The most amusing thing I’d ever heard/seen said by someone who’d had more than a little too much to drink was when one of my shipmates woke up aboard ship, after he’d made plans to spend the night ashore in a hotel room with a couple of other guys.
After the obligatory visit to the head…
“Why am I here.”
“Sorry, can’t answer that. Classified”
“No, you ass. Why am I aboard this stinking, lousy, piece of shit ship, instead in some luxury hotel room with a goddamned bed?”
“Well, after Shore Patrol finally caught you, last night, they didn’t feel you were really a risk, so they let us pour you into your rack.”
“Shore Patrol? Why on Earth was the Shore Patrol chasing me.”
“I really don’t think it was because you told them they were all pig fuckers. You were so shit-faced then no one could take you seriously.”
“I called Shore Patrol all pig fuckers?”
“Yeah. I think that was after you told them that they couldn’t lock you up, because you had friends in high places.”
“Were they trying to lock me up?”
“Well, no. Mostly they were trying to avoid being in front of you, in case you vomited on someone again. Oh, you really ought to apologize to Pokey.”
“I puked on Pokey?”
“Well, it’s not like you were aiming for him. He just got in your way.”
“I puked on Pokey. Shit. And I razzed Shore Patrol.” Pause. “Is that all?”
“Well, up to that point, I don’t think anyone really gave a crap. I mean, it’s nothing that the Chaplain didn’t do back in St. Thomas.”
“Yes or no: Is that all?”
“Are you sure you want to talk about this now? You’re still looking a bit green.”
“Look you fucking little pissant, if you don’t want to be cleaning out the forward fan room, again, you’ll answer the fucking question.”
“Well, no. But really, you weren’t in trouble with the command when Shore Patrol started chasing you.”
“I wasn’t in trouble, but they started chasing me?”
“Well, you remember how Fleet Landing was right next to that highway, right?”
“Sorta…”
“Well, after you told the SPs you had friends in high places, and that they couldn’t lock you up, you ran across the highway. Normally I’d say you were so drunk you forgot that cars here drive on the wrong side of the roads - but you didn’t look at all, so I have to assume you weren’t thinking about cars at all. And you nearly got run over.”
“Umm…”
“So, when Shore Patrol started to chase you, they really were just trying to keep you out of trouble.”
“Shore Patrol started to chase me…?”
“Well, they couldn’t follow you at first.”
“Why couldn’t they follow me?”
“They weren’t going to provoke the authorities further by following you into that building.”
“What building? What authorities?”
“Well, those buildings across from Fleet Landing? We were told they were some kind of gov’t office complex. And you blew right by the official guards, jumped the barrier, and ran into the building.”
“I ran into the building?”
“Yeah. And it took about fifteen minutes for Shore Patrol to get permission to go in after you. The normal guards were convinced you were dangerous, so they wanted to call in the SWAT team.”
“They wanted to call the SWAT team?”
“Well, I don’t know that’s what they called it, but they wanted armed police types to take you in, or take you down. I’m not sure which.”
“They wanted to call the SWAT team.”
A long pause, the desire to know what happened fighting the growing horror as he considered the consequences of his evening.
“I’m going back to puke and then go back to my rack. I don’t want to know any more.”
Really, the best part was when the Shore Patrol found him, sitting on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the sides, mumbling something. The general consensus is that he was very lucky that if it were “Superman” the way some of the SPs claimed, they got up there before he decided to try to fly. 
(St. Maartens, 1992 IIRC)
