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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, 8, 7, ... 1

This question is now closed.

I'm not a real badger.

(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 15:40, 28 replies)
This girl I know went to the cinema and when she sat down there was a needle in the seat which went into her bum and when she got up she saw there was a note saying "Welcome to the world of AIDS" and that's true.

(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 15:26, 5 replies)
When we were about 13-14, a new kid called Glen joined the school. It was an all boys school, so was just one massive pyramid bullying scheme. New kids were very much the bottom of the pile, especially if they were a bit thick, shit at sports and Welsh - so Glen, basically.

But the thing that made Glen the target of abuse more than would normally be expected in such cuircumstances was the fact that every single word that cam eout of him mouth was a lie. Everything from little white lies about having seen the previous night's Eastenders to massive whoppers involving his dad being a ninja in the SAS. It could be really weird at times, like after games lessons, he would say stuff like "did you see that great header is scored?" when he'd spent the whole time sat on the halfway line, making daisy-chains.

I always wondered if he had some form of Autism or Tourette's that meant he compulsively lied or was incapable of telling the truth. Or maybe he was just desperate to be accepted, so lied to fit in? Either way, he bullshitted non-stop the whole time he was in school.

Looked him up on FaceBook recently. He's now an estate agent. Go figure.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 14:59, Reply)
I am a dick.
I not only lied to my boss about me being Jewish but also told him I needed certain days off because of this...and that Jews can eat bacon but only if it is a bagel. He still believes this fact.
I also told my mum that it was okay that she liked Daniel Bedding field because he truly was an amazing man due to the fact he has severe autism.
I also told my friend that Paul McCartney is going to do a duet with NDubz as he has said he wants to be a part of the next musical revolution.
If you yawn and look at your watch at the same time in McDonalds’ the staff have the right to be banned from every single McDonalds’ in the world.
99.9% of the time I wait five minutes and then tell them I am a big fat liar. However even though he isn’t my boss anymore I still want him to believe that gem.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 14:46, 1 reply)
My real name isn't Rakky
That bit is actually true. My actual first name is a bastardization of a fairly common Estonian moniker, which generally prompts the question, "Oh, are you Estonian?" to which the truthful answer is "No, I'm originally from Wigan. As are all my family as far back as anyone can be bothered finding out."

I have, however, when bored at parties, been known to pretend to be the direct descendent of Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna, the "missing" daughter of Nicholas the II, the last Tsar of Russia. There's a tiny window of opportunity to get people to buy it, in as far as anyone who's drunk enough to believe that someone fleeing the Bolshevik secret police would choose to settle in Wigan.

I did once come a total cropper with this story when I tried to blag it at a proper posh party, and the bloke I told it to claimed to be a minor member of the Saudi Royal family. Turns out he actually was, whereas I was still just a fat northerner.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 14:43, 2 replies)
Billy Bullshit.
There’s this old geezer down my local, everything he says is bullshit. He’s a lorry driver, fact; the following are some of the chestnuts I can remember.

He’s worked in Iran and Iraq during their numerous wars and regularly had gun battles.

He’s a major share holder in Rio Tinto Zinc (the biggest mining company in the world with revenues of around $45 Billion).

He owns a large yacht; it’s in storage at the mo though.

He claimed to live in a large house and when one night he left his phone in the pub, one of the locals went round to his gaff and banged on the door “never heard of him” said the old biddy that answered.

He built the new terminal 5 building at Heathrow (cost £4.1Billion and was put up by Laing O’Rourke).

He was going to South America for 3 weeks on a photography holiday, he didn’t. When pressed on why he hadn’t gone “oh, it was cancelled, lots of people dropped out at the last minute”.

The best one though was when he came into the pub one evening “I’m absolutely cream crackered” he said “I’ve been to Sussex, to Essex, back to Sussex, back to Essex, Middlesex and then back into Kent again”. Only he hadn’t, I’d seen him pulling into another boozer at 11am that morning!
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 14:37, Reply)
I've loads of friends , me.
And they're not all on the internet either!
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 14:30, Reply)
The new lad's always the victim
I worked in an industrial lighting company many moons ago when a new lad arrived, fresh from school. One of my colleagues, after gaining the victim's confidence, set about feeding him the greatest of bullshit. The two star items were - 1, The mig welder is for welding wood; 2, if we're out of a particular size of fluorescent tube we'll just cut a bit off the end of the next size up.

Wilf, did you ever recover?
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 14:30, 2 replies)
The following link has nothing to do with horses.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 14:26, 2 replies)
A 'george' is the big toe on your right foot.
A friend and I convinced a trio of young french girls of this fact. A achievement that while amusing is not that impressive.

What was quite impressive was then convincing each of them to show us their 'george' even though doing so meant them having to take off their tights while still in a crowded bar.

Length? About an inch and a half, with hairs.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 14:21, Reply)
golden graham
so dubbed because of his somewhat ginger nature and his name. imaginative lot, us kids. not as fuckin imaginative as him though!
'the brother'
he'd moved from essex. older brother was, by all accounts, hard enough to feature on chuck norris's pyjamas most nights.
his alleged ventures included beating up/killing whole gangs, being wanted by the mafia, and driving the equivalent of a honda accord made of massive drugs riding on 24"rims made from the hymens of an infinite number of supermodels. he was, in short, a diamond-tipped bonaq fide legend.

'the samurai sword'
this mythical chav excalibur could,and inded HAD, sliced CLEAN THROUGH A METAL LAMP POST in one swing of the protagonists noodly ginger arm. was now in the posession of his brother. presumably for trimming his tungsten-carbide tipped nails.

'the territorial army'
where he was a member, having been kicked out of the real army for being too much of a badass. he sounds more and more like mike from spaced, doesn't he? he was 14 at the time.
claimed to havre driven tanks, fired rpg's, and be able to kill you with his martial arts madness.

these are but a few of the lies.
with hindsight, he was a lonely soulless ginge looking for love in all the wrong places, and we should have accepted him more. didn't help himself though. afaik, still obsessed with the army, but can't join due to having snapped both tendons in his legs doign some kind of mega backflip off a building while kicking ninjas in the face, and having nylon achilles tendons.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 14:19, 5 replies)
I haven't masturbated
since I met Mrs Sandettie 21 years ago.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 14:01, 5 replies)
I knew this guy who had never taken acid before and he took some
And he tripped right out and now he's in a mental hospital convinced that he's the colour blue.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 13:51, Reply)
he had a watch that if you stabbed it it healed itself. I loved the pointlessness of that beautiful lie.
He told many other more complicated and less likely stories, from his uncle being stabbed by concorde's nose to his grandfather being the lookout on the Titanic but stabby-watch remained my favourite.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 13:30, Reply)
Yeah, Well!
I was at a party just the other night where Elvis AND Marc Bolan played. so there!
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 12:58, Reply)
Awfully rude
Cue wavy lines, cue harp music -- we're going back in time, woo woo, to an era when I was only a wee junior Cabbage in final year at primary school -- so I and my friends would have been around ten years old, eleven at most.

Now this was a time before the Internet, be it noted. Not for us the joys of being able to access pinpoint quality photos and high quality streaming video of felching and grannybagging online. We were old enough to snigger like the little beasts we were at the Sex Pistols record "Frigging In The Rigging" without actually knowing quite what most of it was about, and what those attachments between the legs are for, and why boys have them and girls don't...

...All except for Norris. Norris was the biggest boy in the class and as so often happens, size of body went in inverse ratio to size of brain. Norris was a thicko. He was too thick even to realise that he could have commanded some kind of grudging respect by becoming a bully. So we were taken aback when one day he claimed "I can touch my willy and it gets hard and stuff comes out!"

Touch willy, sure, anyone can do that. Gets hard, well, hmm, yes, some of us had noticed something similar. Stuff coming out? Get away, you bullshitter!

"It's true!" "'Snot!" "Is!" "Isn't!" "All right, Norris, prove it!"

Thankfully he didn't whip his trousers down and start bashing the bishop on the spot. He offered to bring some 'stuff' into school next day to prove his tale.

Next day rolled around, and we all clustered round Norris as soon as he arrived. "Let's see it!"

Norris produced a little plastic pot and displayed it for our inspection.

"Norris... That's toothpaste."

"Isn't!" "Is!" "Isn't!" "Is!" "Look, Norris you spacker, it's still round from coming out of the nozzle! ...and it tastes of mint!"

Yes, to prove my point, I stuck my finger into Norris's "semen" and tasted it. Thankfully, I was right, and it *was* toothpaste...

So let's just sum that up: I encouraged a 10 year old boy to have a wank and collect his semen so I could taste it. I'm going to a special hell, aren't I?

Length.... nah, let's not go there.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 12:25, 3 replies)
I believed my Brother
He's 2 years older than me, and as a wee Humpty I'd look up to him. Endlessly. We grew up together with noone in our age-group for miles around. We were our own company and we've Never fought. Not once.

He got packed off to school 2 years before me. 2 years later I too would get a music scholarship* and entry to the school that was way beyond our means, but it all meant nothing. My brother was gone for 2 years, I was 11, and Life sucked.

*(see "on the stage" QOTW from ages ago)

So.... His first holiday was much anticipated, and he was full of stories. "An Royal Navy Lynx Helicopter landed on a rugby pitch because they'd got a problem.... they borrowed a 12" ruler, some blu-tak and some tape, and then flew off again once they'd fixed it" was one that REALLY excited me.

I was aghast... This tale of Awesomeness was re-told at my school countless times with my brother as the ruler-bearing saviour.

Three years later I found myself telling the story again. Older and wiser, my peers jeered at me. I doubled up my efforts to make them believe me. The "Shamen" song in the back of my head reminding me that "if the truth can be told so as to be understood, It Will be believed" ... and suddenly with a mental glitch, I realised I didn't understand this "truth" I was pushing. There was no back-story, no logic, nothing made sense, and it was entirely improbable.

The crushing reality of my brothers lie hit me and I folded. He'd been lying. I'd believed him and respected him for his wisdom, but it was all complete bollocks. He was an asshole, I'd been made to look like a fucking idiot.

Year later we laugh about it, but at the time I'd have happily beaten him to a pulp for my suffering.


This is an entirely true story. Take from it what you will, but it pretty much encompasses the reasons for which I label the purveyors of organised religion as assholes, and their followers as fucking idiots.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 12:24, 2 replies)
Bullshitters in the work place...
Why do you do it?

Why lie about reciveing emails from whole departments or directors?

Why sabotage months of work becuase most of the workplace will use it and you wanted to be a big man?

If you told me I was white I would still look in a mirror!

Why do these people do it and more importantly why do they get away with it!
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 11:46, 4 replies)
The night before last
I got talking to a bunch of drunk Norwegians who were boasting about the fact that British people had immense difficulty pronouncing their names. I introduced myself as Llewellyn. It's the little victories.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 10:36, 1 reply)
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)
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)
They always say we need to know the useless crap. If anyone ever has me calculate the respiratory quotient of god-damn beans at work I'll die of shock.

Lying bastards.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 9:21, Reply)
My Mother
This happened when i was a wee lad. I was sitting on the back seat of my parents Volvo 343, with no seat belts on, as you did in the 70s. I suddenly realised that some cars only had one working head light. I asked my mothee why, and she responded: "Ah, you see dear, that's because the people driving those cars only got one eye." That seemed logical to me. One headlight - one eye. Of course. And i believed that for many years to come.

Now i am just waiting for my son to ask me the same question.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 7:41, Reply)
Seriously Officer,
It WAS a one armed man.
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 5:57, 1 reply)
How do I avoid coming off like a patronising know it all twat?
I can't stand bullshitters and my GF is not really one for tall tales, however without knowing it she can see what she wants to see in a story. For example we are both football nerds and I bought her a nice book for Christmas regarding the subject. When she told me that one of the candidates that the Hartlepool monkey beat for the position of Hartlepool mayor was Peter Mandelson I informed her it was no doubt horseshit and after reading the text for myself found out he was just merely in attendance.

She also is one too quickly develop opinions upon extremely limited evidence as most of us are but then in her mind it will become verbatim no matter what she's presented with and when she tells me one which I know doesn't have very solid grounding I really don't know what to say...

So anyway point is when she tells me "facts" she's heard from a friend or something to do with so and so, if it has any implausibility, I can't help but voice my suspicion and find out the truth. Sometimes I'm presented with evidence that what I have heard is bollocks but sometimes it turns out she was bang on right!

So today after trawling the internet and presenting evidence on why she was talking rubbish in what I thought was a healthy debate. (Today's one was that apparently Marco Fu and Ding Junhui are both crap snooker players cos they are the worst in the game at safety shots, despite them winning multiple tournaments between them and contesting the final of what is either the 2nd or 3rd most prestigious snooker tournament in the world. Yes were nerds, but that are mostly more normal world inclusive!!!) She turned to me visibly upset and told me I was a right patronizing dickhead sometimes. It was then i became the bullshitter by claiming that I wasn't but I knew she had outed me to myself about the cunt I was being.

I love my girlfriend, she is for the main part, one amazing girl and I have a vast number of faults that are off topic that she puts up with, but our personalities clash on occasion. When she is right about such things I hold my hands up and admit she was being all truthful and normally think that's the end, neglecting the fact that I've looked something up just to see if she was telling porkies.

Can anybody answer my question in a way and hand me advice that would keep both our egos in check?
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 3:28, 9 replies)
The benefits of poor skincare
I'm living in Sydney at the moment. Living in the UK for 25/27ths of my life, Australia has quite a different and brilliant culture, full of randomness and things to amuse me. This is one such experience.

I was on the train home one Friday night, and there was this guy (I named him Mr Talky), standing near the doors of the train. He reminded me of the guy in the current advert for Oak milk drink. It's Youtubeable. A funny ad. Not cos Mr Talky was dressed like the guy in the advert, or looked like him, but his rhetorical words, voice and excited, stoccatoed intonation were pretty much the same. Mr Talky was really, really tanned, tracksuit bottoms tucked in his socks and wearing a brown and green tshirt and a blueish jacket that sort of completed the ensemble. He had curly hair. Not too long, but looked like it hadn't been cut for a while. And it was like Mr Talky was on speed or something. He was off his face. But not messy or all over the place. Just high speed talking to anyone that walked past him or happened to make eye contact. He wasn't threatening in the slightest and his chatter was interspersed with laughter and quite a few rhetorical questions. He was standing in a prime position by the carriage doors. I was sitting down for all of my 45 minute journey, but within 2 metres of him, so I could hear everything he talked to his unwitting victims about! It was increasingly funny mainly because I was able to look round at the 7 other people I was sharing the carriage with and see their exasperation at the absolute bollocks that was coming out of this guys mouth. At one point a guy sitting at the far end of the carriage but well within earshot of Mr Talky leaned forwards, looked up, sighed, and put his head in his hands. This made me break into fits of giggles. I could see the girl sitting next to me staring hard out of the window at her reflection into the darkness also kept trying not to laugh or cry.

I can't remember most of the subjects Mr Talky covered, but he had something to say about everything. Breaking out of prison, the best way to fly a helicopter, how some people could be child molesters but they look like normal people, and one of my favourites; how to deal with getting punched. Standing just in front of the Mr Talky was this dude dressed in a suit. Early 20s and quite big. He took offence to something Mr Talky said. I think it was about the kiddy fiddler thing; the big guy has thought it was directed at him. So they argued a bit and a fight looked like it was about to kick off, marked by the guy sitting next to me popping out his headphones, sitting up straight and leaning over to me saying "have you heard the shit that this guy is talking?! He's pissed off the wrong bloke".
So anyway, the fight about to kick off degenerated into a bit of pillow talk style foreplay, and the big bloke got off at his stop.
A few seconds later when the doors closed, Mr Talky exclaimed to his neighbour "ohhh, did you see that?! It could have been all over mate. Lucky i was here to stop it...." and then he gave some advice. Pure gold advice. Advice that the guy next to me scoffed at, and I made a high-pitch "haa!" noise to. "If you ever get punched, make sure you have dry skin. Dry skin makes the punch hurt less. You won't bleed as much. If you're lucky, the dry skin will protect you. The punch just slips right off."
(, Mon 17 Jan 2011, 3:21, Reply)
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)
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)

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