How drunk can one man be? Really, how drunk?
Mitchell Deslatte knows. Well, he allegedly knows. State police in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, say Deslatte drove to one of their stations early yesterday morning, got out of his car and banged on the door … because he thought it was a hotel.
That’s how allegedly drunk he was. He saw a police station, talked to a police trooper — in uniform — and continued to think he was at a Marriott or something.
This is a gloriously ridiculous level of intoxication. Allegedly. Hey, maybe Deslatte wasn’t drunk. Maybe he’ll be acquitted. This could all just be a case of ferocious moronity. “I wasn’t drunk, judge, I’m just damned stupid.”
The trooper who opened the door says Deslatte asked him for a room for the night. He got his wish. Hey, you know what? I feel a song coming on …
Busted drunk in Baton Rouge, looking for a room
And he’s feeling nearly as faded as his buzz.
Mitchell drove his pickup up to the cop shop door
But I reckon he didn’t know where he was.
He pulled his wallet out with his dirty red bandanna,
And said “hey buddy, how much for a night?”
Windshield wipers slapping time, beer fumes with a hint of lime,
Mitchell got his wish, got locked up tight.
Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose,
Nothing don’t mean nothing honey if it ain’t free, now now.
And feeling good was easy, Lord, when he was on the loose,
But now he’s hung over in a cell,
Probably asking himself “what the hell?”