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This is a question Bullshit and Bullshitters

We've had questions about lies and liars in the past, but this time we're asking about the sort of fantasist who constantly claims they've got a helicopter in the garden or was "second onto the balcony at the Iranian Embassy siege". Tell us about the cobblers you've been told, or the complete lies you've come out with.

Thanks to dozer for the suggestion

(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 12:55)
Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, ... 1

This question is now closed.

North Korean MySpace
Pretty sure this is a pearoast, but I can't remember for sure.

Basically, the story starts that I made a fake account on MySpace, back when that site was relevant. One of my female Korean friends was being harassed by somebody, so I wanted to troll him back. I invented Kim Hyunhee, a North Korean girl inexplicably allowed on the Internet. I get paid to proofread online posts from South Korean English learners, so it's easy for me to fake. Sample:

About me:
hello i am north korean cute girl^^

my job is government bureau clerk and i'm workaholic ;)

i love my job and country and Our Dear Leader ..~

he is Great Man~

won't you enjoy visit me in Chosun Capital of Pyongyang?

it's so beaufifl~

i am 26 year old!!

Anyway, ha ha. I took care of the guy bothering my friend, then I expanded. I discovered a large number of US soldiers stationed in South Korea don't know which Korea they're in, and put their country as "Democratic People's Republic of Korea." I began messaging them talking about how great the North is. The responses were usually predictable.

I got bored and left it for a while. Several months later I logged in again, only to find a ton of friend requests and unsolicited messages from random horndogs. The best, by far, was Andrew:

"You are a very attractive North Korean women. Are you allowed to be in a relationship on the internet with a man like me from the United States of America. I don't want you to get into any trouble with your supervisors.

I would enjoy receiving notes and messages from an attractive women like you. I think Korean and Japanese women are very attractive."

He obviously knows something about North Korea, and also has a thing for Asians. Yet somehow doesn't know that pairing Koreans and Japanese side by side like that is about the dumbest thing you can say.

He sent one or two more flirtatious messages, and then this came out of nowhere:

"My former co-worker from Sony Electronics Corporation deals in decoders for FCC and military regulated telecommunitcations frequencies.

Would you like to make a buy for satellite decoders of FCC or military frequecy applications??

Please let me know and I can set the price.

Thank You..."

If I'm reading correctly, he's offering to sell me state secrets here. The next one was a little less treasonous sounding:

"I am looking for a few good women. Not the kind that would betray their own country, or manipulate their own ethnic gender and cultural heritage. I am a serious man looking to maintain global political and economical peace. Also bridging cultural and ethnic gaps when necessary for prevention of political distress that could lead to economic instability due to poor foreign policy management with these hidden agendas.

If you are capable of acting as a liason for counter intelligence with North Korea, since you are a cute Korean girl I am willing to work with you directly.

Please contact the following branch of the US Department of Defense to notify them you must have me, and only me to work with as a counter intelligence liason. If not, only God knows who you will get. As you can tell from my photograph I am a handsome American guy."

Aww, what a nice guy. He listed his address as something connected to US Army intelligence which I won't get into, because it seems to really exist. In the same letter, he even made this promise:

"Please send me a copy of this letter, if you want me. Then in an act of good faith I will open a small credit card account with a $5,000 dollar limit in the United States of America by a bank of my choice and add your contact information to the registered account."

So, at this point, I'm thinking this guy is really thinking with his dick, or is totally leading me on as a joke. I told some of my friends in the US military and they took it very seriously, but I managed to keep them from reporting it until I found out the deal.

Then I got this message verifying that he most likely is some kind of crackpot:

"I recently had a legal dispute with local university from Pennsylvania involving Carnegie Mellon University (CMU). They tried to make a criminal charge against me for reporting political flyers on their campus.

Somehow, your name from Myspace.com came into the conversation of legal documents. I can not beleive that they are worse than what the United States of America calls the North Korean government.

I am currently reporting my evidence to the Pennsylvania Office of Attorney General Civil Rights Enforcement 15th Floor, Strawberry Square Harrisburg PA 17120. If you would like to track the evidence you can look it up from www.FedEx.com the number is XXXX XXXX XXXX

I feel like the campus police can do whatever they what with their authority, they are so powerfull. I will keep you informed if they ask more questions about North Korea, or The Peoples Republic of China. I hope you understand that I am defenseless in this situation in defending your photo on Myspace.com from becoming legal evidence. Blame the CMU university police."

Oh yes, campus cops, the scourge of America. I didn't bother with the FedEx thing because he was probably trying to find my IP. But the rest of it, posting flyers, ranting about campus cops, I started to realise I was onto a real lunatic.

I googled his name (which I won't post here because he maintains a vigilant Internet presence), and over the years I've been tracking his activities. He claims to have worked in US military intelligence, but I'm starting to doubt that. He writes e-mails that get CCed to Hillary Clinton and the like. He posts bizarre rants about "psy ops" and has his own IMDB page. People on one particular martial arts combat message board are scared of him because he occasionally reports one of them to the police for no apparent reason. I found his online resume which has him working in military intelligence for years, and then suddenly his next job is a McDonald's.

My conclusion is just he's a total wacko who believes everything he writes, and inserts himself into all these global political things, where he converses with presidents, advises generals, trades state secrets, and sets up spy rings.

Click "I like this" if you want me to message him that I've escaped from North Korea and I'm coming to America to meet him.
(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 14:37, 6 replies)
The Prince Of France
I have a friend who regularly comes out with the most astonishing level of bullshit in the most casual manner. We'll call him Des, for that is his name. These gems are from a while ago, when Des was in his early twenties, but he continues to bullshit to this day.

A few years ago, the French presidential elections were coming up and so featured on the news. Des watches this, and then states very matter-of-factly, "Of course, if the French revolution hadn't happened, I'd be in line to be the Prince of France now. Bet you didn't know that about me!" No, I didn't Des, because your surname is Smith, no-one in your family is French, and you look like the 5th member of East 17. "Yeah, my ancestors fled France when they started chopping people's heads off. It's a shame, cos it would be cool to be a prince, but then again, I don't like France much."

Des usually got quite aggressive if he was called out, so by this point we'd learnt to nod, feign belief, and then tell everyone about it later. He is still privately referred to as the Prince of France.

The Prince of France's finest moment came about when someone at work was talking about getting a spanking new telly. Again, this was a while ago, so to get a new TV meant getting a great hulking CRT affair. However, there was nothing wrong with the old telly, and so they were debating whether they could justify a new one.

The Prince of France overhears this, and chips in with the most mind-bendingly astonishing stinking steaming pile of shite that I still haven't quite got my head around what was happening in his brain at that precise moment.

"Well, I suppose you could do the old 'milk & liver trick'", he mused, in a vacant, 'Oh, you must have heard of it' tone.

"What the fuck are you talking about Des?" came the withering reply, as Mr Telly prepared himself for a full-on barrage of billy bullshit.

"You put a plate with a bit of liver on it at one end of the telly, and a glass of milk on the other," he stated. He had finished, as if this was a perfectly self-explanatory statement to drop in to a conversation of the merits of television purchasing.


Des sighed. "Liver, right, loves milk. So the liver will crawl across the top of your telly at night, and climb up the glass to drink the milk. But cos it's heavy, it'll topple over, and spill milk in to the back of your telly. And then you can claim for it on insurance."

The liver will crawl across the top of your telly at night.

Astonished, I offered him a chance to backtrack from the monumental advice he had just offered up.

"Des, is that actually true?"

"Yeah, my uncle works in insurance. There's nothing they can do about it. Happens all the time."

So there you go, it was a insurance scam of epidemic proportions in the late-ninties to encourage a piece of liver to throw milk down the back of your TV set, and insurance companies would begrudgingly pay out, if that's what you told them had happened. MIND-BLOWING.

Des Smith, Prince of France, King of Bullshit.

Length? I hold the world-record for it.
(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 20:05, 14 replies)
god botherers
So, no one knows what happens when we snuff it. The overwhelming likelihood is not very much. Ever been unconscious?

But no – when offered an incomprehensible, inconceivable jumble of superstitions, fairy tales and bogeyman stories rewritten recycled and Chinese whispered down the ages by control freaks and charlatans - you are CERTAIN beyond all doubt that despite all the vast wonder of all existence there is a creator, who (while having a universe to run) is obsessed with your every move thought and action. Oh and you can wish for stuff too.

An all powerful intangible invisible friend and protector – sounds pretty cool. You must be immune to all illness, earthquakes and injury then. No?

Our essential natural urges are shameful and evil?

Your creator is jealous, intolerant, violent, vindictive, spiteful, pernicious and vengeful – but he loves you?

I should terrify my tiny innocent child with assurances this invisible character is waiting in the shadows to punish him for questioning any of this whilst conversely insisting he only deals in truth and that ghosts and goblins are just camp fire tales?

You insist you require no proof for this but continually strive to find bolt-on bits and bobs of science that support your crackpot ideas - the same science that you continually deny.

If my crackpot jumble of superstitions varies even slightly from yours we should devote all our energies to annihilation in a manner that contradicts the few worthwhile parts of your crazy code of divine conduct?

We have the technology to split the atom and unravel DNA but your preference is to split humanity into one half who believe dinosaurs were a prank and another half who believes women should be bundled up and passed around like parcels by men who think it’s a splendid idea to chop off rather crucial bits of anatomy.

We see ourselves as an advanced civilisation yet it was twenty or so years after landing a man on the moon before we realised wheels on a suitcase might be helpful.

Doesn’t bode well does it?
(, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 14:31, 21 replies)
Pass the peas! - Harry Faker
My Dad retired from teaching at a private Prep a few years ago. School (ages 6-13 for those unfamiliar with the system) He was the head of the French department, and had an un-blemished record of getting his students through scholarships and the like.

The school itself is in a sleepy little village in Shropshire and is attended by the children of people who have *big* money. People who - on *sports day* - will turn up in their helicopter to pick the kids up. Names like DeFerranti, DeLiupis and so on were the norm, as were ferraris and - in the case of one Nigerian Prince (I kid you not) - a fleet or Rollers and body-guards.

Dad had been there for Eons it seemed, and had watched PC, Health and Safety and the Children's Act take all the fun from teaching. Handing out exercise books was always a speciality: he could throw them at people's desks from across the room with pin-point accuracy, and only rarely did he miss the desk. If the books had been left open overnight on the freshly marked page, more often than not they'd land and then open: in the latter years he dreaded the effect of little Tarquin or Flora getting a paper-cut: the fun had to stop.

It had been the small things like this made him enjoy teaching: it wasn't the language or the success, but more the "being appreciated" by the kids. This - as any modern teacher will tell you - is a dying status.


Christmas at that school had a Tradition: the Christmas Meal. This was the one time when dishing out the food was done by the teachers and ALL the clearing up was left to the staff. The kids loved it, the Teachers hated it, yet they managed to fight through the meal with steely determination. My Dad however had a little Christmas Tradition of his own: Each and every question he was asked during this meal would be answered with a bare-faced lie: this is where it really all started, and why he became known as "Harry Faker"

"Thir, thir, How many turkieth doth it take to feed the whole thkool thir?"

"Well, Did you see the JCB in the school yard Two days ago?"

*Chorus of "Yeth Thir"*

"That was knocking a hole in the kitchen wall to bring in the Industrial Ovens from Domindo Tool-Hire"

"Reaaallly Thir? What For?"

"Well, You've heard about GM foods and Genetically Modified animals yes?"

*Another chorus of "yeth"*

"Well, They've recently managed to make turkeys with 100 wings and 80 legs. So, Naturally the School only needs Three of these Turkeys to feed us all: They have one oven each because they're so huge and it takes 2 days to cook them."

"Thir, Why has it only got 80 legs?"

"Ahh.. Well the legs need to move to allow it to swim, so they bred them to have twenty less legs than wings and the... Yes Joshua?"

"But, Thir, turkieth don't thwim"

"No, not usually, but these ones were crossed with the octopus genes needed to get them to grow more than one leg. It crossed over to the wing side of things too, and that's the way you get so many bits.. but they have be supported in liquid to support their weight. Besides, it's only the top head that needs to be able to breath"

"*Top* Head thar?" *Open mouthed wide eyed kids look on in fascination*

"Yes Terrance, the Top head. The others are around the edges, I think they have 6 in total, but the others drink the liquid that they float in: Again, inherited from the octopus genes. They managed to adapt the liquid to hold all the nutrients a growing "turktopus" needs, and even managed to make the ink-glands produce the gravy!!"


"Absolutely. And you know what else?...."

He'd carry on until someone at the table found one point to be a little too tough to digest, and then he'd set about proving it, before switching subject.


His favourite on-the-spot story was the Shepherd's Pie one: though not a Christmas one. This was levelled at one of the older classes with slightly more world knowledge....

"Saar, Saar, Why is shepherd's pie called "Shepherd's Pie" Sar?"

"Ahh. Well Now. Have you noticed how you've only started getting it recently, and you used to get cottage pie?"

"Yes Sar"

"Well, Shepherd's pie is relatively new. It all started when the Russians messed up at Chernobyl power-plant and a long chain of events meant that all the sheep died.. you all know about Chernobyl don't you?"

*Chorus of agreement and general brief discussion*

"Weeeel, All the sheep died from radiation poisoning, and suddenly there were no need for all the shepherds. Russia was in need of food - they couldn't eat the sheep- and so all the Shepherds were rounded up, Shot and fed to the people as minced meat"

*General noises of disgust as plates are pushed away*

"No no no, That's not what you're eating. What you're eating is made by Findus. You've heard of Findus?"

"Yeth thar, My Mummy cooks Finduth Krithpy Pankaketh on tuesdays Thar!

"Good for you Joshua!, Well Findus and McCains have huge factory ships and since the late 80's have been using them in the Fjords of Norway during the lulls in fishing seasons. Acid Rain has caused massive de-forestation in Norway, and this has killed all the pine trees that Norway is famed for"

*Brief discussion about acid rain*

"Now in Norway there's a special type of sheep ... Yes Laurence, The polyester kind *well done*, and these sheep lived under the trees and fed on the moss and lichen that grows on the ground. The Shepherds would sit happily and watch the sheep day and night, and due to the large amount of wolves in Norway, there were nearly one shepherd to every five sheep. All of this has come to an end: since the acid rain killed all the trees, the lichen has become covered with old pine needles and baked in the direct sunlight. In a matter of weeks the sheep were dead, and suddenly there were literally *thousands* of unemployed shepherds roaming wild on the shores of the Norwegian Fjords."

"What did they Do to survive thir?"

"Well, Norwegians are able to swim very well, and they quickly learned to eat fish that they'd caught, but the fish stocks were being terribly depleted, and we can't have that, because we need the fish to feed the fish that we're growing so that your mummy can have her smoked Salmon. So, The Norwegian government made a deal with Findus and McCains. For the last four years, The factory ships have been moored on one side of a Fjord, and the workers from the ships have release packs of especially bred dogs - German Shepherd Dogs on the other. - Yes Jennifer, I know your Corgis are specially bred too but these ones are especially bred to herd shepherds. The dogs herd the unemployed Shepherds onto the factory ships and - when full - the ships set sail for England".

"But Thar, What happens to the Shepherds??"

"They're usually shot - very painless - and then processed, cooked and frozen, and offloaded when the ship Docks in England. So instead of the nasty Russian version, this is quality Norwegian Shepherd's pie.... Now... Who wants more?"
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 9:43, 3 replies)
I used to love Sugar Puffs, but found that the box didn't last nearly long enough.

So I told my brother that Sugar Puffs were actually 'shaved bees', and soon after discovered that a box would last much longer.
(, Wed 19 Jan 2011, 10:26, 7 replies)
Parent Bullshit
Is the worst kind of bullshit, and my life has been a long slide of disappointment as I have discovered more of the things I hold dear are actually bullshit, that my Dad would say ANYTHING to keep us kids quiet.

Just 3 examples to give you a flavour of the nonsense I took as FACT, because, well, my Dad had told me, and Dad was always right:

1.I was nearly in Middle School before I had to accept that my Dad hadn't been a Roman Legionnaire, despite having had many years of interactive bedtime tales, telling how he and my uncle hacked, cut and parried across Europe at the head of Rome's very secret, one and only Welsh Legion, fighting a giant octopus and "the Turks", amongst other fiendish foes along the way.

2. That when that Legion was disbanded (sometime after they killed Hitler, I think), he had moved into Caernarfon Castle, which was actually our ancestral home before my Grandmother decided she actually preferred to live in a house in a small village down the road.

3. The Khyber Pass is in Wales.

I'm going to leave it there for now, and just plead with you parents not to bullshit your kids as a quick fix when they are bugging you.

The thing is, when they go to school, like I did, and the teacher asks where the fucking Khyber Pass is, your kid's hand will shoot straight into the air:

"It's in Wales Miss"
"Um, no, good try. Anyone else?"
"No, no more messing about. Anyone?"
(Getting angry now)"It IS in Wales. I've been there, several times. My Dad had a hideout in the rocks and would shoot Turks with his bow and arrow, back in the Black & White days."
"Riiii-iiiight. OK, let's move on then, shall we?"

Now the teacher will steer well-the-fuck-away from this minefield, I mean how exactly would you tackle a kid who thinks his Dad is a seasoned killer with pre-firearms weaponry? Ignore it, that's how, confirming in the kid's mind, that the bullshit is actually the truth.

And would Dad take me to one side and say "Hey, you remember all that stuff I told you about when I was a notorious cut-throat pirate on the Spanish Main, before I went to work at the GEC? Well, it was bullshit". Did he fuck. He just let me wander round waiting for the day he'd find his Centurion's helmet and sword in the loft, then all the nay-sayers would see the truth.

I'm sure there'll be a story already posted here about a kid who used to bullshit that his Dad was a Medieval Warlord. That kid was me, but I honestly believed it. Thanks Dad, you twat!
(Ha, I've just remembered that he told us kids that Mum went to the "Special" school up the road. We would go to school and repeat the lie, I can still see the bemused looks on the teachers' faces. They must have thought we were a family of fucking nutters)
(, Sat 15 Jan 2011, 21:29, 10 replies)
Incisive questioning
Not so long ago the company for which I work hired an outside company to do some work for us. It was all fine, except for one guy who would never, ever, under any circumstances admit he didn't know something. When faced with a situation where he felt he might show weakness by admitting ignorance, he would either bluster for Britain or (more usually) make up something or other that sounded credible to him. This works in some types of business but when you need a precise technical response to a query it's rather irritating to get vague and inaccurate nonsense instead.

It was a trying time and as it is no shock that I was bitching about this idiot in the pub one evening. Evidently, however, I was not doing a great job of explaining as one of my colleagues, an extremely sharp programmer from Romania, said she didn't follow what I meant by this "bullshitting".

"Okay," says I. "I'll give you an example through the medium of role play." I closed my eyes and, channelling Stanislavsky, assumed the part of the fantasist contractor. "Now, ask me a question to which I don't know the answer."

"Pineapplecharm," she said. "Are you gay?"
(, Sat 15 Jan 2011, 0:51, 4 replies)
Two brothers I used to be in Sixth Form with were convinced they were the rural West-Midlands equivalent of the Krays. This mainly manifested itself through fairly low-level thievery and boasting that they could get you anything you wanted 'Drugs, computer games that aren't out yet, anything mate... we can even get you a shotgun.'

I saw straight through it and ignored their nonsense, but a few lads in the year believed them and got together to pool their money and buy a shitload of weed ('top quality, mate, best you can buy. Bands send up from London for it... honest') from some 'big guy locally' who was, of course, their mate.

Next week comes around. No weed. 'Yeah - we haven't been round yet. He's been having problems with the pigs and he's got to lay low. Take it easy.'

End of the week. Still no weed. Some of the lads ask for their money back. It's not forthcoming.

Anyway - it being a small town - we quickly find out from someone in school, who's mum was a copper, that the brothers had been robbed that weekend on a local estate. Rather than nipping round their non-existent best mate the Drug Baron's lair to pick up a load of weed, they'd driven around the estate in their mum's car and asked the first dodgy-looking bloke they'd come across if he could get them some weed. They had then agreed to HAND HIM THE MONEY while he disappeared into the estate to pick up the drugs. Naturally, he'd just fucked off, probably laughing himself silly at having ripped off a couple of spotty teenage lads with no common sense.

The best bit about it? Apparently, when they'd reported it to the the police, and some gentle prompting from a astute PC had led them to admit that they had, in fact, indeed been trying to buy drugs, the older of the two had broken down crying because he was convinced that he was going to get a criminal record and wouldn't be able to get on the catering course at the local college, which his Mum would be gutted about!

They both ended up having to get jobs in the local supermarket to pay back the lost money... which isn't very Gangsta when you think about it.
(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 13:22, 1 reply)
I was using private browsing mode to buy your christmas presents,

(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 16:00, 4 replies)
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you "The Book"
Ah, bullshitters. I'm a bullshitter myself, but there was a man I had the misfortune to meet who blew my pretensions to bullshithood out of the water.

So much so, in fact, that during our 6th form days, someone transcribed 120 of his fibs into a document known as "The Book".

B3tans, I have a copy of that book. I've removed the shit that stopped being funny after I finished college, and names have been changed to protect the innocent. But here, for your amusement, is The Book.

1 - 90% of all college couples are set up by Goon, even though, by his own admittance, more than half of those don’t actually know it.

2 - Goon knows everyone at Eccles College. Even though when he buddies up to random people they just look at him funny and walk away. Que “aww she’s just being funny she's always like that. More the fact she doesn’t know him?

3 - He once went to Scotland in a taxi. More precisely, he went from his house, to Scotland, to Heathrow airport, then back home again. All in the same taxi.

4 - This was to reunite two friends at an airport to rekindle romance.

5 - He got to the departure lounge without a passport, because he “knew people”. (bear in mind this was after September 11th 2001)

6 - He then paid for the taxi with his credit card. Taxis take credit card??

7 - He had said credit cards at age 17

8 - Ex girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend and got pregnant. He found out when the clinic rang to use his credit card.

9 - Karma punished ex-girlfriend now has twins because she had so many abortions she could have no more.

14 - Went to someone’s house in Nottingham to break in and steal the a video he'd bought on eBay of a girl he fancied making the beast with two backs. Fair enough. I know Ebay dealers can be slow to deliver but this is a bit extreme.

17 - After telling us he smoked 40 cigs a day, he couldn’t smoke one cig, and didn’t inhale.

18 - He has a local girls number he can phone for sex …. (Virgin) needless to say when we rang the number to check it didn’t exist.

19 - Has/Getting every Nirvana single, album, release ever, all originals too.

20 - Had standing Feeder tickets. Because he knew big gangland ticket touts. On the night of the gig he showed them off, they were a few back row seating tickets that didn’t sell out till last minute.

21 - He is Sarah Wattmore’s (X-Factor no-mark) regional manager. She was some” pop stars” contestant who released a single, and he had a range of “duties to her” including..

22 - He is Sarah Wattmore’s Personal Bodyguard

23 - He is Sarah Wattmore’s best friend and accompanies her everywhere.

24 - He is also manager for several pop acts.

25 - He gets his clients on Key 103.

26 - Attends most showbiz parties.

27 - Went to Ireland to raise money on his own over Xmas.

28 - Raised half a million pounds.

29 - By bungee jumping.

30 - He has his own registered charity.

31 - He has an IQ of over 200, infact, it is immeasurable, but it is definitely higher than Carol Vorderman’s.

32 - He’s the second smartest man in Britain

33 - Mensa heard of him and invited him to join, but he knocked them back.

34 - Northwest chess champion.

35 - He’s had to sign the Official Secrets act twice.

36 - He gets top-secret Ministry of Defence information.

37 - He communicates with Iraq.

38 - He has psychic dreams.

40 - He is a computer genius.

41 - He put many highly dangerous viruses onto the college network, although there is no evidence of this at all.

42 - The college sculptures garden is out of bounds because him and his friends went in and stuck shiny paper to the sculptures with prit stick. Whoa shiny paper and prit stick. Hardcore.

43 - Several different fight boasts.

44 - He once walked across Britain, going into at least one pub in every town.

45 - His Norman Bates style mother keeps him locked in.

46 - His evil lawyer sister aids his mother in doing this.

47 - His mother was once a professional poker player who made £1000 a month (although when he was confronted about a poorly shuffled deck he claimed his mother had done it. Professionals eh?

50 - His mother played poker to pay off her student loan, he will do the same.

51 - He cross dresses at weekends and on holidays to make money for charity.

52 - He was an alcoholic from the ages 12-15. n.b we were at the pub a few weeks after this hardened alcoholic had said this, he had 2 pints and passed out on the table. We set fire to his hair but that’s not the point.

53 - He had a full-grown beard at 12.

55 - He slit his wrists 6 months ago but the scars healed and completely disappeared.

60 - He “owns” the gay village, he knows everyone and can get people banned from it if he doesn’t like them.

61 - Cannot ever get pissed because of his previous alcoholism.

62 - Goon runs a street gang in Manchester.

63 - The Triads killed 4 of his best friends during a gang fight.

64 - Now he is in battle with the Triads for revenge.

65 - He signed a peace treaty with the Triads.

67 - He organised the whole 1st February 2003 peace protest march on London.

68 - He had people from Sydney ringing him to co-ordinate the march.

69 - He led the march, although he didn’t go.

70 - Police in his area had stopped working well, so him and his mates took the law into his own hands and beat up all the scallies and drug dealers.

71 - He used to be a professional singer. Anyone who had heard him sing knows this is hilarious.

72 - He was a choirboy who went to church every day for 12 years.

73 - He played Rugby Union for 8 years, and nearly died when he broke his neck playing it.

74 - He can now play no sports because his body is so badly damaged.

75 - He has taken lead roles in many stage productions. He was one of the T-Birds in Grease, Bill in Oliver, Pharaoh in Joseph and his Technicolor dream coat, yet he doesn’t remember the lines, the songs or even the main story line of them.

76 - He sees a psychiatrist, psychologist and a counsellor.

77 - He used to make himself ill-using his mind, and now he did this so much that his body rejects illness.

78 - He has had several near death experiences.

79 - He meets lots of famous people. He even listed them on a piece of paper. Rob Andrews, Will Carling, David Beckham, Atomic Kitten, Sven Goran Eriksson, Paul Scholes (who he apparently went to school with), Erik Cantona, Peter Schmeichel, Alfie Inge Haaland, Heather Small, Michael Ball, The Corrs, and INME, (he pronounces it “in may”) I would’ve picked better “celebrities” to meet.

81 - When he was 8 he went to the Lake District with his mum. He wandered off, fell into a stream, hit his head on a rock, was knocked unconscious and was washed half a mile UPstream. He then landed in a field.

85 - When he was 15 he worked in a pub in Brighton on a 48-hour shift because it had a special licence to open that long as it was its 100th anniversary. Despite the fact that he was only 15 and living in Eccles at the time, plus the whole fact that such a shift would break many laws.

86 - He adopted a Pony off the Internet.

87 - At Salford University last year, he spilt highly corrosive acid all over his arm, but didn’t notice until his entire sleeve had burned away. Amazingly enough his arm was unharmed.

88 - Goon talks to Steven Hawking over the Internet through a chat room.

89 - Goon came up with S.H.’s theories on black holes and time.

90 - Steven Hawking told him that his wife beats him. (AMAZINGLY this turned out to be true)

92 - His school (st. pats) had sent him on work experience to a vet where he performed major life saving surgery on a dog. They gave him the full gear to do this, white mask gloves everything! Where was the vet ?!?!

95 - There is a song by the Foundations that makes him cry whenever he hears it because it was played at a funeral he went to when he was 5 years old. He doesn’t actually remember what the song is or how it goes though. So how does it make him cry?

96 - On his aunties farm, the dog began to choke on a bird head, so he knocked it out with tranquilliser injections from the barn (which were there because the sheep had given birth) I don’t know if sheep give birth to tranquilliser injections but I don’t think vets knock out a birthing animal. so after doing this, when the dog was knocked out, he performed a tracheotomy by cutting a hole in the dogs throat and putting a tube in it. Why didn’t he just remove the bird’s head from the dog’s throat? And where was the tube from? Apparently the dog is still alive and jumps up at him every time he goes to see them.

98 - He did in his Achilles tendon in 3 months ago and yet had no physiotherapy but it is fine enough to play football on.

100 - He has his cigarettes specially imported from America, yet they can be bought at any newsagents, and if you look at the label they are made in the UK with all duties paid.

101 - He has a friend in the IRA who tips him off about bombs.

102 - He knew about the Omaha bombing before it happened and tried to stop it but couldn’t.

103 - The IRA gives him bomb-making materials but he won’t use them.

104 - He was part of the chorus when the Rocky Horror Show came to Manchester, but his best mate lost his video camera on the night and so couldn’t film it.

105 - He was tortured by the Triads, but now he helps do drug deals with them as part of his peace deal with them.

106 - He has lost 27 of his friends in the past 2 months. Jesus they drop like flies for imaginary people!

107 - Whenever “they” (unspecified) put on a show of Phantom of the opera he was chosen as lead role.

108 - The mole on his head is a special birthmark and it means that if he is pierced there he will die. What a pity, I hear mole-piercing is all the rage at the moment too.

109 - He has represented many friends in court as a lawyer.

110 - Went on a 13-pub crawl and drank 14 pints, but wasn’t pissed.

111 - The police are investigating him for killing Triad members.

112 - He was followed for hours by a UFO and was then abducted by aliens.

113 - He got drunk, climbed over college walls at night and woke up in the morning with steps kids poking him with sticks.

114 - He lost his “gay virginity” on his first date with his new boyfriend Fakey

116 - After discovering about this very book, Goon embarked upon his revenge mission codenames “operation Jeremiah.” Jeremiah was the first person to ever truly betray Goon, when at the tender age of 5 he got the bike that Goon wanted.

117 - His ex told him that he was the father of her child, “Goon jr” the surviving twin. She was suing him for child support.

118 - She got a DNA test to prove he was the father, without him giving a sample of any kind.

119 - Eventually after many questions, he announced that she had only tried to con him out of money and she had faked the DNA test. No shit it was faked, he didn’t even give a sample.

I'd apologise for length, but according to number 121, it'd put the average cetacean to shame.
(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 14:06, 19 replies)
Job Interview
I told them I'd be able to do the job. But then, they told me that promotion prospects were excellent.
(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 13:44, 2 replies)
I knew a guy who claimed to be a journalist.
Lying little shit. It turned out he worked for the Daily Mail.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 21:15, 2 replies)
They make me so mad, I'm going to go drink a pint of water which may or may not have the memory of Hitler's kidneys.
(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 18:18, 1 reply)
Peas with honey.
I live in Sweden.

And while the majority of IQ-related blonde stereotypes are truly blown out of the water here, you occasionally meet a winner.

I will on occasion - in the time-honoured tradition of a story-teller - take someone elses' story and re-tell it. This has given me hours of entertainment while feeding vacuous bimbos outrageous un-truths.

My usual pub-haunt is a well known Irish bar in Malmö. The Pub is by no means a meat-market, but an "Englishman" (try not to laugh) is considered "exotic" in Sweden. Feck-knows why, but we have - if you'll pardon the crudeness - a Season-Ticket to the cock-wash. Being that I'm taken and all that, I have to find other ways of amusing myself.

A friend and I regularly prop up the wall while the other absent mindedly treats the darts board and surrounding furniture to some neolithic acupuncture. The regulars might be sat drinking quietly, and a few might be watching TV, and then there's us: Two Rock-climbers, talking English and throwing darts. To my eternal confusion, we tend to attract the curious and the horny. We offer no complaint, but every now and then I have to play wingman and deal with the "bimbo" in a duo of girls.

I play with rumours of english culture... I don't enjoy footbal per say... "I just go for the fighting"
I also say I want to bring my kids up in the UK so that I'll be allowed to Beat them.

I even once managed to convince a lass that English people only inherit their family name until they get a job: At which point their name is changed to the job title. My first job - for example - was working in a Bakery... hence my surname being "Baker"... I explained that Until I was 12 (I got the job at 13 like most other English people do) I was called Humpington Fitz-Windsor the 3rd.

Current favourite Bimbo-fired amusement is to use and old gem that I may have first read here.
"What do you do for a living?"
"Well, I'm a naturalist by trade, but I'm currently on sabbatical" (words like "sabbatical" seem to confuse drunk Scandinavian bimbos and make them believe you)
"What Sebbatickle?"
"A holiday really... a long one"
"Oooh... so, What were you doing before you went on Seba-tickle?"
"I worked in the Arctic for an Oil prospecting company, as a penguin-righter".
"A what?"
"A Penguin-Righter"
"You wrote books?"
No.. I put penguins upright: you see, I'd go with the oil prospectors as they flew around in their helicopters looking for hotspots on the ice (because that means there's oil underneath), and we'd record the positions of groups of penguins we flew over. Once we'd landed and the scientists started to do their tests, it'd be my job to put no the CrossCountry Skis, and go back to the penguins and put them back on their feet".
"But why did they fall over?"
"Well, there are no other big birds in Antarctica so the penguins never see things go over them... so when a Helicopter flies over them, they look up, and up and then fall over backwards as they try to follow the helicopter's path through the sky... And as we all know.. Penguins don't have knees or elbows, so they can's stand themselves up again: That's where I come in...."

~~~~~~ Wavy lines ~~~~~~

.... I've been telling this blatant fib for years now, and also telling my mates about telling it... One of them recently said at a party "I know this English guy who tells stupid people daft lies to amuse himself, and here's one he told me" - He then rattled off the Penguin Righter story.

Just as he started to explain "he puts them back on their little feet" the wife of one of is mates crooned "Oh I'd LOVE to meet this guy: What a NICE person - helping out the penguins like that"

*Face-palms all round*
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 9:26, 7 replies)
Maaaany years ago, I worked for a few months as a guide
at the Blue John Cavern in Daaarbyshire. The guided tours were meant to be based on the guide book, which was not the most carefully researched and verifiable document in the first place.
To cut a looong story shrt, over a period of time the information from each guide began to diverge from the official party line, until you could have gone down with three consecutive guides and believed that you were in a completely different cavern each time.
We became competitive. We set each other challenges. We had a contest to see who could get one of the punters to ask the ladies in the shop for a copy of 'The Epic of Gilgamesh' (because the Blue John Cavern is, of course, mentioned several times in this antidiluvean masterpiece :p ). We span theories to our hearts' content about Coriolis forces and helical cave markings, polar reversals and whatnot.
Two things of note came from this.
1) Despite occasionally provoking a smirk or conspiratorial grin, at no time was I ever challenged on any of my outrageous lies by any teachers in charge of school field trips.
2) We were all completely outclassed and frankly had to acknowledge one particular guide as 'The Master'. The lowest cavern in the series is a fairly impressive space, and in the artful lighting looks even bigger than it is. It's pretty big by the standards of most natural caves in Britain. Nevertheless it's still a cave, so we were awestruck to hear a middle-aged couple in the shop after a trip with 'The Master' asking in all seriousness for two tickets to the forthcoming 'UK Underground Hang-gliding Championships'.
(, Sat 15 Jan 2011, 20:45, 2 replies)
The 999 bullshitter
I have been to a few of these as patients. The number I have been to who, when you ask them what they used to do or if you notice they have military stuff around, a large number will say they used to be in the SAS. Clearly this is some kind of low grade nutcase fantasy as I would say I have met dozens of them in my career. Always amusing working with my regular crewmate who IS ex an ex SAS RSM (have seen his discharge book...very interesting) who has a habit of gently taking the piss!

Anyway, I digress. The biggest bullshitter I came across is not actually a patient, but rather an (ex) work colleague who is one of the biggest bullshitters known to man. You know the type of wankcheese: everything you did, he did bigger and better. Examples include:

- He was brought over from Ireland specifically by the UK ambulance service so they could learn from his "advanced trauma skillz". They were going to fast-track him on a paramedic course but they were "just waiting for the paperwork to be completed" - it never did so this became "oh there was a cock up with my qualifications as they were not recognised by the UK"

- He was first on scene at Tavistock Square on 7th July 2007 (he stopped this one after I called him on it, having actually been there on 7th July and never seeing him before meeting him nearly 3 years later in a completely different ambulance service)

- Despite being an EMT, he was offered a place on HEMS (only open to paramedics) and despite this, he turned it down "because I'm TOO well qualified!"

There was no particular harm in him, BUT he was one of those people that if you worked with him, by the end of 12 hours in an ambulance you had the overwhelming urge to start fisting him with a rusty fire axe and then use the resulting length of shredded colon to gag him and sew his lips closed with a length of mouldy rope.

I was not the only one sick of him, so we hatched a plan.

As we were also a training station, we had a lot of moulage stuff. For those not down wid de knowledge, moulage is the stuff they use to create fake wounds for films and so on, or as in was our case, for training purposes. Our station is quite a tall building (industrial unit with offices above it) so a good 30 foot from roof to floor. Now, quite regularly the SKY dish on the roof would get dislodged by a gust of wind, and one of us would have to go up the rear fire escape, climb on the roof and bash it until the picture came back. There was a small risk you could fall off, but nothing major.

So one day, we decided that one of us (i.e. me, as I was the only paramedic on duty) would get dressed up in fake wounds and lie on the ground. If I recall correctly, I had a major head injury (with brain matter showing - porridge does the job well if you ever fancy it), an open fracture to the leg (with realistic fake bone poking through an old pair of work trousers) and multiple bruises and other wounds. When tossbag's car turned into the carpark, I was given the go. Due to the layout of the building, the front entrance could not be seen from the carpark, so I put myself in the position. One of my female colleagues ran screaming to the bloke's car

"Quick, quick...hurry UP. Carrot's fallen from the roof and is in a really bad way. He was fixing the sky dish and...and...I don't think he's breathing."

Allegedly the guy went a bit green, but dashed from his car to where I was lying. He saw my injuries, and fainted.

He also pissed himself.

When he came round, he called us all a bunch of cunts, and stopped his bullshit from that day forward.

Halcyon times...
(, Fri 14 Jan 2011, 16:40, 5 replies)
My only answer ever to make the news letter. A complete tissue of lies.
No one wants to upset a blind man
Was at a cousin's wedding reception in Newquay when I noticed there was another wedding recepion in the hotel next door...a cunning plan started to hatch in my slightly inebriated mind. I have an uncle who's a bit blind, by a bit blind I mean dark glasses, white stick, doesn't know what sunlight looks like blind, anyway he's also a bit of a laugh. So I told him what I had in mind, and he lent me said glasses and stick.

Cue me walking down the line of bride, groom and family in the hotel next door, doing the shaking hand bit, and telling them what a lovely ceremony it had been. The beauty of it was I could see them all pointing at me and mouthing, "who's he" getting shrugs in reply that sort of said "don't know, but he's blind leave him alone". Anyway a very amusing half hour or so followed, with me going up to random people, getting them to get me a drink, telling them what a lovely service I thought it had been, and what a lovely girl the bride is, known her since she was a little girl don't you know, all the time seeing the words, "who's he" mouthed to the people around, and those same shrugs in answer. I then asked the DJ to play a Stevie Wonder tune, and stood in the middle of the empty dance floor doing my best Stevie Wonder playing the piano impression. Half way through the tune I had to do a runner before I did my best roll round on the floor laughing impression.

Still the funniest thing I've ever done.
(, Fri 14 Jan 2011, 9:01, 2 replies)
Best bullshitter I have ever met
I've been to Jamaica a few times visiting friends and one time stayed out there for six months (till immigration found me and offered me a trip to a Jamaican jail, but thats another story).

The first time I was there my friends arranged a trip to a heavenly beach area called Bluefields. We all clubbed together for food & beer, got my mates cousin to loan his bus to us and off we went for a super day out.

It was an awesome day and everyone remembers it years later.

A while later, I went back to Jamaica and one day, my mate and me are in a market town called Santa Cruz when we bump into Chapel, the bus driver from the previous trip.
The last time we'd met him he'd been fairly quiet, just happy to drive his bus and enjoy a little food with us.
A lot of the people u meet in Jamaica are quite happy for u to buy them drinks and food etc. But not this guy, he was one of those that always paid his way.

Anyway, he invites us to lunch in a little place he knows so off we trot.
As soon as we get to the restaurant, he seems to change. No longer is he quiet, but loud and boastful. Whilst talking to us he is getting everyone in the restaurant into the conversation, but not in a nice jovial way. He is shouting at people, trying to get girls to sit with us - telling them I'm some rich white guy blah blah.
Also he is trying to get us in on several dodgy schemes, trying to sell us weed, girls, coke.
You get the picture. Far from being a nice lunch with someone we thought was a great guy, it soon turned into a nightmare which ended with him saying he had to be somewhere, doing a runner and leaving us with the bill.

Neither of us could believe the change in him from before, but we figured maybe he'd got into drugs (as happens to a lot of nice people out there).

Anyway, it was a few weeks later we were in the area he lived. My mate had been instructed by his mum to take something to his house for his wife.

When we got to the house he was sitting reading the newspaper and greeted us like he hadn't seen us in ages.
We were a bit wary with him at first, until my mate blurted out something along the lines off "last time we saw u, u were a right c*nt".

He was surprised and asked us to explain as he hadn't seen us in a long time.
We reminded him about the restaurant and told he we weren't happy about footing his food bill either.

he laughed.

"Thats my twin brother" he replied, "He's always doing that."
(, Sun 16 Jan 2011, 16:05, 2 replies)
Mrs Duck is lovely
but a little gulible

I had her utterly convinsed that 50 cent (the rapping twonk) was called 50 cent because his real name was Arthur Dollar ('alf a doller.. geditt) I know it's a terrible joke but she bought it hook line & sinker
(, Fri 14 Jan 2011, 14:45, 6 replies)
My friend Billy
claims to have a very large penis. Or, more correctly, he had a very large penis. Inexplicably, he showed it to his next door neighbour and now it's considerably shorter than it used to be, as she attacked him with a gardening tool.
(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 20:25, 6 replies)
In which Grandmasterfluffles has a major PR disaster
When I was small, I had a habit of lying. I don’t mean the usual lying to get oneself out of trouble or exaggerating for attention like normal kids do, I mean senseless, pointless bullshit. I didn’t mean to do it. But sometimes when I was talking to somebody, it was as if I was possessed and bullshit would just spurt forth before I could stop it happening. My brain would sluggishly catch up with my big fat mouth only just in time to register the utter horror that I had just told a lie, and would have to spend the remainder of my relationship with that person meticulously sticking to the story and praying that they didn’t discover the truth that I was a big fat liar. Occasionally someone would catch me out, and no embarrassment in my adult life - not even the time I inadvertently showed my pants on live TV - would ever come close to the buttock-clenchingly excruciating humiliation of being outed as the big fat liar that I was. I really didn’t mean to be a liar. I just was, and couldn’t control it at all. This is the story of my very worst “outing”.

I was nine years old, my mother was playing at a folk festival for a week, and she’d taken me along for the ride. On the first day, I met some other children who were going to be there for the whole week. I was (and still am) painfully shy, and felt really uncomfortable being interrogated by them (of course they were just being friendly, I am an idiot) and it was perhaps for that reason that when they asked how old I was, I blurted out, “Ten,” before my brain had even begun to engage. As a result, I became an immediate source of interest.

“Ten? You’re ten?”
“Are you sure?”
“Really? Ten?”
“You’re so small for your age!”
“Isn’t she tiny?”
“Wow, you’re ten!”

I should say at this point that I was small for my real age too, and often got mistaken for being a year or two younger. Ten was really pushing the limits of believability. This particular pointless lie had already become a serious source of embarrassment, and I was praying that I wouldn’t bump into those kids again. Alas, they were everywhere. Every single workshop or event I went to while my mum was busy playing somewhere, there they were, and they were terribly keen to show me off to everyone. “Can you believe she’s TEN!” This went on for the whole week. They pretty much adopted me as a mascot, and I spent a miserable few days with my new friends crowing, “SHE’S TEN!” to anyone who would listen. It was one of the most miserable weeks of my life. It should have been fun - a week by the sea, with a season ticket that allowed me to attend any event I wanted from concerts to dance workshops - but I spent the whole week trying desperately to avoid the girls I’d lied to, and feeling petrified of being found out.

Somehow I got through the week with my sanity more or less intact, and the last day seemed to be going well - I hadn’t seen the girls all day, and in a few short hours, we would be speeding back home, away from my web of bullshit. I was to meet my mother at the end of her last gig, after which we would be driving to safety. Alas, an all-too-familiar shriek greeted me upon my arrival at the venue. “Hi Grandmasterfluffles! Have you met Grandmasterfluffles? Guess how old she is!” I turned around and observed, to my abject horror, that the person who they were inviting to guess my age was an acquaintance of my mother’s who for some reason they’d been chatting to.


“I do know Grandmasterfluffles, but actually I don’t know how old she is,” she said. Before she’d even made one guess, the girls started shrieking again. “TEN! She’s ten! Can you believe she’s ten? Isn’t she tiny!”

“Really?” the woman said, “Gosh, you are small for your age!”

I was backed into a terrible corner. Did I go with the lie, and risk this woman remarking on my small stature to my mother at some point, a course of action that would doubtless earn me the hiding of the century? Or did I admit that I’d been bullshitting all week?

“Well, actually…” I cringed, “I’m nearly ten.”

The girls all looked at me as if I’d just shat on the floor right there in front of them, got up, and flounced off in complete disgust.

Lying is bad.
(, Wed 19 Jan 2011, 11:43, 8 replies)
Local crazy
In the village I live in there is this old chap who is always around and is pretty eccentric as he is often seen wearing a dress and begging for money (he always claims that he has a leak in his roof and the cash is for that - yeah right).

He comes out with some pretty fanciful stories and I think that many of the folks in the village just humour him but I swear that some of them actually belive his tales.

There is one particular story that I've heard him tell a few times which seems very far-fetched to me, hence this post. He says he has this mate who is always around the place (I've never seen him) and who has done a lot of travelling as he seems to have been everywhere at some point in time (maybe he was in the navy or something).

Apparantly a good few years ago his mate was in a foreign country (he never said where but I think that it was somewhere hot and not known for its leniency) and he managed to knock up this local bird who was already married. This did not go down so well with the locals but he managed to wriggle his way out of it and did a runner.

Anyway, this kid is eventually born and, growing up with an absent father, becomes a bit of a tearaway, causing all sorts of trouble and eventually becoming leader of this gang. They used to get wasted on the local brew and get up to all sorts.

Before long, the authorities got fed up with this gang and slung him in jail. At the time, there must have been some sort of coup as the whole place was run by the military. As the story goes, this country had a pretty poor human rights record and this chap was treated so badly while he was locked that he actually died in custody.

This is where the real bullshitting starts but the local crazy swears that it is true. Apparantly, the authorities wanted to cover this all up (they didn't want Amnesty International all over them) so they hid his body hoping that people would think that he just ran off. All kind of believable so far I guess. However, he goes on to say that a few days later the 'dead' guy just woke up and walked away. Assuming that the authorities would do him in again, the chap quickly made himself scarce and tracked down his long-lost dad and went into hiding with him. I would imagine it must have been a pretty uncomfortable reconciliation between the 2 of them, considering his dad was a serial shagger of married women and then buggered off and left him to his fate.

Call me cynical, but I smell bull!
(, Sat 15 Jan 2011, 17:06, 1 reply)
Continuing on the theme of Vagabond's story below
not exactly bullshit, but an excellent lie to tell small annoying children:
I was looking after my odious little fart of a cousin, who persisted in coughing and sneezing and generally being a snot-filled germ factory at an age when he should have known better. He was chucking a tantrum after being told to put down his DS and come to the dinner table, ignoring his pathetic mothers limp estuary exclamations of 'aaaoooowwww beeeeeen, daon't do vat!', so I seized him bodily with the intention of dragging him there (and possibly bashing him 'accidentally' against the door frame...) when he coughed, right in my face. And then sneezed, right in my face. And then laughed.

Wiping mucus from my face and grasping his wretched little arm very tightly, I told him in a low and angry tone that the reason people put their hands over their mouths when they cough or sneeze is to stop the change in pressure from causing their brains to come through their nose.

Apparently this gave him nightmares for several weeks. I'm not allowed to babysit him anymore, thank fuck.
(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 17:00, 1 reply)
Kevin 'special forces' Hardy
worked with my mate's dad. He claimed he was in the territorial army. Nothing unusual about that except that Kevin was an absolute lardarse. He hardly ever left his desk unless he really had to, even to use the printer. He even brought in his own printer to save the effort of walking across the room and his packed lunch was always something spectacularly gut-busting with enough calories to keep Ranulph Fiennes well stoked on an expedition to the south pole.

Kevin then declared to my mate's dad that he had been seconded to the territorial army's equivalent of the SAS.

One day, my mate's dad being head of IT asked my mate to come into the office to coo over the new Xenix mini computer with its staggeringly vast 150Mb hard drive and the 12 Wyse terminals it served and I went along with him. We went into the office and saw a large bloke stuffing his face with a sandwich that was nearly the size of my head.
"I bet that's Kevin" I said. This was confirmed by my mate's dad.
"If he's special forces, then so am I" I added, sitting there being 9 stone wet through and the most danger I'd ever been in was telling a PE teacher to "bloody leave me alone" when I was 12.

Kevin claimed he was going on a mission over the weekend, because that's what special forces do. Declare they're in the special forces and that they are going on a secret mission.

Now, me and my mate worked Saturdays at McDonalds and we noticed Kevin getting served a lot of food and then go sit down. We went out to see him and said hello.
"Hello Kevin, how's the mission going?" we asked
"Eh?" he replied before recognising us. "You bloody idiots, you'll blow my cover" at which he scopped up his 3 Big Macs and 2 large fries, grabbed his large milkshake and dashed out and up the street. Well I say dashed, it was more like staggered and wheezed whilst sweating profusely.

We learned that Kevin didn't turn up for work on the Monday or the Tuesday. On the Wednesday he claimed he'd gone underground to avoid being captured after 'those bloody kids had put me at risk' though we suspect that he was just too ashamed to turn up.
God knows what he's doing nowadays. Probably working in some office as cover for his secret work in Iraq fighting the resistance to KFC opening a restaurant in Baghdad.
(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 13:49, 2 replies)
Weapons of
mass destruction.
(, Sun 16 Jan 2011, 13:13, 4 replies)
These are all true. Honest
The first recording of the human voice was of Thomas Edison in 1877. However, contrary to popular belief, the first words ever recorded were not "Mary had a little lamb", they were, in fact "I bet this fucking thing doesn't work"

If you read the small print at the bottom of the "Declaration of Independence" you'll find the statement "Does not apply to Tuesdays, Thursdays and Bank Holidays"

George W. Bush once ordered his bodyguards to shoot him in the head should there be an assassination attempt against him

"Pissing into the mouth of a sleeping tramp” is considered a hangable offence in the Republic of Ireland

At the geographic centre of Asia there is a replica of Stonehenge created entirely from old Ladas

Hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backwards, apart from ostriches if you hit them with a speeding van

London Zoo is home to Felicity, the only captive Gorilla in the world that can play the theme from "Johnny Briggs" on a trombone

Gene Hackman has a bionic forehead.

Until 1968, the frosting on "Kellogg's Frosties" was made from asbestos

One in three Egyptians are called Simon.

The King of Denmark owns the movie rights to the Mr Men books

Neil Armstrong's first words on the moon were actually "Oooh, I expected it to be all sticky."
(, Thu 13 Jan 2011, 14:56, 7 replies)
I've got a 'friend' of a friend who is the worlds ultimate bullshitter and total fuckwit, this is a story of his come-uppence.
Everything you have ever done he has done before you even heard of it and could do it better if he chose to, everything that has ever been known he knows more about it and always knows the latest news and it is never wrong, don't matter if you do it for a living and have for years, he will know how you SHOULD be doing it and you're an idiot if ya don't listen to his superior knowledge on something he has NEVER DONE IN HIS LIFE, he IS the internet, he is google, he is the fucking matrix FFS and we should all genuflect and kiss his undoubtedly elephant-sized fucking cock.

He also works in a call centre, has for about 10 years and has never been promoted. Just sayin.

Best moment for me, I'm at his (I'm friends with his other half, that's a whole other story) and I have my mate who is a senior computer technician in tow, there is NOTHING he doesn't know and cannot do with any machine, it's his job, he's made a career out of it, and he's great at it, if it has even a basic computer inside it, he can make it sit up and beg.

We're having to wait for his other half to get ready so making small talk with the fuckwit, he's already being his usual anti social self dicking about with the TV with no regards for if we were watching anything and talking over us with his superior knowledge on any subjects we broach together but ignoring us if we ask him anything like 'Any chance of a coffee' and such.

My friend inquires about using the house WI-Fi a minute to check his mail (beats talking to this twat), he has his phone out and politely asks if he can have the code.

Oh no he can't says fuckwit, jumping down his throat like he just asked to fuck his mother, he's been getting some problems with outsiders fucking with the settings on his PC thru his Wi-Fi (a common problem that has nothing to do with him constantly dicking about with it's insides himself of course) so he's put on a new fantastic encryption that no one will ever break, something cutting edge that he practically invented himself from the knowledge he's gained online on hacking sites, something my friend wouldn't know about as it's FAR too new and clever and so fantastically brilliant he will now go on and on about it loudly for a full 5 fucking minutes: it's been tested by the best, it's totally impossible that he or anyone else could ever break it, it's UTTER BRILLIANCE and he's definitely NOT giving out the massive encryption key to anybody 'cos his PC is far too wonderful and his files are WAY too important to risk giving it out to strangers like you, so don't even ask!

'Yeh, well I'm in!' replies my friend and, 'Ooh, and look everyone, his personal files, his Chicks With Dicks porn collection, oh and your dick & ass pics for your profile on Gaydar! 'KInkySatinSlut' eh? How nice!'

He sulked for fucking weeks and I was forbidden to ever bring my friend ever again, anything I say about it is all lies, I can NEVER mention it in front of him and that whole thing never happened, or else.

So I thought I'd tell you about it here.

Needless to say there were repercussions, especially onto his other half which I felt bad about, and it's only for their sakes I'm protecting identities here, but it was totally worth it to see his ugly fat smug fucking face drop that constant fucking sneer he has for everyone but his chosen minions for a short while.

Tee hee…
(, Sun 16 Jan 2011, 14:58, Reply)
like all cabbies... a story of epic bullshit and massive redemption
Bernie was a consummate bullshit artist. I was on a work trip to Boston and having my first go at corporate entertaining.In due course, bladdered and loving everywhere, everything and everybody, I stumbled into a cab and proceeded to tell the cabbie how great Boston was, how great the people were, how, in particular, I was going to come back one day and run the marathon there...

So of course, Bernie had not only run the Boston marathon, but he'd won it. And he's won the London marathon, and come third in Athens, and was designing special gel-filled shoes for Nike.

Well, of course, we got on like a house on fire; Bernie was from the same street as a mate of mine in Bristol (stunning coincidence) and we couldn't let such serendipity go un-celebrated. In Boston, you couldn't get a drink anywhere after 2am, so we went to a little chinese restaurant somewhere and drank 'cold tea', basically whisky in a teapot with prawn cracker chasers.

So, the evening winds on, with Bernie too pissed to drive and me behind the wheel, hilariously lost around the 'big dig' roadworks, even picking up a fare and taking him to MIT for his first night of college: I still have the $10 bill he gave me as a tip.

So, I took Bernie's number and slithered into my hotel and all was forgotten; a great beery tale of a bullshitting cabbie.

Until, something like 18 months later, I happened to do the London marathon for save the Rhino (in the suit) with a friend. As a bit of an added challenge, we decided to fly out to Boston that night to do the Boston marathon the following day: thinking that nothing could possibly go wrong, I called Bernie and arranged for him to pick us up at the airport.

Following a very relaxing flight (business class upgrade, god bless you BA) my friend and I rocked up on a cold, rainy night in Boston, pretty achey-painy and stiff, and hada rather terse exchange if views on the sanity of my plan. Still, fuck me sideways with a rhino horn, but there was Bernie. Another epic night of drinking ensued, followed by a trip out into the suburbs to his home where he insisted we stay the night.

On the walls: framed front pages of 'Runners' World' with Bernie's grinning mug, Cups, medals, you name it. And on the sofa I slept on that night? About two dozen golf shoes with custom gel inserts at various stages of development.

The following day got, if anything, even more bizarre, but we raised over £20k for STR and didn't spend a penny of it on accommodation or food or drink. Bernie, you fucking legend, I've dined out on that story for nearly a decade now. I hope, wherever you are, you got back on your feet and finally made good.

*I have googled Bernie many times since, trying to track him down, with no luck. I know he was a world class runner, albeit that maybe some of his race-placings suffered a little inflation in the telling. Still, cast not the first stone, and all that.
(, Sat 15 Jan 2011, 21:09, 2 replies)
People are too used to children telling lies.
They never think that something unusual might be true.

Aged 5 years old, first few weeks at "big School"
Playtime comes and the important discussion before our game of war regards who's to play what part. Almost everyone wants to be a pilot and win the battle of britain, I know that I'm a shoo in because I have a massive trump card.

Sez I, "My uncle Rob has a spitfire"
Sez another lad, "Do he doesn't!"
"Yes he does, I've been in it, it's purple!"
(ensuing fight broken up by teacher)
"But miss he tells lies! He says his uncle has a spitfire!"
Teacher chimes in "Now Now, dont tell lies."
"But he does, he goes to the shops in it, and comes to our house in it, and he took me to the park in it, and it's purple, and it's real!"
Teacher now looking apalled at the utter whopper I'm clearly telling. "Well really! I think it's time you stood in the corner 'till you learn to tell the truth."

I stood in that bastard corner for the rest of the day, alternately crying like a child* and telling the teacher that I would not recant. My uncle Rob drives a spitfire, it's purple, and I've been to the park in it.
End of the day and Dad comes to pick me up, W're both taken to one side by teacher who tells my Dad that I've been an utter horror for the entire day. Insisting on this stupid and clearly indefensible lie about my uncle and his aeroplane.
Dad looks blank, "aeroplane ? Rob's not a pilot, he doesn't fly anything. Just drives around the place in a tatty old Triumph Spitfire..."

"Told you Miss, I TOLD you..."

*Well, what do you expect, I was five...
(, Fri 14 Jan 2011, 12:52, Reply)
I'm a geek and specialise in Lotus Domino... A Domino consultant
So... I was sitting at a bar in New York, drunk on beer and whisky chasers and the cute lady behind the bar asks me. "So whadda you do Simon?"

"I'm a Domino Consultant" say I, with the complete sincerity that comes with speaking the truth.

"What, like the game?" she replies, unable to hear the capital D through my rich English tones.

"Yep!" I lie, seizing the moment.

"No really, they have consultants on dominos?" she asks, amazed.

"Not just dominos sweetheard, all pub games, but my speciality is dominos. I travel the world studying the various rules and sell my knowledge in the form of consultancy to all the major games making companies"

"Naaaah, your shittin' me she says" with that little bit of uncertainty that tells em I have already almost won.

So out comes the trump card, I pull out my business card with "Domino Consultant" on it.

"Wow Gee!" she exclaims... "Hey George, this guy over here travels the world studying pub games!"

I end up at a table with 10 yanks all asking me about strange wierd pub games, on which subject I hold forth for the rest of the evening cos us Brits have many strange and wierd pub games to talk about.

(, Fri 14 Jan 2011, 5:49, Reply)

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