I was a new reporter for a local newspaper.
A theft had occurred in the local village hall where a wedding reception was to be held on the following day. I was sent to write on the present position.
Lined up with the cake were lots and lots of glasses, half of which had been drained by the thieves and the other half still charged with Cognac and Angostura bitters in readiness for cold sparkling wine to be added for them to become Champagne cocktails for the wedding guests.
The local policeman was already in the hall, apprehending the usual suspects, any of whom he hoped might admit to the theft if having the smell of alcohol on their breath.
I wondered if the thieves might have also have drunk from the charged glasses and substituted water for some of the Cognac. So these had to be tested.
It occurred to me that if I drank too much, then my piece might become incomprehensible. But that would be fun to do. So I tested a few and wrote my report containing slurred words and drunken phrases. And to add some legitimacy I added, as if from the editor, the fact that I was not available to answer for my drunken effort because of a monumental hangover, and that my bicycle had been found abandoned in a ditch. He printed my piece word for word.
Readers, used to the usual dull reports, laughed and loved it. My reputation as a journalist, and, even humorist, had been established.
