Bad driver pro tip: If you plow into somebody's car and drive away, try not to leave a trail of debris and skidmarks that lets the victim's family find you

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one morning many years ago I came out of my house and the BPD were sitting in a cruiser waiting for me. My car, a lovely light blue chevy caprice, was wrapped around a tree a few doors down. The officer in the cruiser asked me if I had been in an accident the night before? Those were my Budweiser days but I think I would have had some recollection of totaling my car around the tree in front of Mrs Curran’s house. I told the officer I had parked the car sometime around midnight and it was intact. The officer told me I would have to come up to the station and fill out an accident report. She never even got out of the cruiser. She left. It was around 6am and nobody was around so I went in and woke up my brother. He told me he had heard something in the middle of the night but didn’t look out his window. We went back out and inspected my car more closely. It had been hit from behind and lurched forward hitting a tree and the car parked in front of it. Completely totaled. My brother quickly noticed some pieces of a white car on the street. He looked at me and said “Its the irish guy’s from glencoe streets mustang!” we then followed bits of broken car and trails of radiator fluid two blocks and right up the irish guys driveway. My brother walked up and pulled a large tarp off a car someone had covered. Under the tarp was the remains of a totaled, brand new, white, Mustang GT 5.0. We walked back to my house and called the police again. This time we asked for an officer we both knew and explained our situation. He told us to meet him in front of the irish guys house in 5 minutes. We walked back down and the cruiser was just pulling up. The cop, my brother and myself walked up onto the front porch and the cop started banging on the door. The door opened and I think I saw about 10-12 irish dudes passed out anywhere there was a flat surface. On the floor, couches, chairs, stairs, everywhere you looked a sleeping irishman. The room smelled like stale beer and sausage farts.After a minute the irish guys were starting to come around and they started getting nervous quickly. Guys started running for the back door and my friend, the cop, told everyone to sit down and relax. He promised he wasn’t there to send anybody back to the old country but wanted to know who owned the mustang? The owner stepped forward, introduced himself, and shook all our hands. Me him and the cop went into the kitchen and irish guy wrote me a nice check, we shook hands again we left. I bought a new monte carlo (with T-Tops) that afternoon. The end.