bin dun?
I went to Portugal with my wife and kids.........

you know the rest.......
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 15:39, 2 replies)

Johnny
When I first started uni, one of my friends was in the same flat as this guy Johnny (who, incidently, may lurk on these boards). Now, being young naive freshers, we made friends with Johhny, simply because he was there, and he seemed a nice enough guy. Unfortunately, it soon dawned on us that he was a total bullshitter, extruding such gems as "You know what the secret ingredient of the McChicken sandwich is? Mayonaise!" or "The nintendo DS is a test console for their next project". His bedroom also smelled like satan's farts.

Anyways, Johnny told us that his uncle owned a recording studio. Apparently, snoop-dog had turned up desperately wanting to record something and offered a massive amount of cash, but Johnny's uncle, being the cool guy that he is, told snoop dog to fuck off.

Of course we knew Johnny was a bullshitter by this point, and knew that the story was made up, but why make up a story as shit as that?
(chewbaccadefense, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 15:20, 1 reply)

the 30 year lie
Back in the mid 70's I got a "pong" game. The original slider paddle plug into your telly Pong game.

I was well chuffed, it was a pressie off an Uncle who was doing rather well for himself at the time in the electronics world

Within 2 weeks, all my little friends were convinced that my Uncle was the "boffin" who had invented it which is why I had one pretty much before anybody knew they existed. (Not true at all it was simply as he worked in electronics, he was up on this kind of thing and bought a couple when they first came out)

The sad thing about this whopper of a lie is not the lie itself, but the fact that at least one of my old childhood freinds still believes it !!!

I bumped into him a couple of years ago and he asked if my "Boffin" Uncle had moved on into playstations and could he do a good deal on something for his kids!
( RadG Drinking Mojitos in the sun, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 14:49, Reply)

My Papa...
Used to tell us of the time the Indians (I'm assuming the Native American type) shot him in the neck with a poison arrow. And that's why he had a little dot on his neck.

He also used to show us the bowls of earth he was growing potatoes in, in his living room.

Only a few years back that I was pondering this and twigged. There were no potatoes!

But why he had massive gold fish bowls of earth in his living room I shall never fathom.
( vix0r was not Matthew on, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 14:22, Reply)

Shit sorry guys.
I was just about to post this AMAZING story about my ex mistress, the stunning missus Angelina Jolie, about how she was always lying about stuff to me when we were together, but suddenly some ninja's leapt through my window and flying kicked my PC into pieces! Obviously they were sent by that slut Angelina to protect her lovely public image.

Anyways this got me pretty riled I'll tell you, so I went 'Way of the Kung-Fu Frog' on their arse (which I learned from Chuck Norris, hes actually a really sound guy, has a sea food allergy though), oh sorry, im going of on one. Anyways so these ninja's were lying around groaning in the aftermath, I interrogated one of the black pyjama'd bastards as to were Angelina was so I could exact my revenge.

So it turns out she was hiding in Africa, mid procurement of another orphaned child (did I mention these kids are actually for her diamond slave mines in South Yorkshire?) so I flew over there in my private plane and parachute dropped into her hideout with military precision, in the surprise I punched one guard unconscious and cleaved the lasts head of with my left hand (It was a bit messy, I'm right handed usually)

"You bastard!" Angelina yelled at me and leapt at me with a scimitar and battle commenced, after an exhausting 1 hour battle we were both pretty spent, but I had her and was about to dismember the blowjob lipped bitch when suddenly she leaped to the side and pressed a button, were-upon her robot battle suit emerged from the grounds, she leapt into it and was about to stomp me, and believe me I was shitting myself in fear by this point, I was pretty done when suddenly I hear the sweet sound of "AUTOBOTS, TRANSFORM!" to my right, and no other than my old class mate Optimus Prime appears and skull fucks her battle suit with her in it until its merely a smoking pile of rubble, Angelina seems to have escaped like, oh well.

Anyways, I'll get typing the original story up on this PC in Optimus's left arse cheek. I tell a lie, its a Mac. Whoops!
(Guilt wants to get in your moist confines, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 14:02, Reply)

the bedshitter
so a quick glance on wikipedia tells me that:

... "Pathological liars often actually convince themselves that they are telling the truth... A compulsive liar will resort to telling lies, regardless of the situation" ...

i have come across both, so to speak, but if those are the categories then the bedshitter was addicted to compulsive lying. to go with his other pleasant habits of extreme pikiness, violence and shitting the bed.

he would lie about the most pointless of things.

me: did you eat/drink/snort all that whilst i was asleep?

him: no.

me: but it's all gone!

him: it wasn't me.

me: but it's 4am. there's noone else here. it must have been you.

him: i didn't take it all.

me: but... but... it's all gone. and the wrapper is on the top of the bin (he didn't believe in emptying bins).

him: IT WASN'T ME!

or

me: so i hear your korean ex gf is coming to stay for a fortnight

him: no she isn't

me: well, you've told everyone in the corporate team

him: why do you never ever believe a word i say? for the millionth time, stop going on about her, i'm never going to see her again

me: but i've got an email in my hand that you wrote to your colleagues telling them

him: i didn't send that

or

me: this skirt is black

him: no it's white

and so on. it was bizarre the way he had this compulsion to lie about every single tiny little thing, no matter how pointless. which is quite different to making up a fantasy life i think, but equally weird to those of us who just always tell the bloody truth!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 11:02, 5 replies)

what happens down under stays down under
As a wee nipper of roughly 8 years of age I emigrated to australia for 6 months with my mum leaving our home, family & friends behind.

My best friend who we shall call Jay for tis his name went to a different primary school to me and prior to my departure his mother had commented to me how excited he had been about my trip and how he'd been telling his school friends all about it.

Fast forward 3 years and let me set the scene, its the first day of secondary school and there's lots of scary new people to talk to so you have an awful lot of 'hi my name is happysnapper what's your name?' going on about the place.

So imagine my suprise when in the middle of one such conversation when my newfound chum adopts a puzzled look on his face and says 'wait, happysnapper? That can't be right you're dead'

Turns out my BEST mate had enjoyed telling everyone about my antipodean exploits so much he went on to tell them I had been eaten by a shark whilst swimming off the great barrier reef and apparently was inconsolable for weeks after.

Can't wait till he gets married cos that ones going in the best man speech.

Length? Up to about 30 feet if it was a great white.
( HatBeard, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 7:05, 1 reply)

old ray
When i first started my current job there was old ray .A usless old fart at best .
No matter what you did or said he had been there and done that 20 years ago. He would often say things just to be part of the conversation

To be fair i dont think it was all lies i have the feeling that he genuinly did serve in vietnam and seen a few things there. Eventually we had to let him go mainly down to his ill health .

A couple of weeks after he finished up we invited him round one friday night to have a couple of beers with us . Various topics were discussed and ray was in full flight bending our ears.

He told us how in the 70s he was a prision guard. Thats plausible for an ex soldier. Then we heard all about the jailhouse fights etc .
But the best one was the diy prision tattoos . It seems there was on convict called "leonardo" because he did tattoos for all the others . Apparently he was a well known serial killer.( Not many serial killers in 1960s / 70s nz if any) Ray forgot that leonardo was the nickname and said " What was his surname iv forgotten ?"

The name Dicaprio was submitted by a bored colleague. " Thats it leonardo Dicaprio thats him . I'll never forget him vicious he was!"

So there you have it Leonardo Dicaprio not the film star but vicious 1960s New Zealand serial killer. How we kept straight faces i will never know.



Legnth ??? 4 years and still laughing hard about it
(welgar, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 6:20, Reply)

Max
wanked himself off in a lecture.

"when you get that feeling"

sure you did mate
(bacneman, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 6:04, 1 reply)

Everyone knows Bonzer Bob only listens to progressive trance...

(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 5:49, Reply)

The parrot of wisdom
My brother lies pathologically. When I was six he told me, quite conversationally, that Napoleon kept one hand inside his lapel because he had The Parrot of Wisdom in his jacket, and he would periodically take it out when he needed advice.

He also said that the parrot outlived Napoleon by 10 years.

I believed this till I was nine.
(mudskipper, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 5:13, Reply)

I'm not a liar, but no one ever believes me
I have three nipples: two normal-sized and placed ones, and a small one below the left that looks like a birthmark. But it's not though, it has a little bump and gets hard when it's cold.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 5:04, 5 replies)

Bi-lingual? Tri-lingual? Quad-lingual? Keep trying...
My dad never had any time for religion. But he still didn't like being rude when various god-botherers stopped bothering their (g/G)od and came bothering him instead. Before WW2, he'd been in the Egyptian police, so he spoke Arabic like a native. He'd been in France and Germany and spoke both those languages pretty well too. He'd picked up bits and pieces in his travels, some Hindi in India and god-knows what in Burma, and amongst the Gurkhas (Nepalese/Gurkhali). Perhaps not good enough to make dinner-party conversation about politics, but enough to get by on a daily basis and command a troop of Gurkhas. He also 'spoke' some very basic sign language, and knew the British sign alphabet.

So one day there's a knock at the door, and when he answers it, there's two guys there, who immediately kick off in american accents, so I reckon they had to be Mormons. My dad stands there for a few seconds, then says in French: "I'm sorry, I don't speak any English." Well, Mormon no.1 looks at him, and starts struggling to reply in halting schoolboy French.

"Oh dear," says my dad in fluent German, "I'm sorry, I don't speak French either.". Mormon 2 starts in with some German (got to give 'em credit, the poor sods were trying real hard to save his irredeemable ass).

"No, sorry," says my dad in flawless Arabic, "German's no good either. Maybe you should try another house?" At which point the god-botherers spot me behind my dad in the hallway. "Excuse me, sonny, but do you speak English? We're trying to talk to your dad about Jesus.".

Dad turns, sees me, and starts signing to me. "No, no," he says, in what he later assured me was Hindi, "the boy's deaf and dumb - can't hear a word you're saying. - not right in the head, the poor lamb." Meanwhile, I've heard the J-word, so I've sussed what's going on and am keeping quiet.

At this point, the guys figure out they're not getting a straight answer, and it's time to cut their losses. "We'll be going now. Sorry to have bothered you." they say in that way people do when they're talking to the elderly and insane.

They'd turned away by this point, so I couldn't actually see their faces when my dad closed the door, saying "Not at all, old chap, good day to you!" in his best BBC english accent, but damn I'd have paid serious money to have done so.
(Leo Sasquatch hates being the grown-up, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 2:35, 1 reply)

psychopathological
So, he gave me a pair of earrings to apologise for having been an arse. They were massive, tasteless cubic zirconia studs in the standard cheap plastic Elizabeth Duke box. Well, it was the 90s, we were teenagers, we weren't what you'd call affluent, so fair enough.

He tried to tell me they were diamonds. He could afford them because he was secretly a top DJ for Helter Skelter and the suchlike, but I mustn't mention that in front of his father, because his father didn't like him doing it ever since he'd become embroiled in a shoot-out with a drugs gang... I can't remember the rest. When I gently suggested in the most non-accusatory manner I could, that the earrings weren't diamonds (and they really, obviously weren't, backstory aside), he kicked off. Violently.

The following day I found the Argos receipt for £4.99 cubic zirconia studs lying on his bed. I handed the receipt to him and queried it.
"I got them for my mum"
"oh, right, okay, let's have a look. Do you want a hand with wrapping them?"
"I've already given them to her" and then he kicked off. Violently.

As he was walking me home, chance of chances, we bumped into his mum. I asked if she'd liked her earrings. She gave me a polite but confused look. He made an effort at a save for his mum - "the ones I got you last year, or was it the year before?" - and then, when we'd said goodbye to her and walked on a bit, he kicked off. Not violently, but aggressively and loudly.

The next couple of days were uncomfortable, he was bragging to anyone who would listen that he had bought me diamonds and getting upset that I wasn't wearing them and joining in with the showing-off. Mum suggested that I should say we'd had them valued for insurance purposes and that they were fakes, and while I was in no way accusing him of a lie, I had been correct that they weren't diamonds. I gave this a try. He kicked off. Violently. Thankfully, he also took the earrings, so I didn't have to wear them while pretending they were spectacular diamonds, and end up tagging myself with the Massive Bullshit label.

To this day, I'm not sure if all the anger and violence was (1) frustration at being caught out in a lie and recognised as a bullshitting teenager rather than the cool and dangerous DJ he wanted to be, or (2) frustration because he really believed the stuff he was coming out with and couldn't understand why I would keep challenging it.
( Batsgirl, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 1:59, Reply)

Spoke to a customer once....
..this old lady who lived in Swansea.
"Sorry luv, but your router is to blame. Contact the manufacturer and they will get it sorted for you." says I.
"No it isn't. My son's friend from next door has looked at this, and he says it's not my routers fault."
"Well we've proved it works without the router, what did your son's friend do?"
"I don't know, but he's very high up with the Microsoft" says she.
"Of course, I forgot Bill Gates relocated Microsoft to the Gower, how twattish of me" thinks I. I do think your next door neighbour might be bordering on the lines of being "a bit of a lying cunty".

The one thing anyone in IT dredd to hear is "Well my friend is a dab hand at these and he says everything looks ok", because 9 times out of 10 the friend aint got a clue and just blatantly bullshitted a "Well it looks ok..." comment.

So here's to the "technical friend", the mythical status donned to people who aint got a clue, but like to blame the network as "solitaire runs like a dream, can't be your computer luv". Bunch of lying clueless time-wasting wank-offs, the lorra them.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 1:11, 3 replies)

Boss
My Boss is a chronic liar and story teller. I am a writer by trade but even I cannot spin such whoppers as he. One day he told me he fell off a motorbike: 'He could feel himself falling, it seemed to last for ever, he heard a screech and landed just under the bumper of a car narrowly ecaping injury. Later on in the same working year he told me he had failed his motorbike test and hence deicded to driv a car instead. I swear whatever story you have he will better, if you tied your shoes, he would do a double knot!
(Manontheedge Are you MANontheEDGE-ing Ok?, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 23:52, Reply)

Some Idiot
In my High School ICT class, insisted that his dad was the lead coder on Notepad. and that he was adding millions of functions to it every day.

Stupid.
(annhialus hasn't had an accident since, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 23:27, 1 reply)

Post Office
I used to work at a fantastic local pub in a quiet street in suburban London. It was about five minutes away from anything anyone could possibly want; shopping centre, local business, office, so it's evenings were packed and the pub made good money, but was still a locals establishment with a great stock of characters.

The best of them was it's own Manager. He would lie about anything, since his job was to sit, drink and entertain anyone with his enormous collection of enormous stories.

Because some of his stories were credible, Phil Taylor had challenged him to a game of darts - I've seen pictures, celebs from Eastenders have been regulars in the pub quiz - my eyes have seen it, it gave him the upper hand in the game of lying.

I worked there for about a year and a half or so, pretty much constantly. I'd work a couple of nights a week, as well as opening up during the days. Over that time I learnt the unspoken rule.

If he said he was going to the Post Office, that meant he was off to shag his bird and we should cover for him when the wife came home. I don't know whether he expected us to tell his wife that exact reason, because he would disappear for hours, sometimes out for the whole day. We joked with the punters, who said there must have been a pub in Newcastle called 'the Post Office'. Sometimes he'd mix up the routine and say the Dry Cleaners instead, but quickly dropped it when he came back empty handed.

I remember my favourite night at that pub. The boss had disappeared at lunch, I finished early, stayed there drinking, and had a couple after hours with the other staff. We were just finishing the last inches when Boss came staggering through the door, in boxers with his trousers draped over his arm, cigar to top it off.

There was a pause, he looked at us slightly confused, his brain taking its time processing the situation. Finally he shrugged and muttered the magic words "Post Office."
(MrTeapot hasn't played with himself since, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 23:01, Reply)

Not so much one lie as a lifetime's worth
As a former nightclub doorman the amount of extra marrital affairs that my knuckledragging comrades used to partake in was quite stunning. However the king of this particular pastime was B**. he had a wife whom he had been with for a good few years, he also had a long term girlfriend of whom his wife was unaware. B** managed to get said girlfriend well and truly up the duff. He did the right thing, he bit the bullet and told his wife, she shouted, a lot, but eventually she forgave him on the understanding that he keep his plonker in his pants when at hers visiting the child. He failed to heed this warning and about twelve months later was faced with telling his wife he was going to be a father again with the same woman.

I laughed so hard when he told me my staff beer came out my nose.

Her reaction has been akin to Nagasaki circa 1945.
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 20:34, 1 reply)

Another story featuring the guy who inspired this QOTW for me
After a night out, me and my flatmates decided to chill, drink more beer and watch music video channels all night. The laughs and alcohol are flowing, and we're just taking the piss out of everything.

Suddenly, a new song appears on the TV. It's Paulo Nutini's "New Shoes". We watch at the hideous lyrics, and begin to take the piss out of it, knowing full well it's a retarded song. We make fun of the lyrics and started making our own ones up. My attempt went something like "# Yay, I've got new shoes... Got them from Primark.. They're a size 12..."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Pathological Lie Boy splurts out "Yeah, my shoes are a size 13"

Me and my mates look at him. If you've been reading all the stories I've posted, you can tell we're getting pissed off at him, and we just start breaking out in laughter. This lasts a good half an hour before he finally fucks off to bed.

We call him LieMan, as it rhymes with his real name.

Length? He was actually a Size 9.
(__, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 20:09, 2 replies)

My last boss
A great guy, but he couldn't help but bend and break the truth. He used to work in computing and had his whole family believeing they were running "beta versions" of loads of software, something I also believed before one of my colleagues told me the truth. See a lot of this was about stuff that no one really has much reason to make up. As my employment continued I learned how to pick out the crap from the truth, mostly when he couldn't back anything up. However, it wasn't always that hard to figure out when lies included "I used to know Alan Sugar on a personal level", "Bill Gates used to personally take my calls" and my personal favourite: "I have two arseholes"
( Styxx hates when people talk in the third person, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 19:40, 3 replies)

Back in the mists of time...
...I used to live with my folks on a particularly rough council estate in Sheffield. It wasn't dangerous, there weren't any guns, rapings or murders, but we were all poor and there was plenty of thieving as a result.

At school, there was no such thing as fashion - most of us got our clothes from the Education Department, and as result all had 'Eddy jackets' (kind of like them black Technics. jackets from years back, but bright blue, with red trim), beige cords, the heaviest footwear known to man, underpants made of hessian, that kind of thing. Some of the pics you see of us all at the time are hilarious because the clothes are shocking, and we've all got wonky haircuts (if it's cut at all) because our mums saved money on sending us to the barbers.

Anyway, despite the whole school populace being more skint than a Nambian goat-herder, there were always some cracking tale-spinners around, who seemed to be practically swimming in money despite the fact they lived in shitty area of a shitty city with shitty prospects:

Like Danny, whose dad owned a Martial Arts centre next door, and had actually sparred with Bruce Lee. Despite the fact that Danny lived in middle of a terrace and Dad was a tubby bitch.

Or Sid, who upon seeing a lucky soul with the first pair of Nike Air Jordans on our estate claimed that his dad had just got a job as a sportswear importer and as such Sid would be getting the latest gear off the boat from the US. Did we see his promised Air 180s? The Puma Disc? Reebok Blacktops? No, we didn't. Like the rest of us Sid got his shoes from Jonathan James because his family was skint and dad was unemployed. His attempt to claim that his Ricochet (remember them) pumps were re-branded Adidas was met with more scorn than a misguided Sudanese teddy-bear renaming competition.

Then there was Adrian, whose dad worked for MI5 and was living on the estate on long-term undercover work, had access to all sorts of government secrets and high-tech gadgetry but decided to settle down, leave the high-life behind, and stay in the shithole we resided in because he liked it so much.

Liam, who never got involved in waterfights because he was 'allergic to water' and was off to America in the summer for specialist treatment, costing thousands of dollars. Of course we weren't meant to know this, and he only told his schoolfriends because 'he trusted us'...

Simon, who had something called a 'satlink' (this was the late 80's, the internet was something that sounded like it would have featured on Doctor Who for most of us Brits back then) that allowed his ZX Spectrum to talk to people in America.

Oh, and then there was David. Who had... a graphite bike, a PC (A PC! IN DARK AGES POST-STEELWORKS-AND-PITS-CLOSURE SHEFFIELD!!!), a scaled down, driveable electric motor car, his dad was good friends with Jimmy White, used to be a roadie for Def Leppard and was not a talent scout for a major record label. Oh yes.

Do you know the was was most galling about this? I believed most of them, because I was impressionable and gullible. And very bad at telling lies myself.
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 19:05, 1 reply)

A flatmate during my first year as an undergrad...
...would always tell us stories of how he was born just outside of Madrid and grew up with the Spanish born lads that (at the time) played for Real Madrid. He expected us to believe all of the following...

- He had trained with the Real Madrid first team, being chosen to man mark Zinedine Zidane. Despite being 23stone and terrible at football.
- He knew the goalkeeper Casillas very well and would often stay at his house when he went to Madrid.
- He was being flown out to Madrid for the weekend by Victoria Beckham, whom he had met after a game in the players lounge, for the most important game of the season.

We stopped believing any of his stories after we discovered his travel arrangements for that weekend started off with a train ride to Morpeth, where his Mum lived.






Length? I'm not sure how long the train ride was sorry, but his excuse was that none of his Real Madrid friends knew where Newcastle Upon Tyne was in the UK, they only knew Morpeth where he had moved to after Madrid, and the limo to the airport had to be sent there instead.
( Mister B is eating an icanhazcheezburger with lmaonaise, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 18:58, Reply)

Just remembered more
When I was young I was a massive fan of Eminem (grown out of that kind of thing now though luckily).
I told my classmates that i'd gone to see him live and everything, I don't know why they believed me, I was only ten.

Also, when I first met one of my friends on the first day of school, I took the opportunity to make her believe as many things as possible, like I had a big Amazon parrot, and that I was adopted but my adoptive Mother was actually my sister, and other suck bollocks.

I did come clean straight away though.
( Lollylegs lite, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 18:58, Reply)

Pony Girl
My boyfriend and his best mate managed to convince the mate's little sister, aboout 8 at the time, that when she reached the grand old age of 10 she would have the opportunity to choose whether she wished to spend her remaining years as a human or a horse.

She couldn't wait to become a horse, and was devastated when she remained human and realised that you should never trust an elder sibling, as they are all bastards.
(clumsyeloquence is a girl, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 18:53, 3 replies)

Farting in a sleeping bag
At school camp when we were about 10 one of the lads was reduced to tears when someone told him that if he farted in his sleeping bag during the night it condensed into sh!t. The poor kid was terrified about what state he'd wake up in in the morning
(twink, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 18:34, 1 reply)

not impressive
My friend's boyfriend failed to mention he had a wife and child for quite a while.

Not only this

...the child was not with his wife.
(ladyintheradiator, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 18:26, Reply)

oh the hilarity
Girl claimed that she and one my friends were going out. I hadn't spoke to said friend in a while but was still dubious. Was even more dubious about filthy text from my friend to her.

Why did I have a good reason to be dubious?

Well, for a start, my friend didn't own a mobile...
(ladyintheradiator, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 18:12, Reply)

Craigy 'Coonta' Somerville
Oh yes, yes indeed, Craigy 'Coonta' Somerville was a special guy and no mistake. Born after a Philipino sailor had rogered his mum, who was a thin white Scottish lady. The sailor sailed off and a kindly local guy took her and him under his wing. The guy commissions a rather lovely detached replete with house wide balconies and stunning views, and then before it was built, they all disappear off to America. How much of the America thing is true, is anybodies idea, but they did go away somewhere.

Fast forward 8 years or so and Craigy suddenly re-appears. No-one really knew him before he left or could hardly remember who he was. he had siblings who were all completely white, while craigy had this non too unpleasant olive brown complexion. Very quickly he was nicknamed Coonta, he didnt seem to mind this at al, but his parents would take offence. Sometimes Coonta would be expanded to Coon-tash, or Lambourghini depending on the mood it took us.

Dont get me wrong he was never ridiculed for his skin colour or beaten up or anything other than the nickname, which after a while just seemed completely normal. The thing was he lied like a cunt, for whatever reason, for no reason even. Even in face of being completely rumbled he still bravely carried on. These included...

*His dad had a yacht on Loch Lomond, but it got burnt out, yesterday.

*He had 2 quad bikes in his cellar but his dad had the key and wouldn't be back for ages.

*His dad could tell if a bottle of vodka had been watered down just by looking at it

*He was getting a £10k denon hi fi delivered and could i come down and help him set it up. Went down, nothing..not even an explanation

*His mum and dad went out to work every morning at 7am not to come back till 5. He didn't go to school for 4 years. This is true as we would all skidge at his house. He even answered the door to a truant officed and pretended to be his own brother and that 'Craig' had gone to live in England (true, i was there)

*Pretended his mum and dad were going to Bristol to a wedding and we could go down there and take shrooms. Arrived with shrooms to be greeted by his mum, in her fucking dressing gown, going nowhere.

*On leaving my house one time i gave him my rented copy of T2 and asked him to hand it back as he was passing the video shop. 2 weeks later i get a demand for £20 as viddy was not returned. i call him and tell him to take the fucking thing back, he says he's on it and he just forgot. 2 weeks later i get another letter, still not been taken back. Phoned him again, getting very angry. He takes it back, there and then. Twat.

*A pocket rips on his leather jacket on the thursday, on friday he appears with a 'brand new' leather jacket. We check it over and ask him if he has seen the sewn up pocket, just like the rip from yesterday, and all the worn in marks that were the day before etc. He lies and lies and lies, unable to admit it. In fact probably believing it himself.

*A ring his mum just got for him cost £1500, apart from the fact the receipt for £60 was on the table in front of us. Ah, but that was for a different ring. Of course....

Honest to god, my mind is a bit hazy, but he was relentless, to the point you could not believe ANYTHING he said. Very unfortunate character, but likeable, a weird combination.

Another twat i had a run in with ran this Aphex twin fan site and on his forum he claimed that RDJ had called him up, but on receipt of the call he 'rumbled' it as a hoax. I commented that he must have been 'wanking like fuck' when he got the call at first, friendly like. He then goes total apeshit at me, claiming i was taking the piss and all that and that the whole incident really done his head in. This is all taking place on a chat board with dozens of other folks. The argument blunders on for a while, then he admits there was NO call at all, not even a fake one!!! What the fuck was he on, to get annoyed at something that didn't even happen. What a turkey.


All liars are cunts.
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Sat 1 Dec 2007, 18:12, 1 reply)