Trufax
In 1985 a group of Dutch scientists led by Professor Peter Jan van Graaf successfully measured the speed of disappointment, only to discover it was many times slower than they anticipated
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 19 Jan 2011, 13:35, 5 replies)

My mum and the RAF
My mum firmly believes that when she drives over the mountain passes of Snowdonia where the RAF pilots fly regularly to and from the Anglesey base, that they wave to her and have even poked out their tongues in a cheeky manner. Unfortunately due to being a rather gullible child and obedient daughter, I did wave at aeroplane all the time.

My now husband soon put a stop to it. He has an excellent bullsh*t detector especially when it comes to his mother-in-law.
(Mrs Ballunatic counting calories, not votes., Wed 19 Jan 2011, 12:55, 8 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.

SHIT.

“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.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Wed 19 Jan 2011, 11:43, 8 replies)

It'll make you blind.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 19 Jan 2011, 11:31, 10 replies)

Tummy Buttons
My Mum and Dad always used to tell me that if you play with your belly button, your bum falls off.
(natakins, Wed 19 Jan 2011, 11:25, 2 replies)

Cereal
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.
( Lord & Lady Pants, Wed 19 Jan 2011, 10:26, 7 replies)

Bob the Bullshitter
You read it right.
Not Bob the Builder … but Bob the bullshitter.

See waaaay back in the day I was studying to be a civil engineer. Straight out of school there was about 20 of us in the class, all wide-eyed, very innocent and quite intimidated by the lecturers. This was at the local polytechnic, so the lecturers weren’t academics, but people that had worked in the field and had had enough .. deciding to live a life of teaching. For the most part they were excellent tutors.

There was however one tutor call Bob, who we renamed to “Bullshit Bob”. He was the kind of guy who loved the sound of his own voice and he had an opinion on anything. Like most tutors who told us real life stories in the field of being a civil engineer, Bob would indulge us into his personal life, recalling far-fetched stories that we used to roll around laughing about. Amongst his bullshit was:

- The time he landed a Boeing 747. All he had to do was read the flight manual. Unfortunately it was in French, but luckily he could read French and he landed the plane safely, rescuing all passengers. We later asked him to say something in French, to which he said “non…now do your fluid mechanics questions!”

- The time his 6year son had an asthema attack. It was the middle of the night and apparently his sons heart stopped so he did CPR and got it started again. “So did you take your son to the hospital?” we asked. “His bloody heart started again, so what’s the point? We went bed, I needed my sleep” he replied incredulously.

- The time he referred to “clutch pencils” as being “lifesavers” and just like a captain in the army (or Ford Prefect) kept saying that “if you wanna make it as an engineer, you’ve really gotta know where your clutch pencil is”.

- The time his dog got run over by a lawnmover and managed to survive completely unscathed

- the time he sliced his finger off trying to rescue the aforementioned dog. “I just picked up the finger put it back on. Used a bit of duck-tape to hold it in place.” He had no scars. When questioned about this he replied “that’s because duck-tape has a special ingredient that makes it heal better than regular plasters. I should know, my brother invented the stuff”
(Markygee Surname: "Balls". First name: "Lick-mah", Wed 19 Jan 2011, 2:03, 4 replies)

When I was 8 my uncle told me he had a lightsaber....
Which he kept in the boot of his car and said he would only show me it when I was older. I believed him until a few years ago. I'm 27.
(Testricals Having a dump, Wed 19 Jan 2011, 1:53, 2 replies)

Bulb!
I used to be in a band (we were actually really good - no bullshit!)
when the original bassist (who had a strange shaped head, and was nicknamed Tefal, for those of you old enough to remember that putdown) Left us to go to Uni we enlisted the talents of Bulb, (funnily enough he was called this cos' his head was shaped like a lightbulb)..
anyway Bulb was full of shit, and a bit of an unreliable theiving twat..

He turned up at rehearsal one week without his usual bass (paid for by the band might i add), instead he had some crappy Encore cheap and nasty one with him he'd borrowed, as "our" bass had stopped working and had been taken to be mended...

fast forward 2 weeks & 4 rehearsals, still no bass.. by pure luck Our guitarist called into A music shop in the city centre (where they bought/sold repaired stuff) and Voila! Our bass up for sale!

We decided to buy it back anyway and present it to him at the next rehearsal!

Where he was shocked and stunned that a music shop would sell something he'd taken in for repairs! The bastards!
he actually went along with this line and said he'd been and "had a go at them".. gave us some money back - "less what it was to be repaired" and "he wouldn't fucking go there ever again!"


Length? - tefals head was about 9 or 10 inches across the Forehead, Bulbs - about 20" circumference.
( DanGleeballs Moist people don't notice spelling errors..., Wed 19 Jan 2011, 0:54, 1 reply)

Did anyone else hear about that guy
whose cock turned into a turnip? Apparently after ingesting too much Calpol.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Wed 19 Jan 2011, 0:35, 4 replies)

Colin
At my junior school, there was this lad called Colin who was truly blessed with amazing Aunties.

One of them danced for Legs and Co (youngsters hit Google, or preferably Youtube now)

His other Auntie was Professor Rubik, inventor of the Rubiks Cube etc. Slight catch, in that Professor Ernő Rubik is a geezer.
(djlumpyrulesok beware of cousin Mosquito and his solo, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 23:57, 3 replies)

One of my dads mates
Way before I was born my dad's friend was in the Coldstream Guards and he frequently used to do his duty (not poo) outside Buckingham Palace. This is true up to now. When he and my Dad met up a few years later to catch up he said that:

While standing outside Buckingham, he was standing under "The Queen's Window" and she popped open her window and invited him in for a bowl at 2 in the morning. And he also turned the glass right side up on the royal TV.
(iLLmatic, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 22:30, Reply)

I can use my arsehole as a cunt.....
....so I'm thinking of taking Nick Clegg's job.
(stonersmurf stuckin' foned, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 20:44, 2 replies)

Believe it.
I like to believe most Bullshit I hear is the truth. Not because i'm a gullible feckwit, but because the world would be a much funnier place if it actually was.



I am a gullible feckwit too though.

Did you know that Texans dye their lawns blue to make fire ants easier to spot?
(Woodlouse say it with flowers. Send her a Triffid, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 19:59, 2 replies)

Metal detecting
is my hobby, check my profile if interested not that you are.

I'm a member of a club that goes out every Sunday. One member, let's call him Bob, first came to my attention when he was showing off his finds for the day to the others. He'd had a very good day indeed: four medieval silver coins, some Roman coins and brooches, Tudor buckles, etc, etc. Most of us had had a typical day: shotgun cartridges, buttons, a couple of old pennies and a big bag full of rubbish.

I asked one of the others what make and model detector Bob used and he replied "Ebay". I asked him what he meant and he explained that Bob bought stuff of of Ebay then bought it along to the club digs and pretended he'd just found it. "Why the fuck would anyone do that?" I thought to myself not sure whether to believe it.

At another club dig I happened to pass by Bob in the field and asked him if he'd had any luck. He told me he'd found a couple of Roman coins and fished them out of his pouch for me to have a look at. One of his coins was suprisingly shiny for something just dug out of the earth and upon closer inspection I found that it had "(c) 2006" stamped on one side, it was a brand new reproduction. "It says 2006 on it" I said to Bob and he replied "I know, that's the second one I've had off of here". Didn't try to cover up his bullshit, just added to it with a large dollop of insanity.

It will be a laugh if he ever finds something really good as no one will believe him.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 19:37, 1 reply)

Regarding creationism and religion etc - A thought experiment
A creator does not necessarily have to be supernatural. For instance, the matrix theory of creation.

Currently, artificial intelligence is quite good, and will get better and better as computer models are developed with greater parameters combined with computing power. At some point in the future, AI will reach the point where it is practically indistinguishable from human consciousness.

It can be given that when this happens, and when computing power allows, scientists will create a model of the Earth with billions of examples of human AI going about, working, playing, shagging, fighting wars, getting pissed and photoshopping pretend movie posters for a weekly challenge on a website somewhere. All simulated in a massive computer model of the human existence.

We could be in such a simulation right now. In fact, someone might have typed 'Run' and pressed Enter not 5 minutes ago.

Our perceived intelligence and sense of being may well just be a simplified model of what is actually real running on a computer in a lab somewhere, coded by a group of engineers no more supernatural than Fiona Bruce (corr!).

This theory is no more (dis)provable than the existence of 'God'

Discuss.

(goes puts the kettle on and opens the malted milks)
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 19:13, 37 replies)

So many of these but can't remember them all.
I once knew a kid in school who said he was a ninja.

Same kid said he saw a Karate exhibition starring the main fella from No Retreat No Surrender.

Different person told me he drank 50 odd beers and lots of total BS about the film The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.

And I had a person tell me that they thought when it said Download now on an advert for a song it even meant pirate websites.
(Mitchell Gant, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 19:12, Reply)

I
am the worlds second greatest bullshitter
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 18:55, Reply)

One epic road trip!
A friend of mine went away on a road trip with some of his buddies for half a year or so. When he came back, he was filled with fantastic tales of adventure:

Narrowly escaping from Mexican murderers because they didn't know he spoke Spanish and started talking in front of him about how they would kill him.

How he and his friends got picked to become Robert DeNiro's bodyguards because they saw him beat someone up in a punk club.

Getting pulled by the police with a bag of drugs that would rival Raoul Duke's and hiding it so well the police never found it.

Starting a riot then sneaking past the wall of police with his brass knuckles hidden in his shoes.

We listened to his stories, and were polite enough, even though it was clearly bullshit. A few months later, he died of a heroin overdose, and while talking to his friends and family at his funeral, we learned that either him and his friends are masters of coordinating and remembering intricate lies, or most of that stuff was actually true. Even his father mentioned the Robert DeNiro story in his eulogy. Turns out Deniro was a friend of a friend of his father, and really did hire them.

Maybe the other stuff was bullshit, maybe not, but I learned that day not to pass judgment too quickly.
(raulduke, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 18:47, Reply)

Bullshit with a splash of truth
Walking around the Bristol University freshers fair a few years ago with a new housemate we stopped by the cricket stand do he could sign up. The captain asked what level he'd played at, "School? Village? County Youth?". No. "International." He looked like he was going to soil himself until my new chum clarified that he was from Luxembourg.

Ok, it might be utter bullshit - but who would boast about being on the Luxembourg cricket team?
( Ungersven would support SpankyHanky's patreon, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 17:46, 2 replies)

A guy
I vaguely knew at University was one of those Walter from Big Lebowski style bullshitters - he could get you anything. A fragment of the true cross? No problem, I'll call my uncle in the Vatican. A bunch of supermodels and a honda accord for a party? Yeah not a problem, I'll call my mate the millionaire. All relatively standard in the bovine faecal department.

On weekend a bunch of us were invited to a party - a relatively low key affair as it turned out - and found that Mr. Bullshit was there too. Quite late into the evening a group of people were discussing the possibilities of buying massive drugs and Mr. Bullshit piped up that he was, like, friends with these well hard gangsters from when they'd hung out in this, like, well rough estate together, who'd give him a good deal on certain powders. He volunteered to go meet his 'gangster friends' and obtain said powders. A quick whip round is given by those in on it, and he toddles off with a wodge of money not far short of £200.

Quite a large amount of time passes, and those who've chipped in are starting to get a bit antsy when, eventually, Mr. Bullshit comes back in, boasting about how his gangster mates had seen him right et.c. et.c. and he had the item they all wanted.

Smugly, to the frankly disbelieving looks of about half the people there, he opened his cupped hands to reveal two persil washing tablets in a small net bag. They weren't even crushed up.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 16:59, 8 replies)

Oooo Billskippers has reminded me
Business pseudo-word bullshit. Yes I know we had annoying words and phrases a few months ago, but really.

It was GIVEN, NOT. BLOODY."GIFTED"!

Arrrgh!
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 16:41, 13 replies)

governmental deficiency
"This war is for oil! and not just for giggles"

"Ecstacy is more damaging than alcohol"

"A vote for us is not a vote for some soplisistic eton horse felchers"
(billskippers, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 16:32, 8 replies)

Move over, Heston!
During my dim-and-distant days working on a bar, I used to serve a regular whom I shall call J. To say that J was none too bright would be pushing it somewhat: he was a couple of photons short of dark. But he was friendly, and completely harmless, and so we plied him with Coke throughout the evenings until he wandered off somewhere.

J was a bullshitter in the classic sense. He was not a liar; he did not set out to distort or avoid the truth. It's just that he didn't care about the difference between truth and untruth; almost certainly, he didn't even know the difference between truth and untruth; and he very likely didn't care that he didn't know the difference between truth and untruth.

He existed in a wibbly-wobbly world of his own.

He knew that my day job was in a university, and told me that he had been to university. In his case, it was the University of Leek. That particular small Staffordshire Moorlands town may have all manner of things in its favour - but being the home of a seat of higher learning is not one of them. Nevertheless, he'd done at least two degrees at Leek University. One of them was in woodwork; he'd had to build a bird-table to earn that. (Fair enough: there are certain real universities where you don't have to do much more than that to get an MPhil... but I digress.)

His other degree was in cookery.

And my, oh my - what an innovative course that must have been, judging by the recipes he used to recite.

Let's take, for example, one of his recipes for dessert. What you need is some cream and some egg yolks. You beat the cream, add the yolks, and mix them together a bit. Then you add some lemonade. Et voila! Dessert!

To be fair to J, he did have some other dessert recipes in his repetoire. But they all involved - and were basically reducible to - cream and egg yolks.

And I'd hate to give the impression that desserts were all he could do. He could do main courses as well. One of them required that you take some egg yolks, and some cream, and mix them together. Then you add a black olive. Another was much the same, except that you need three black olives to make it.

I no longer work on that bar; but just sometimes, I wonder about J. I wonder whether he's killed himself with food poisoning (or blocked arteries) yet; whether he's killed anyone else. And if not, why isn't he presenting a cookery slot on daytime TV?
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 15:45, 2 replies)

I got my mate and me thrown out of a pub...
Both as nissed as pewts, but Bob was looking the worse for wear.

As I was stood at the bar, and Bob had just blundered through heading for the smoking area, some woman turned to me and asked:
"Is that your friend?"
"No - he's my carer." I came out with, meaning it to be a hilarious joke to play (and one that often had people chuckling on previous occasions).
"Really?" she asked, her (drunken) eyes going huge.
"Erm...no - I was joking" I back-tracked.

But no, the no sense of humour harridan followed me around screeching "I WAS SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU!" until the bar staff (and me) had enough and asked me to leave...

That's St Neots for you...
( snee held his breath since, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 15:16, 5 replies)

"If you're a very good boy I'll organise a threesome for us..."
yeah yeah....not falling for that one again.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 15:15, 6 replies)

Who could forget
the ridiculous stories of the human David Icke. Let us all laugh at him, as we mammals do.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 15:00, 4 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?
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 14:31, 21 replies)

A source insists she never intended to steal the goods...
Honestly, there's no ponies to see here
(RTFM May your god go with you, Tue 18 Jan 2011, 14:14, Reply)