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This is a question Lies that got out of control

Ever claimed you could speak a foreign language to impress friends, colleagues and/or get laid? Make a twat of yourself - and I couldn't possibly comment - saying you were the godson of the chairman of BP? Tell us how your porkies have caught up with you

(Thanks to augsav and Sandettie Light Vessel Automatic for the suggestions)

(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 13:03)
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This question is now closed.

I swapped
Guns N' Roses' second album for U2's first single.
(, Sun 15 Aug 2010, 16:56, 10 replies)
Working in a computer shop
this regular loudmouth comes into the store with a game in his hand, a reciept in the other and a grim look on his face.

He marches upto the counter with the brand new game of the time for the PSX - "Final Fantasy 7" no doubt.

"This is rubbish!" he exclaims, with a bravado normally used by people who are trying to reanimate the dead in an abandoned windmill.

"What???" says us, "This is a modern day classic....let me guess, you don't like that kind of game, that's ok."
"No it's not that at all" he lies.
"Yes it is, you don't like it. You can say that, it's ok, we'll understand."
"No, it looks good, but it's too easy" he lies again.
"Easy? Explain."
"Well I finished the first disk in under an hour and a half*."

"You fucking liar hahahaha" we shout in unison and point at him, nerds united at the slanderous felon. He dared not challenge us again with these lies of gaming villany, no sir!

I used to like working there to a certain degree. We could call customers cunts to their face and get away with it :D

*this took on average approximately 7.5 hrs to complete per player, as the game's introduction and story a good few hours to get through, let alone playing the game. I'm such a fucking nerd it's unbelievable
(, Sun 15 Aug 2010, 13:58, 17 replies)
Last night...
...I was in the pub. Massive surprise! No, wait, that's not the lie.

A guy I know had a large crowd of friends down with him. By the time I arrived they were all halfway to being hammered. By halfway, I mean they were absolutely shitfaced.

In this crowd of friends is a guy called Jeremy. I don't know him that well, but I know him well enough to know he's not Scottish. Which is why I got confused when he was speaking with a Scottish accent.

It turns out that for some reason he'd once been introduced to one of the group as Scottish Jeremy. I have no idea why. Regardless, to keep up with the introduction he'd started speaking with an accent. All well and good at this stage.

Then a (genuine) Scottish girl wandered over, hearing his accent. And asked him where abouts in Scotland he was from...

Four hours later he was still Scottish Jeremy. She didn't suspect a thing.

I think the fact he wasn't on heroin threw her though.
(, Sun 15 Aug 2010, 13:58, 7 replies)
Amway calling!
About 25 years ago the local gossipy, time-wasting lady was a rep for Amway. Mum and I are in the kitchen and spy her through the curtain net walking up the driveway. Mum hissy whispers to me to get under the table and hide with her. So there we are, on all fours waiting for her to go away. Instead she decided to come into the house to drop off an Amway catalogue. I have blanked out the cringeyness of being caught, so can't say what happened next when her eyes lit upon us.
(, Sun 15 Aug 2010, 5:46, 2 replies)
I told her I was wearing a condom

(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 21:06, 1 reply)
"He took my baby!"

(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 19:48, Reply)
Oh my god
you're so BIIIIIIG!!
(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 17:38, Reply)
It was only meant as a joke
I've been hiding in this cupboard for the last twenty years. I'd come out, but they're all having such fun looking...
(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 17:11, Reply)
I've got an interview with the RAF next week
So when they ask me why I want to join, rather than the truthful answer of...

"I have recently lost my job and although I have been looking frantically for a new one for the last 3 months, I have only mustered one interview and a couple of weeks temping in a factory. So as you can imagine, I am in major fucking need of a job. Even though I have no desire to go all over the world and be a part of the killing of thousands of civilians and the general fucking up of the planet on the basis of George W Bush's lies and Tony Blair's gutlessness, I am applying for a career in the forces because I am getting absolutely desperate. I have had to move in with my girlfriends parents, most of my stuff is in storage and I dont even qualify for job seekers allowance, so if I need anything I have to beg money from family or my partner. Therefore putting aside the moral issues, the fact that I can and will be shipped all over the world away from my loved ones and the fact that I really dont want to be a part (however small, safe and in the background a part it may be) of an international criminal war machine, I am resigned to 6 years in the RAF in the hope of turning my life around. Also because there is a few months between interview and putting my name on the dotted line I can still hope and pray that something else will turn up before I sign my life away."

I will probably just say something along the lines of...

"I like planes."
(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 13:41, 31 replies)
i don't like breasts

(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 12:38, 4 replies)
I had a really good answer for this QOTW
but the dog ate it.
(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 11:53, 1 reply)
Artistic talent
I used to trace pictures of Jem (off of Jem and the Holograms), take them into school and pretend I'd drawn them freehand. I was only about eight or nine at the time. I think I impressed my school friends, but looking back I can see why the teachers may not have believed me. Even now I have no idea why I did that!

Oh, and I once snipped a hole in my school pinafore (again, v young at the time) but told my mum I'd fallen over. I can now see why perhaps she didn't believe me.
(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 11:49, 1 reply)
Happy Birthday to you...
Back at school, some friends and I decided to finish off an afternoon's drinking and watching football with that classiest of finales - a curry. There was about 10 of us, including my mates girlfriend who was 17 - the rest of us were all 18 or over. We ordered 10 beers, and the waiter asked for ID - we were all able to show it except for Angela (for that was her name).

Scrabbling for an excuse to get her a beer, I piped up 'she hasn't got her ID yet because it is in the post - we're actually here for her 18th birthday celebrations!' The waiter accepted my paper-thin fib (licensing laws weren't quite as strict back then' and 10 beers were duly brought out - along with further rounds of drinks without question as we om-nom-nommed our way through the menu.

I was feeling rather smug with my little fib, for which Angela was very grateful - everyone had commented on how quick-witted I was. All was good.


Until the lights dimmed, and the faniliar strains of 'happy birthday' came over the restaurants speakers. The whole kitchen and waiting crew emerged from the kitchen with a HUGE cake, big enough for all 10 of us to have some, festooned with candles and even iced with 'Happy Birthday Angela'.

The entire restaurant was clapping and cheering (the place was rammed) and we all just sank deeper and deeper into our seats, feeling nothing but guilt over the lengths these lovely guys had gone to to make her '18th' a memorable birthday :-(

On the plus side, we were shamed into leaving a massive tip so it wasn't all a waste of time for the staff...
(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 11:48, Reply)
Talking of foreign languages.....once' when so battered on valies and booze, I thought it would help my situation to speak to the arresting officers in german. Then french. The only thing I could muster in those languages was that 'I don't understand'. They were not convinced. Even when I gave them a false name, they still were not convinced.

It all went abit wrong when I was sit in court having to listen to the transcripts being read out. Oh the Shame.

Now, by appearances, I am a tidy, well spoken young lady and the lies, swearing and general aggression being repeated by these transcripts left me shifting in my seat and the judge looking at me very strangely indeed.

Bummer was I actually had to feeeeeel the embarrasement and shame.
(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 10:16, Reply)
I'm not a liar, honest!
A few years back in the 90’s, Mrs. Nimrodihnio was working for Hewlett Packard and we were invited to see an England v Australia match at the oval. I like cricket but the best of all it was corporate jolly, nice box, great view, good food, drink on tap the whole day albeit a with stern warning from MRS N not to make a twat of myself in front of her work colleagues.
As we were on the coach on the way, I noticed on the agenda that it was to be hosted by Bob Willis, fast bowler hero to a generation of England cricket fans. Which was great as I had been taught biology for a term by Miss Willis,his sister, a tall, unusual looking, but not unattractive supply teacher. Being a gregarious sort, I chatted to the colleagues about this claim to fame and everybody agreed what a hero he was and how we were looking forward to the day spent in his company regaling us with his engaging stories of winning the ashes with Beefy etc etc.

We arrived and greeted with champagne, we were given a welcome and an overview of the prospects of the day from the great man himself. After a while he came over to our group and made small talk and the big boss said ‘Oh BTW Bob, nimrodihnio over here was taught biology by your sister!’ silence and a great deal of confusion on the face of the big man. ‘my sister is not a teacher and never has been, she is a nurse in the western isles’ silence followed by me saying ‘no, she said she was your sister, she looked just like you and when we asked her if she was she said have to be....oh god...oh..fuck...’ as he looked at me with a mixture of contempt and incredulity, I could see then what had intimidated a generation of batsmen.
At this point I would have loved to have related how we all shared a good laugh with Nimrodihnio being the victim of a lying hoaxing teacher all those years ago but unfortunately the feeling was that I was some sort of fantasist that had tried to ingratiate myself with the group with my celebrity stories as being an actor at the time I had a few and had entertained them with my brushing shoulders with the stars.

As rain stopped play I did not even have the chance to focus on the cricket and spent the rest of a very miserable day getting pissed in between bouts of very indifferent cricket.

As we were leaving, I may have imagined it, but I have the memory of Bob looking at me across the room with a mixture of sadness and pity. When we got home ‘Mrs N turned to me and said ‘Do you remember,what was the one thing I asked you not to do?’

Ah fuck him, may have been a great bowler but he was awful corporate host with zero story telling ability poor interpersonal skills and his sister was a shit nurse.. probably.
(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 9:48, 2 replies)
I have three testicles
When really I one and two halves. My left one erm, exploded a few years back. I thought it was cancer, but my urologist, with the very fitting name of Richard Leek, informed me that wrongly lifting a 350lb couch bed whilst moving, umm... herniated it. It's much easier tell people I have 3 than explain what actually happened.

Remember to exhale when lifting heavy objects.
(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 1:06, 6 replies)
Yeah it was a bloke in a cave
Let's go invade Iraq and get our old buddy Saddam Hussein, no wait... let's invade Afghanistan lol. No wait... Iran?
(, Sat 14 Aug 2010, 0:01, Reply)
A long, long time ago west Philadelphia where I was born and raised and on the playground my momma said I spent most of my days. Chilling out, maxing
and relaxing all cool. Shooting some b-ball outside of school. When a couple of guys they were up to no good, started making trouble in our neighborhood.I got in one little fight and my mom got scared. She said your moving in with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air.
(, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 23:39, 4 replies)
Giving false information to the police
One fine day I was out on errands with a friend in his car. He got pulled over due to something minor and routine, a tail light or something, and in the process the cop asked us all our names so he could run our IDs.

Without consciously realizing it, I told the cop my screen-name instead of my legal name. "Rob T Firefly, officer."

I've been using this handle and variations thereof since the 1990s. It's my real-life nickname among many of my friends, I frequent real-life hacker events where people mostly know me by my handle, and it's my air name on a weekly talk radio show, so I'm pretty used to thinking of myself as what I call myself online. Even close family members have been known to call me Firefly now and then. I hadn't realized what I'd done until the cop suddenly looked much angrier with me, put one hand on his sidearm, and firmly suggested that I might like to step out of the car at that point with my hands where he could see them.

After searching me and running my proper name and ID through the system while I explained and apologized, he graciously decided not to run me in for giving false information to an officer of the law. I think it helped my case that I actually had my screenname listed on my business cards at the time. He sure gave me seven different kinds of hell about it before moving on, though.
(, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 22:54, Reply)
Mistaken Celebrity
I have the type of face that reminds people of somebody else; can’t tell you how many times someone has come up to me and said that I was a dead ringer for their brother, father, uncle, cousin, dog, ex-boyfriend. I figure I was cut from a common mold and God gave everyone else distinguishing features.

A few years back I went to a conference in Las Vegas and was waiting in the terminal for the flight back home. In my line of work, I can usually dress how I want so I was a black button-up shirt, tight jeans and harness boots. My hair was shoulder length and curly. Since it was a conference, I dressed it up with a black blazer. I had also just bought a bunch of American Indian jewelry so had some new necklaces, rings and bracelets that I was going to distribute on my return home, but that I didn’t want stolen from luggage.

So there I am in the endless tide that is the McCarran airport alternating between reading my book, standing, walking around and being generally bored. Up sidles a 50-something lady with short purplish-brown hair and large behind who plops herself down in the seat across from me. I look up, smile politely and she says, “You’re not who I think you are, are you?” Somewhat bemused, I replied, “No, I must be someone else.” She giggles as if we’re sharing a private joke and says, “I bet you have to tell people that all the time!” Now, initially, I figgered she thought I looked like a relation, but given her wink-wink, nudge-nudge attitude, I realized she thought I was someone well-known. So, in a moment of bad decision making, I play along: I’m bored, she looks harmless, what can it hurt?

So I say, “Well, you know how airports are, a person can never get a moment’s peace.” She looked at me knowingly as she empathized, “It must be terrible to have such inconsiderate people not allow you to even relax a moment.” “Yes”, I reply. She then goes on about how she loves Vegas, loves to go to the shows, but really wishes that I would’ve been on while she was in Vegas. “You’re not playing here, are you?”, “No”. “I thought so,” she continues, “because I would have been the first one in line. My girlfriends just love your music and my husband even liked that special you did over Christmas.” Oh crap, this is uncomfortable I’m thinking and start looking around for an escape hatch! She notices and says, “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” “Good because I’m really not who you think I am.” She giggles, fake smacks me with her magazine and says, “Oh you!” Groan. She chats about herself and family and how she loves to come to Vegas and meet people that she would only otherwise see on TV and find out that they’re just as normal as everyone else. Although I did not affirmatively bear false witness, I am silently pleading for forgiveness for not quickly correcting my batty new friend.

Now people within earshot are pretending not to listen, but quickly look away as I furtively glance around in utter embarrassment and fear that somehow I’ll be blamed for this woman mistaking my identity. This only makes it worse. I excuse myself to use the restroom and when I return, I see her a few rows over chatting with several people. I think, good, now I can lay low. It was not to be. I had just enough time to read a few pages in my novel when she trundles over with another lady and she says, “We just wanted to say hi.” “Good afternoon ladies,” I reply, putting on my most diplomatic smile. First lady turns to her friend and says, “He says he is absolutely not famous, and that he would tell us if he was.” For some reason this causes great fits of laughter, and people around us are starting to look at us. In my mind I am regretting not simply saying “piss off!” in the first instance. Then lady says to friend, “Can you take a photo of me and this totally anonymous stranger? Hee hee, hee hee.” It gets worse when she says, “This is only for me, and to prove to people back home that I wasn’t lying.”

So photos are taken, friend wants her turn, more giggling, bystanders are staring and whispering. I am trying to be gracious, saying few words, like “hello”, “yes, I end up travelling a lot”, “No, I haven’t met Simon Cowell, but I’m sure he’s nice”, “I prefer the Beta 58 to the SM58, just personal preference”, etc. I turn down a request for an autograph from one of the five or so people who have scooched closer and my batty friend whispers loudly, “He’s trying to keep a low profile!” I heard things like, “He’s so down to earth,” “He’s just like he seems on television,” “I liked him before he was really popular,” and the like.

My flight was called and because I had enough frequent flyer miles, they automatically bumped me up to First Class, which only convinced these people that they were absolutely right about me.

The lie? As I said my goodbyes and walked away I heard batty new friend tell her admiring throng, “He is the nicest guy. My husband and I met him last night at the Bellagio and he bought us really expensive champagne and we traded email addresses. You should have seen the two gorgeous ladies he was with.”

To this day, I still have no clue who I was supposed to be, but if someone shows you a photo of some “famous” person they met in Vegas and he looks slightly nauseous through his smile, it just might be me.
(, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 20:38, 14 replies)
Told my workmates I was northern breakdancing champion in 1989. They still believe it.
(, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 20:16, Reply)
That is all
(, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 19:57, 1 reply)
'Of COURSE I love you'.

(, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 19:50, 1 reply)
Not me exactly but
A bloke I met on the interwebs some years ago.

Met him on usenet at a motorsport newsgroup. He was a medical man. Not married but attached (unhappily, is always the way). Won me over with his sense of humour, flash car, and tales of saving lives in A&E. I was newly married, but very unhappily to a serial cheater so I didn't feel too bad when after about nine months of emailing back and forth, this bloke and I met up in real life. By this time the bloom of love was upon us - all very painful. Lots of lying to respective other halves ( mine was a cheating arse right from the beginning of our relationship six years previously, but i still wasnt going to rub his face in it in the same way he did to me with his numerous conquests. Even some cheating wives have standards, lol.)
So a few more months pass. We see each other whenever we can, but we haven't yet done the deed. My illicit man has been working as a motorcycle paramedic during this time, and often spoke to me from the streets of Lahdan where he was patching people up and performing all sorts of heroic acts.
Eventually things get to the point where we're obviously going to do that sexy thing. Before we are due to meet for the big night, he emails me and tells me he has a big bombshell to drop.

Turns out he wasn't really a paramedic. He wasn't a GP. He wasn't a nurse. He wasn't even first aid trained.
He was a motorcycle courier.

He had lied his face off for nigh on a year to me, online and in real life. As he had to everyone else on the usenet group, many of whom we had met in real life and has asked his confidential medical advice (as people seem wont to do when they meet such medical bods).
I didn't really care at this point, I was too far in. I was in love. He came clean to me before we got into bed, and that seemed his definition of "honourable". But he didn't want to come clean to everyone else. And he didn't want me to tell them either. So he and I kept up the lie to everyone we knew, our net friends who we were close to in real life too.
For the next four years of our relationship.

Then my husband (in name only by this point) finally left the house (hoofuckingray) and although I was broke and uwaged with no chance of employment due to an excellent eyesight disability (only 2 percent of blind people are employed, we scare people in the workplace in seems) it was what I had been waiting for. I finished it (took a while, he was pretty nutty and self harming by this point) with my affair and he married his long suffering girlfriend (who knew all about me by this point) on the rebound (his own admission, not my assumption).

The bods from that usenet group still think he's a doctor of some sort. When we split up about seven years ago, he disappeared from the net (due to his irrational behaviour by then I cannot say I was sorry to see the back of him.) But the group regulars (many of whom are still good friends of mine) still think of him fondly as the paramedic with the Lotus Elsie.

So if you were around regularly from about 1998 up until 2003 or so, you might know to whom I refer. He was a bare faced liar. Almost nothing he told you about himself was true. And I had went along with it because I loved him, to my shame.

(, Fri 13 Aug 2010, 19:25, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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