And this one...
It's a repost from a few weeks back, I hope that you do not mind:

The batteries ran out of my portable CD player. Ah, no. No. It's not the music that I'll miss, it's the sanity of complete isolation. With those huge headphones strapped on my head, no one talks to me. And now the batteries are dead. And I'm on the bus. With nothing to read. Oh, no. No.

Solution: I'm the only one that knows the batteries are dead. So I'll sit for a while, bobbing my head, pretending that everything is fine. Yeah.

I must have done too good of a job and now some teenage boy is tapping me on the shoulder. I turn around, remove one earphone from my head and resume the most annoyed expression I can.

"Yes?"
The boy says, "Oh, can you turn that music down? It's really loud!"
"Okay..." I reply, amused. I fumble with the dial on my dead CD player. "Better?"
"Ah, yes," he says, a look of blissful contentment creeping across his face. "Thank you."

True story.
(BrainSurgerysFun, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 19:44, 7 replies)

I didn't feel like practicing my violin
and I really can't be arsed to learn music. A music class was a requirement I had to fulfill so, for three years or so, I pretended to play the violin. During a large concert, we stood up dramatically and flipped our music stands over and played a piece from memory. Only I hadn't learned the music. Even if I COULD see the sheets of paper I wouldn't have been able to read it! So I did what I normally did: I played my violin, but not the right notes. I just played any notes. Any notes at all.

After the show was over, I gathered my things and started to run home to change out of my crappy skirt and tights. But I was approached by the girl who had been sitting RIGHT NEXT TO ME throughout the concert. She said, "Hey, I heard you playing! It was GREAT! You've really been practicing!" I never owned up.

A year later when I grew REALLY sick of the violin I broke it. Then I gave it to a girl in class and asked her to tune it for me. When she held it, the neck came off the violin and she thought that SHE had broken it. I cried. How could I possibly afford another violin? She appologized. My teacher gave me an A for the rest of the semester.
(BrainSurgerysFun, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 19:42, 4 replies)

I used to work on a sex chat line.
So obviously I had to fake it all the time.

I remember one time, through a recorded message system the line ran a Fake Orgasm Competition, whereby regulars got to vocally vote for the orgasm that did it for them the most.

Of course, I won. It was all done for fun and was just something that they did for the regulars and I had mentioned it to my (then) husband.

I remember the day I told him I'd won it (boss ended up sending me a £50), my husbands face was classic.

Happy...thoughtful...slight frown...worry.

Haha, so if you're reading this now Luke, yes I was a good faker, a great faker even...and yes I faked it with you Every.Single.Time.

Edit - Re-reading the topic, maybe I didn't understand the question...
( diffy maybs, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 19:15, 3 replies)

I once faked..
Losing my child
so i could make some easy cash
it worked a treat as well
got rid of the husband i didnt want
got some nice new TV's for the house
Got a lot of donations that went towards a few tinny's
but it all fell apart when the autorities found out my child hadnt really been kidnapped
they realised it wasnt a child at all....
it was a MONNSTTTERRRRR !

yours sincerely
Karen Matthews
( Mr Nerdy-Speccy-FuckNuts Ouchy ouchy wa wa!, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 18:56, Reply)

Hard at work? Moi?
From Aug 2000 - Jun 2001 I was employed at Hull's favourite neighbourhood phone-company. The phone-book department to be accurate. I was taken on as "Digital Content Administrator" for a website they were planning which was basically a database of local clubs and organisations, a what's-on section and other such mediocrity. Bear in mind that this sort of website was still a groovy idea even though the gossamer-thin membrane of the dot-com bubble was beginning to fragment.

Still, I didn't mind. I was employed doing something with computers, for the princely wage of £9000 pa.

My time there was spent thus:

First 6 weeks or so:
Creating suitable keywords for each category in the yellow pages for the online version that was to be launched soon.

Next three weeks:
Collating all the leaflets, forms and information that the researchers had found about local clubs/organizations etc and trying to categorise them.

Then a week off work, during which time a pleasant middle-aged agency temp lady finished the job into half-dozen ring-binders.

Three weeks of trawling and wholesale theft of the Beehive section (local community stuff) of the local rag's website

Precious little more until Xmas..

After Xmas, my days comprised of:
Turning up for work, having a cup of tea while I read any emails.
Go upstairs, get the safe-key from someone's drawer. Open safe, remove data-tapes. Go in server room, swap backup tapes with that particular day's cassette. Put tapes back in safe.
Check server to see if it has locked up overnight which it must have done maybe 2-3 times a week (why they paid a small fortune for a bespoke system running on G3 power macs is beyond me)
Copying a text file of updated data into a folder on another power mac and then running some obscure applet that integrated that data into the database.
Running the stats program and emailing myself the log-file.
Go back downstairs, and enter stats info into Excel and create a pretty graph. Print it out and drop it on the bosses desk.
By which time it was about 10am. Have another drink. Spend the rest of the morning looking at work-friendly websites.
Go for lunch in the subsidised canteen.
Go back to desk, look at more websites and tinker with the Excel spreadsheet/graph to look busy at a casual glance.
Go home at 5pm.

For a couple of weeks, I had an old Macintosh on the desk and another redundant PC running Linux as part of my rather successful "I'm testing the site on various platforms" ruse.

For all the proper work I did in the job, I could've compressed it all down and be finished by maybe October at the most.

I am thinking of describing myself on my CV as IT Layabout/Charlatan.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 18:13, 3 replies)

Not looking forward to this.
In the next week or so, I shall be meeting up with what were my best friends in high school.

They stayed in that hell hole for sixth form, whereas I got out as soon as possible and went to a fantastic college, a fact they were not happy about.
They turn sulky and quiet every time I mention said college, so I've given up talking about it, any of the friends I have now, or my life without them in general.
On the other hand, all they want to talk about is the hellish high school, so I'm going to have to spend several hours pretending to give a baboons ass crack about said high school, purely for the sake of conversation.

The things I do for a friendship in a cardiac arrest.
I'm also going to have to pretend that the fact that they disapprove of everything I do - which they will make no attempt to conceal - (my boyfriend, the fact that I'm now wiccan, my modeling etc.) doesn't make me want to throttle them.

Don't get me wrong, they were brilliant friends, and I would like to keep in touch, but their new found attitude towards me makes it very hard.

Length? About four hours, depending on how long it takes before I snap.
(Applebite Uh! A cow!, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 17:21, 8 replies)

Sorry
but how do you do the text with the line through it as if it's a mistake?
apologies for me being a retard
(Freddles, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 17:19, 11 replies)

Short but sweet...
You know that bit in the wedding vows where you promise to “forsake all others”? The bit where you look lovingly into each others eyes, and tremble inwardly in anticipation of the lifetime of happiness, fulfilment and sex on tap that you have to look forward to? You say the words to each other, and really, REALLY mean it. This is it. This is the one. The one person I shall live the rest of my days with; the person who will be by my side as I get wrinklier, and saggier, and they won’t mind.

My ex-wife managed to convince me that she meant every word. For about seven years, anyway. Then I found out that she regarded it as an optional extra, akin to having indicators on a BMW.

Still, it’s not stopping me from doing all over again next year… and this time it’s for keeps. Yay!

Despite how this might sound, I’m not bitter about the experience. Well, not any more. I’ve got the better end of deal in retrospect.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 11 Jul 2008, 16:41, 5 replies)

Once
I made a post here, pretending it pertained to the QOTW
() do bears shit on the wooden pope?, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 16:41, Reply)

faking enjoyment of this holiday
I am currently stuck in a traffic jam on Norn Irn's 2-lane 'motorway' in my parent's camper van in which I am spending the next 4 days. With my parents. And their shitty little dogs. And much as I love my family, I live in a different country from them for a reason.

Tomorrow we'll hit the border and I'll no longer have Interweb access on my phone. My mum is trying to feed me egg and onion sandwiches, one of the dogs has just farted, my dad is giving me a running commentary on the roadsigns, I've reverted to the grunting communication techniques of a 15 year old and I've run out of Valium.

I envy Maddy.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 16:33, 8 replies)

getting out of class
One day, in my last year at school, I got it in to my head that I just did not want to be there that day. I don't think there was a specific reason, I just wanted to get out of class. I knew I wouldn't be able to get home early, since I got a bus to school and calling parents was not an option.

Nevertheless, I made myself sick. I didn't take anything, or do anything to myself physically, or even say anything. I psyched myself in to it. Within a few minutes my breathing became shallow, I started sweating, and I went so white that the teacher took one look at me and sent me to the sick room.

I did get out of classes for the rest of the day. Result!
( bnt what, me worry?, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 16:27, Reply)

I can't fake it
I grew up sharing a room with my sister. So, actually enjoying myself involves deep, meditative silence. Ergo, enjoying myself and NOT enjoying myself are, for the casual observer, rather similar experiences.
(Emily Bruce-Dickinson http://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 16:25, 1 reply)

A few years ago I worked for about 10 months in a sales office in Coventry...
All the time I was there I told everyone that I didn't like cheese.

Then one day while the manager (who, it has to be said, was a horrible woman) was out and I was really hungry I stole her cheese from the fridge and ate it. When she came back she understandably was pissed off that someone had stolen her cheese and gave everyone a hard time about it...

...except for me, because she knew I didn't like cheese \o/
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 16:05, 5 replies)

Actually...

I am a vegetarian, teetotal, sensitive 00’s man.

But I constantly fake not being one by chowing copious amounts of meat, getting arseholed on cheap wine and cider and perving over attractive women, treating them as nothing more than mere sex objects.

Sometimes I don’t know how I keep up the pretence…life is a daily struggle.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:54, 6 replies)

negotiation
with the other side:

lawyer one: i'd like to speak without prejudice if i may

lawyer two: shit shit that means he wants to talk about a settlement naturally you may

lawyer one: fuck now i have to make the offer, what did the dumb client say again? pursuant to clause 3(3)(x) your client covenanted to carry out repairs

lawyer two: shit he's getting technical and i haven't read the lease, where the hell is it... aha, section 18 cap!

lawyer one: oh god i can never remember the second limb of that what in the name of my giant pants is he ranting on about? section 18 of which act? i don't um think that applies here

lawyer two: shit, do i mean s18? better check... well, why don't you take your client's instructions and revert?

lawyer one: instructions? on what?? that i will. good day.

both: bill: £1,000 plus vat: without prejudice negotiations with landlord/tenant's representative...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:49, 17 replies)

.
Man and woman just had sex and man said ARRRH THAT WAS AWESOME in a sarcastic voice. Woman said: 'You hated that, FAKING GIT!'
(Paddy O'Dawes, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:49, 8 replies)

fake dyke
on a night out with friends, i was approached y a rather ugly gentleman, who offered to buy me a drink. not wanting to take his money(as i knew it wasn't going to get him anywhere), i politely declined.

for the next 2 hours, he persisted in his pursuit of me, asking me to dance and attempting to ply me with drinks. he just wouldn't take no for an answer.

finally, my patience wore out. i didn't have te heart to call him ugly, so i told him i was a lesbian, hoping that this would get rid of him.
"i don't believe you", he said.
i called my friend over and said "aren't i a lesbian?" all the while giving her frantic eye signals in the hope that she would play along.

she played along, alright.

"of course you are!" she said, then proceeded to put her arms around my neck and start kissing me!
clearly disgusted, my would-be suitor gave us a dirty look and walked away.
my plan had worked, but the rest of the night was very uncomfortable.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:46, 4 replies)

.
I was cast in a play, 'The Kingits'. This girl was cast as Fay, the daughter. She was Fay-Kingit.
(Paddy O'Dawes, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:39, 2 replies)

When avin a wank
If I prem ejac, i fake my gasm and go OHHHHHHHHHH YEAHHHH when it just felt like havin a piss. that is all.
(Paddy O'Dawes, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:37, 3 replies)

Faking It
I've never told this story to anyone. In compairson to other stories, I'm sure it's mild. When I was about 14 years old and in school, I was a rather lonely guy, not many friends. (Oh Boo Hoo for me) Anyway, I happened to have a teacher who had the last name as me. People were always asking me if we were related. Thrilled with the attention, I 'admitted' she was my aunt but it was a big secret because if people found out that she were my aunt, she couldn't teach at the school anymore. (WTF?) She must have been told by someone and felt bad because I swear she went along with it which wasn't very good in the long run because, like crack, I got addicted to the attention and had to take it up a level. So, first thing I did was say my mother was going to have a baby! Then it was two! She had twins! I was getting some good attention for that! Then people wanted to see photos, so I did the only sensible thing I could think of: I killed the characters off! Well, now that I'm older I realize that tragedy like that would have to be dealt with so people started contacting my family and asking the teacher about all the horrible things happening. So my House of Lies came tumbling down. Clearly, I needed some proffesional help but didn't get it. So I'm still as daff as ever.
(gsoncbear, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:23, 1 reply)

Notwombat
.
Notwombat was a mate from way back when the rocks were soft (early '80's) and looked as hard as nails. Typical Hells-Angel type biker - greasy jeans, scuffed leathers and a Levi cut-off as a waistcoat. He wasn't a tall bloke, about five foot eight, but he was almost as broad as was tall. Long, frizzy-curly hair and a ZZ-Top like beard.

Got the picture?

So a big crowd of us were down from Newcastle and raising hell in Manchester. We were wandering around the student area (Oxford Road) going from bar to bar quaffing copious amounts of ale and generally taking over any pub we went into. And then we ended up in a Halls Of Residence Bar. We were messing about, chatting up the ladies, playing pool and basically having a good time.

Then the call came to move on. Most of our crowd headed for the doors,and the next pub, leaving me, Notwombat and another bloke behind to finish our beers.

But something was amiss. While our full crew was in the bar, some rugger-buggers were foaming at the mouth of our invasion of their bar. They didn't want to kick up a fuss when they were seriously outnumbered but now all of our mob had left except the three of us in a table in the corner. Time to teach those hairy-arsed bikers a lesson.

So we were drinking at our table, chatting and laughing and enjoying ourselves when 6 of these heroes surrounded us.

"OK hardmen. You and us - outside - NOW!" grated one of them.

Bugger. My arse began to twitch. Two to one odds and they were all bigger than me.

Then Notwombat looked at them and smiled. He picked up his bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale put the neck in his mouth and bit down. The neck shattered and he spat the broken glass out through his bleeding lips and he pointed the jagged end towards the boys.

"OK. I'm ready. Let's do this" and stood up.

They ran like Gary Glitter spotting an Open Day in an infants school.

We left, unscathed.

Cheers.

Oh. Sorry. The faking it? Notwombat couldn't knock the skin off a rice pudding. He was the worst fighter in the world. He was regularly beaten up by his girlfriend who weighed about 6 stone and he was known to cry at Lassie films. His one and only claim to fame was his trick of biting the heads off beer bottles.
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:22, 5 replies)

Some cunt
has obviously faked the number plate of my car and is happily speeding around Staffordshire 80 miles from where I live meaning I am now having to correspond with the police to say that it wasn't my car and if they could possibly pretend to give a tiny rats ass that some bastard is breaking the law and probably driving without insurance and tax whilst I am getting speeding tickets it would be appreciated.

I have mentioned to them that to get from my work to the place of aforementioned incident in the time frame provided my Fiesta would have to be travelling at 240mph. Which it doesn't.

They are not being helpful.

I am getting angry.

I am now writing an angry letter.
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:21, 4 replies)

Thats Showbusiness
I entered a competition where the prize was to see the live performance of "Strictly Come Dancing" with none other than Bruce Forsythe.. basically me old mum loves it..and as I am being honest, I enjoy watching it too, but it made for a good cover that I was doing it all for her.

It was coming up to her 60th birthday, and I knew I would be in the good books for life if I managed to bag a couple of tickets to go and see her favourite show, and prayed that, as I hadn't won anything in my whole life..I was well overdue a "favour" from the big guy upstairs. *crossed fingers*

I waited nervously, until all of a sudden my mobile started ringing ! It was a lady representative for the BBC saying I had won 2 tickets to see the show live.. I almost shit myself ! I couldn't believe it ! I quickly called my old mum and told her the good news..and after lots of praise every day of what a wonderful son I was, the day soon came around to going to see the show.

I drove us both there, and I could see by her face that the excitement was more than my mum could bear! It gave me a lovely warm glow inside to see her so happy for a change, its been a while since I saw her smile like that, ever since dad died she hasn't been the same.

We were given the full VIP treatment, red carpet, champagne, and to top it all, because I had informed the producers that I knew how to Ballroom dance, as it was her 60th birthday, we were even allowed to dance on the same dancefloor that the celebrities would be filling later. And as I swept her around the floor, the glitterball was turned on and I could see a tear drop run down her cheek.

That wasn't the end of it ! I was told that Bruce Forsythe and head judge Len Goodman, and also Craig Revel Horwood would like to meet my mother in the dressing room.

Her jaw dropped ! So did mine.. I couldn't believe it !!

So off she went, and I sat there watching the preparations for the evening get under way, thinking to myself what a fabulous son I was..this definitely outweighs the time I bought her that cd she liked for her last birthday.

20 minutes went by, and over the tannoy they announced that the show was about to start in 45 minutes.. Suddenly I panicked.. was she lost? was she going to miss the best birthday present I would ever have given her? So I showed one of the technical guys my VIP pass and asked where I could find Mr.Forsythe's dressing room, then nervously made my way there.

I knocked on the door and walked in to see my mother on her knees in the middle of what can only be described as a celebrity bukake, with my dear old mum gobbing off Bruce while simultaneously, and expertly, two handed wanking the shafts of both Len Goodman and Craig Revel Horward as if her life depended on it.

Craig gritted his teeth and rolled his head to the side, eyes widening as his cock was teased to submission..saying in a pervy voice that mum had to 'earn her' 10 tonight. While Craig was getting his rocks massaged, Len stood like a Matador, primed and defiant as she pummelled his pork sword like a bull to a red flag, hungry for meat juice, she tightened her grip and used the rotating wrist action to show this formidable opponent who was in charge.. But years of practising the paso doble meant Len wasn't going to submit that easily ! All the while Bruce's saggy bum cheeks flapped back and forth as he chanted GOOD GAME GOOD GAME GOOD GAME.. his moustache twitching as he reached the point of no return..withdrawing and coating her face with his cheesy seed.

Once Bruce was 'broken', it wasn't long before Len and Craig erupted their hot spunk into the air, showering her in a seemingly endless stream of jizz, covering her hair and face as she licked her lips with joy.

I made my excuses and left.

It was not nice to see you to see you nice Mr.Forsythe.. and I would like to add that I faked it that night. I can't dance a single step.
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:18, 2 replies)

mate of mine (ex)
Had a mate called "Steve" and he was one of those people who lie all day long about everything. So far he has been a paratrooper, police officer and even a vicar! At school he would say his dad was head of Gillete razors in the US even though he lived in a council flat and he also said he got lots of game consoles even though he only had a 3DO!. Anywhoo the worst thing he did was try to pull women with this bollox. ok we all do it and add the odd "you look 18" to some old bag but telling someone you have a huge BMW parked at home and would you like to see it and i will drive you home in it in the morning was just crazy talk. I mean what would he have done if she let him take her back to his council flat??? Sodding loons.
(snarf81, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 15:06, Reply)

Outwards face
I faked quite a lot. I faked my personality. This caused some problems and some good stuff in that the fake became the reality.

An explanation. When I was a teenager, I was terminally insecure, shy and sexually obsessed. Just like a large majority of teenagers in fact. And then at the age of 17, I went to university. This changed a lot of things purely because I realised I had the chance for a completely fresh start. No-one there knew me. They didn't know the embarassing stuff about me, they didn't know who I was or what I was like. I could be the kind of person I always wanted to.

So I started to fake it. Probably not very convincingly of course, but I tried. I made myself out to be confident, outgoing and most of all amiable/likeable. I faked caring about people instead of considering them to be bastards. I started to drink alcohol a bit, to fit in more, as that's what the majority of people did. I met up with a series of very nice guys and solved that pesky virginity problem. In essence, I pretended to be the guy I wanted to be.

I kept this fake going for a long time.

It's eight years later. I'm twenty five, and finishing up a PhD. And... to a large degree, the fake has become the reality. I now drink alcohol because I like it. I don't just pretend to like people - I really do like them and care for them, especially my close friends. I like to believe that I'm amiable and get along well with people. I'm certainly not the guy I want to be yet, but I've gotten a lot closer. And I don't need to fake things any more, I'm happy enough with who I am now. The rest can go over time.

So am I faking it? Not any more.
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 14:50, 5 replies)

Pathetic...
I once faked an orgasm. This to cover up that I had already (prematurely) come.
I'm a man.
And I'm terrible in bed.
Honestly.
(eikind, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 14:49, 4 replies)

I once faked an orgasm with myself
I was drunk, and getting rather bored with the whole masturbation thing. So I faked.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 14:47, 3 replies)

Even more fakery...
I was once fooling around with a ladyfriend of mine, and she is a sex-minx. The more the better. This story isn't about her faking things, it's me.

Getting down to business, and all is going well. For some reason though, something is putting me off. Every time I start to get close, it subsides. Frustrating? Hell Yes. There was no release from this torment, every time I get close to the end, something starts putting me off. I don't know what it was, maybe something making a noise or the wind, I really don't know.

Long story short, after 4 hours, I faked it just to stop my cock from disintergrating. She thought I was excellent, "such stamina" and suchlike.

Myself, I'd have rather finished up in usual time and enjoyed it all a lot more than I did.

Length? 4 hours of it, and not a complaint.
(Stephen5555 is posting on, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 14:43, Reply)

I'm a fake
It took Alexander O'Neil to point out to me I was a fake. Apparently I couldn't conceal it, and he could just feel it: coz in my mind it was lying season.
To be fair though, I called him Clyde when the neame he goes by is Alex.
Yes.
(Necroflange, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 14:34, 1 reply)

Just friends
"Of course I'm not hoping it'll happen again"

"It wasn't love, I know that"

"No, I don't have any feelings for you any more"

"Yeah, I'm really happy with that girl"

"I don't mind listening to you complain about how bad your boyfriend is"

Faking it with her, lying to myself
(ShiftyBastard won the World Cup on World Soccer Champs 2010!, Fri 11 Jul 2008, 14:25, 5 replies)