The cops have short-barreled boxy submachine guns aimed at your face and two of them are shouting conflicting instructions at you while another uncurls the zipties. Behind him, the rest are all greasing up their nightsticks and grinning. Behind them, you see curious neighbors gathering in the yard. You wish you could just apologize to the mayor. This is going to get ugly.
As the cop with the zipties starts to move in your direction, you sway drunkenly and fall backwards behind the couch. You can't make out what a bunch of cop voices are saying. You're pretty drunk and only half pretending that you can't keep your feet. You hit the ground and your hand reaches out to find a narrow metal lever sticking out of the floor under the couch. You pull on it kerchunk and hope at least some of the cops are standing on pressure plates.
There's another kerchunk followed by several loud screams and a short burst of suppressed gunfire. You drunkenly sprint for the kitchen.