrought iron fence.  I stood for a minute to  get
          my bearings.
          It was then that I realized I was in the St. Louis #1 cemetery.
          I wandered around several tombs,  some fenced, some not, kicked a
          few more
          wine bottles, and finally found the back gate to the cemetery.
          I  went out, and  found a k-nine  unit of the  New Orleans police
          department
          waiting for  me.The policeman said,  "What were you doing  in the
          Cemetery?"
          I said, I must have taken a wrong turn.
          He said, "no doubt you did" "Just get in the car."
          The dog was barking loudly.
          He said  he would give  me a  ride home.  I protested  but to  no
          avail.
          The next morning, or later in the morning, my Dad asked me,
          Why were the police bringing you home?"
          "how did you know that the police brought me home?" I asked.

          He  said, "Are  you kidding,  with  that dog  barking, the  whole
          neighborhood knew when you came home!"

Dave Johnson, reformed
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