I can beat that with one with another post-courthouse story that happened in my home town (Funked still lives there, so he can corroborate).
A guy was going up for his third count of DWI. So he and his wife went down to the courthouse. But he was determined not to go to jail; if the judged so sentenced him, he had wired himself with dynamite and would take himself and a good deal of the court with him into the next world.
He got off.
So afterwards, he goes to Hank's Place, the bar across the street, and has a couple of celebratory beers and perhaps a shot of whiskey or two. He tells the barflies in there (it's 2:30 or so on a weekday afternoon) about his dynamite rig, which he is still wearing.
Then he and his wife drive home. As they're cruising along Portola Ave., someone activates their garage-door opener.
Miraculously, the wife survived.