almost 20 years ago
When transformers were having their heyday I had a mate who had the most in our cirlce of friends, this put him on a pedastal of cool but that wasn;t enough for him. He also claimed he had Unicron in his loft but his parents wouldn't let him play with it as it was too expensive (Special American import etc) He claimed that in Planet form it was about 1/2 meter tall.

The nights I spent fantasising over how it must be the coolest toy in the entire world are countless.

Age ruins childhood dreams :(
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 12:46, 3 replies)

Kenneth Kelly
Kenneth was a kid at school. He had the distinction of being Scottish, which gave him the opportunity to spin a number of yarns. Among them: his dad drank a whole bottle of Glenmorangie every morning for breakfast, and his family were descended directly from Braveheart and Highlander. If we didn't believe him, he would get his clan on us. (They were the most bloodthirsty of all Scottish clans - so lethal that they had mostly killed each other when there was no-one else around to kill. Matthew Kelly was from the same clan)

Being a descendant of sword-wielding immortals, Kenny was naturally an expert with the claymore. He promised he would cut our heads off with it... if it wasn't too valuable to remove from the armour-plated safe in his bedroom. And if the Kurgan wasn't trying to get it.

Kenny was also a bit of computer whizz. He had apparently written a programme for his Casio calculator, turning it into a games console with mainframe-like power. But he wouldn't let us play any games on it or hack into Strategic Air Command and start World War Three because the battery seemed to be permanently dead. Must have been
the 1000 gig of memory he'd built into it.

These facts alone were enough to make the average classmate jealous, but Kenny had also had sexual relations with a number of famous actresses. it seems they hadn't been put of by a pimply short-arse ginger tartan windbag - because his cock was huge. If it appeared to be a tiny white maggot in the showers after football, that was because the water was cold.

Last I heard, someone saw him in central Sheffield, holding a bottle of Special Brew aloft and shouting "FREEEDOM!"
(frankspencer, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 12:20, 3 replies)

One particular unpleasant arse
I knew claimed that he saw a bus topple on its side once. His surname was such, that instead of his usual Ball, he was rechristened Ballshit due to his pathological lying.

Another one, back in 1998, on my ICT course at college, claimed he had a Pentium III, by splicing the then new Pentium II and an original Pentium together. Suffice to say, he was on the course less than a month.

I also worked with quite an unpleasant little scrote who claimed to have been the drummer for the Spice Girls big gig in Istanbul in the late 90s... But when faced with the evidence of a video not featuring him on the drums, suddenly changed his tune to only drumming on the rehearsals...
(plkrtn, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 12:06, Reply)

yeah...right.
guy i used to work with was a complete and utter bullshitter,
a couple of claims:

he can kick a ball harder and further than most premiership football players but prefered to work in a super market because 'he dident need the money'

his penis could shame a horse turns out one of our female coulleges had slept with him and she said a baby is hung better,

he had a ps3 three months before its release in the uk (probable but possably a jap unit?)


he was the king of a small island in south america, (i dont think even HE belived that )

these loads more but i cant think of any that would be worthy of adding
(tweedleDUMB Giving Up Smoking, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 12:06, Reply)

I once knew a guy
who claimed he had an exciting career in cinema news, whereas in reality he was a cube-bound grunt in a computer company.

He was a Pathé Logica liar.
(><(((">, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 10:28, 1 reply)

H4XX0R
Ex-boss a long time ago claimed:

- to have written most of the games for the Spectrum
- to have written all the comms routines in the Psion organiser
- to have hacked NASA (at age 11)
- to be working with the police on a secret anti-paedophile unit
- to have been a consultant for MCI, AT&T,

In actuality he was a complete Billy Liar with little or no business or social skills, which explains the demise of nearly all his financial ventures.

Sadly he now lectures on computers and the law in a major UK university, so there's obviously a market for bullshit there.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 10:13, 3 replies)

Elvis
My mate is adamant that his aunty went to school with Elvis. Honest to god, he even offered to show us her school picture.

He never did show us that picture.
(tedalaki - Like Purple Aki but better, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 10:04, Reply)

In my days as a student, living in halls
in the same corridor as me was one particularly smelly chap named Neil. He was the stinkiest person I have ever had the misfortune to come into contact with. I'd rather stick my nose up my own arse the morning after eating a vindaloo than stand next to him. You could smell the rancid waft in the corridor outside his room, with the door shut.

He claimed to have no sense of smell.

Now, this is almost a plausible explanation, except for the fact that we used to make it obvious that he was a smelly bastard. Had it been me in that situation, I think I'd have been going overboard with the deodorant just in case.

Therefore he was a stinking liar.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 9:30, 1 reply)

Re: Software Courses below




The course I attended had just such a bullshitter - Sean. Only, in his case he was barely out of school yet claimed to have been at the forefront of every major step forward in computing over the previous ten years.

He claimed to be currently running the bar in a golf club every night as a mitigating circumstance as to why his coursework was so poor. One of our fellow attendees' uncle was a member at said club - Sean was a weekend pot boy there and a piss-poor one at that.

He claimed he was living in a swanky new apartment complex - the reality was a halfway house cum dole hostel cum no questions asked B&B where you paid for your room by the day and had to remove all your possessions every morning. So his clapped out Toyota Starlet was his real home as that's where all his stuff mostly stayed.

While we were at lunch every day we had to do everything short of encasing our PCs in concrete to stop Sean interfering with them. Of course he thought he was doing us a favour by "Making them perform better". Although I doubt, erasing system files, downloading viruses and covering the keyboards in spilled lemonade and fragments of crisps counted as 'better'.

Then there was the day he claimed to have downloaded the latest Star War movie, before it had even been released in Europe, from a warez site. He gathered us all round his desk to show off his proud acquisition - it turned out to be the official trailer clip - the eejit had got it from some other site thinking it was the entire film. He figured it only being a small size file meant there was 'super, super compression' involved.

Eventually, at the end of the course we did a series of interviews with several interested companies. Every one of us got a job out of it except, well no prizes for guessing - Sean. In fact, one of the interviewers took our instructor aside and asked him "That fellow Sean. You just put him in as a joke didn't you?" Apparently, whatever isometrics were used to evaluate our abilities - Sean came dead last in the "What would happen if you sat your 89 year old granny in front of a computer and she'd never seen one before in her life" grade.

The course ended and we went our separate ways. We stayed in touch via email and planned to meet up at Christmas. I never heard from Sean but heard that he was bombarding the two most attractive women in the course with a flood of emails claiming to be running an international software company.

We all met up in a pub at Christmas and had a great old time. Sean appeared later and, despite looking (and smelling) like he'd been living in a ditch, claimed he was well on his way to his first million. Surprisingly, for him, he was very cagey about what exactly he was up to and wouldn't give anything away. He said he didn't want his business plan to be too widely known by his competitors so he wasn't saying anything.

A few months later and one of the girls mailed the rest of us. Sean had been arrested as part of a fraud operation. He was involved with some scam artist who fleeced companies out of money that they'd given him to install a computer system. Sean was the 'technical expert' - we could well believe that as he could spout technical jargon all day without tiring. Sean was let go as it was quite clear that he was duped by the fraudster just as much as the fleeced companies were.

I met him briefly a few years after that. You'd think that being arrested would have knocked some sense into his bullshitting head but no. Still looking (and smelling) like he slept in a ditch, he claimed he was running a call centre instead of (as I assumed) merely working there.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 9:24, Reply)

Lying
I invented it in the early 70's, thought it may be useful, was about to do a deal with Bill Gates, then the Government confiscated all my research, something to do with national security, and I never got a penny out of it.

Never do it now though on principal, too many bad memories.
(tinypod will never learn. Ever., Mon 3 Dec 2007, 8:48, Reply)

Locations Scout
I used to work as a well tester in Oman on a 35/35 rotation and loved the time off. Hard work, hot and shitty but the money was good.

One BA flight from Muscat originated in the Seychelles, stopped at Muscat and then onwards to Heathrow.

I get an aisle seat next to rather charming ladies, turns out they were ground crew with BA in Heathrow and using their discounted tickets for a weeks sunbathing.

When asked what I did for a living I explained that I was a locations scout for MGM and I had been checking desert locations for an as yet unamed blockbuster, living the bedouin existence and vetting different areas of the desert for suitability.

"Ohh how exotic" replied the more gullible of the two. "Have you seen Out of Africa, that was one off mine" I replied.

She then announced that this was her favourite film of all time and my ego was rising almost as fast as my dick.

On arrival at London, she asked what I was doing over the weekend (It was a Friday and I really had no plans except to get back to Glasgow and go out on the piss with my mates.)

Her suggestion also included a leisurely breakfast at her place, some horizontal dancing and a drunken weekend.

Needless to say I took the hint and stayed for about 4 days shagging like crazed minks until she had to go back to work.

Best Lie I've ever told!
( fagilliD Fuck I'm good!, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 6:00, 2 replies)

Kitty
The time has come for me to tell you the story of Kitty.

Kitty wasn't her real name, of course. Her name was Catherine. She was a no-necked, bucktoothed, very high ponytail-wearing girl at my school. She had some extraordinary stories about herself to share with our grade.

Upon informing our entire grade that we were to call her Kitty, my immature friends and myself took to meowing at her loudly whenever she walked by.

Kitty was a representative for the Australian Dance Team, Australian Gymnastics and Australian Under 25's Athletics... until she tragically dislocated her knee (there is no such thing as the Australian Dance Team, by the way).

Kitty empathised with the plight of the Australian Aboriginal people and Native Americans, claiming that she was descended from both.

She returned from a trip to America after three weeks with a twangy, Texan, American accent.

When asked in a self-defence class if anybody had any martial arts experience, she claimed she had learnt Ancient Arabian Fighting in Saudi Arabia. From the way she was punching, I assume there are many fighters in Saudi Arabia with broken wrists.

Kitty did not do a piece of assessment because her best friend died and she was finding it hard to cope. This happened three times.

She informed us that she had appeared on the cover of FHM. I'm sure if a model with five chins had appeared on FHM, we'd know about it.

She had five boys fighting over her love at the same time.

Kitty was in a horrible, horrible car crash and broke her ribs, spine and neck. She showed up to school the day after this horrible accident with a single bandage around her wrist.

Poor old Kitty. I do wonder what she's up to now after school has finished. No doubt she's got twenty boyfriends, cancer and works for Elijah Wood (who totally babysat her when she was little, btw).

But I'm sure she's doing what she said she was doing when we graduated - she's on a scholarship with the Conservatorious of Music and is composing symphonies for the Queensland Orchestra.
(TheChicken Five hundred thousand points from Gryffindor, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 3:58, Reply)

Billy Black Cat
evening Ginger ninjas.
I had the unfortunate experience of working with a fella called William who was swiftly renamed by our site joker as "billy black cat" because if you had a black cat he had one blacker and it had two tails!
he claimed to a, have been in the SAS (as sooooo many liars do) but on questioning didn't know what his "parent unit" were ie who he'd originally joined up with. Couldn't remember his army number WTF!! and struggled to remember the internationaly famous motto of the SAS kept say it was "He Who Dares Wins" no that's Del-Boy Trotter the SAS is Who Dares Wins.
b, he'd been a kick boxing champion before breaking his back and spending six months in traction but later he claimed during the same period to be "working as a lifeguard in Florida" despite the fact he couldn't swim!! (result of broken back)
c, he'd got five kids by different women and pulled countless girls every weekend whilst having a face like a cross between Rat Boy and a welders wellington.
d, had fights every weekend usually with Paras or Marines and was always out numbered at least 2 to 1. How did he know they were all Paras and Marines? Were they in uniform!?!
still he got his one fine day, he was mouthing off about army exploits when a rather large chap crept up behind him and in a voice like Brian Blessed told the whole pub how William had quit the T.A. after two weekends because "he had blisters and someone shouted at him!"

on the other hand I may be the one of the biggest liars I know, mine include:
of course I'll call you during the week.
sorry I lost your number
I'm moving towns in a couple of weeks
I'm gay
no love you're thinking of my brother
I'll tap your head when I'm about to......


but the biggest lying bastards I know are ... THE ARMY
yes of course you can have leave in January, oh but hang on no we'll wait until you've booked a holiday then cancel it. BASTARDS!!!
(The kneeling rifleman Is slowly getting there.., Mon 3 Dec 2007, 3:04, Reply)

Mr 10%
I've met my share of pathological liars but none of them can hold a candle to "Mr 10%" - as in you can only ever believe 10 % of what he says.
Well Mr 10% and I worked together where he kept everyone amused with his tall tales and unrealistic stories, but his greatest triumph came many years after he had left.

You see, Mr 10% had once actually been involved in a action to stop a young man from been slightly injured in our workplace. A brave action that resulted in him been awarded the highest honour available, The Staff Member of the Month Trophy. I too, was lucky enough to be presented with the same award, but not for brave actions. I received mine for my tireless efforts of pulling beers for the drunken fools at our fortnightly Happy Hour. Now you would think that been presented with this lofty award would be enough. It was for me, but for Mr 10% he wanted more.

Many years later I received a call from a rather perplexed mate who had just received a letter from our local member of parliament advising him that the bravery award for Mr 10% had been approved. Apparently they had got a letter that told the story of Mr 10%'s bravery and how he should get an award. The letter had no return address and was supposedly signed by 5 of us. A copy of the letter was obtained and we discovered 5 clumsily forged signatures that in no way looked like they should. The only way they had tracked my mate was that the secretary of the MP also used to work at the same place and recognised his "signature" and tracked down his address.
Needless to say the award was quashed and Mr 10% missed out.

Did Mr 10% write his own bravery award application?? Well none of us have seen him to ask, but history says yes!!
(Gordon Shumway, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 1:54, Reply)

Stink-ass
Once employed at a hotel here in North Dakota, I met one of the most grandiose fraudulent fabricators of our century. While I know that throughout time there have been fabulous fibs and fictionous falsehoods of pompous proportions, few can follow the fat footsteps of Scott (hereafter Stinkass). He caused a calamity with his claims. He the bell boy and I the front desk clerk for the nights (11PM till 7AM), mine was the unfortunate set of ears that he bestowed his weasely whoppers upon. Ranging from sexcapades he could never have done to feats of strength he could have never accomplished, it never ended. I still hear his bullshitting stinkass voice in my head whenever I reach for a can of chew tobacco.
( Koogas, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 1:38, 1 reply)

The Drug Squad
Back when I was at school, I knew a guy that lied near-constantly to promote himself as a hardened hero-type. Most of his claims were related to him being a local hero for the prostitutes of Dundee, whom he apparently protected by beating people up. Over the years his stories became increasingly ridiculous, and culminated in the revelation of "The Drug Squad", who reportedly drove around the streets at night in a van and shot anyone that was using drugs. He kept all of their guns at his house, in his garage, in a fridge.

Yes, in a fridge.


Another guy in the same year seemed to have the opposite motive. He claimed:

- that he had raped one of my classmates and broken her arm
- that he was having a relationship with a 9-year-old girl
- that he regularly smoked heroin

and, most confusingly:

- that his uncle was the manager of NASA, and had taken him into space.

I wouldn't be surprised if at least some of them were now true, mind you...
(not marmalade, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 0:11, 3 replies)

and then...
Whilst at Uni (naturally), I had a friend; well, more of an acquaintance really, who many a time would drop his pants and curl one out wherever he was: outside a nightclub, in the park, the "common room", literally whenever the urge took him.

The interesting thing is, as he was performing said act of defecation he would invariably moan while doing the deed. Does this make him a scatological sigher?



Apologies for shite-ness

It’s all a lie………… I never went to Uni.
( Adolf Jitler is editor of Practical Shoelace Collector, Mon 3 Dec 2007, 0:04, 1 reply)

Liar Liar, mother loving Liar!
Right where do I begin with this bloke. I was at, lets say, Ussex Eniversity from 01 to 04. Nice time, drunk time but was made more insterestng in the first year by a guy who I knew who for the love of god could not stop lying, and the beauty was his lies were so inconsistent!
A list as follows:
1. He had a pimped out VW Beatle, exposed engine, lowered etc… but had to leave it at his parents house when he came down south. Later on that year on a drive around Colchester, driving behind a beatle he said “Man I would love one of those” to which he was posed the question “Mate I thought you said you had one?” His response. “ Err,, yea, that what I meant, I want another one”
2. He knew Less Than Jake when they were a small band starting up from Leicester, thought this was impressive but strange. Googled said band, and was amazed that Florida and Leicester could be mixed up.
3. During Reading 2000 when Daphne and Celeste were around he was able to walk through a crowd of angry and fairly drunk rockers, with a curry and launch it at them. Like a modern day Moses.
4. He was the 2nd best Karate expert in the UK and the guy who beat him to the to spot also went to our Uni, when asked why he didn’t speak to him something about bad history. My mate later spoke to said champion on the UK, he had no recollection of being in a Karate competition and hated the liar, just as he was a bell end.
5. His dad had 5 PHd’s, then it went down to 4 later. Must have lost one behind a sofa.

Length, according to him massive, but then again......
(English Bloke82, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 22:24, 3 replies)

B2TF2
Walking down the corridor of my old secondary school I overheard this conversation. This was the day after Back To Teh Future II was aired on TV.

Boy 1: I've got a hover-board.
Boy 2: You can't have.
B1: Erm...
B2: As you can only get them in America.
B1: My brother got it for me on import.

Another thorny issue satisfactorily tackled.
(lestergunn ...hot holes o' heat..., Sun 2 Dec 2007, 22:06, 1 reply)

Winding up the younger pupils
One rainy day at school, 5th form I think, I was sitting indoors on my own and noticed a few first-form boys hanging around. Aha, a chance to mess with their heads.

I form two fists, and start striking my knuckles against each other in the manner of someone trying to start a fire with a flint. After a minute or two, one of them notices and says "What are you doing?"

"Trying to strike sparks off my knuckles."

"No, go on. Don't be daft. You can't do that!" Quite right, of course. But I'm the science spod and everyone knows it.

"Yes you can," I say, matter-of-factly. "Small flakes of skin are heated by friction and burn, but you've got to get the right conditions."

After a few more exchanges of plausible bullshit, I have a small circle of half-a-dozen younger boys sitting around striking their knuckles together for no reason.

And then, we hit gold. One of them starts backwards and explains: "I got one!"

I congratulated him and left, leaving them all enthused by this mythical success, and more eager than ever to waste this lunch break, and for all I know many others, learning the harsh lesson that the wages of gullibility is sore knuckles.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 21:41, 2 replies)

I've fibbed, and I've been fibbed to...
Well we've all done it, have'nt we.

However, my most favourite was a corporate client. He rolled up one afternoon for a meeting the following day. Myself and another guy were detailed with keeping him entertained on expenses during the evening as a "lets butter him up and pretend we're competent enough to keep his business" exercise.

The business was worth about £30mpa to my then employer so Matt and I were under strict instructions to keep everything all nice-nice. We took him to the best Indian in Leeds (Akbars-not quite so best now but it was good in 1996) and tried ever so hard to be chums.

We quickly realised, though, that our new friend had a terminal case of the bullshitties. Everything that Matt and I mentioned he'd done before, but a bit better.

What he certainly was accomplished at was drinking and in trying to keep up with him we lost sight of the £30m and headed off on our own little amusing mission. I can't remember the details but a typical exchange would be:-

The Disappointed - "I love my new car it does 150mph and I drive around the centre of Leeds at that speed each night."

Corporate Client - "Well I own Ayrton Senna's formula one car. He left it to me in his will because I was his biggest fan. It's not registered but all the local police are my mates."

Matt - "I'm shagging that Sheryl Crowe, don't you know."

Corporate Client - "Well I used to share a house with The Nolans and we all made a porn film but you can't get it now because Limahl from Kajagoogoo bought every copy and burned them at Guy Fawkes. Which I went to."

We kept the business and it kept the company afloat for a little while longer. Corporate Client was later reported to have said that it was one of the best nights out he'd ever had although that may have been unadulterated shite too.

And, sad but true, I actually DO know Pete Waterman. If I was a pathological liar I'd pretend I did'nt...
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 20:46, 2 replies)

Pathological liars
I had a psycho housemate who claimed some guests had shat under the rug. It was her.

She also claimed the last house she lived in was burned down by a maniac. That was true--it was her.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 19:34, Reply)

I blame...
On my Software design course at BTEC in Brighton many, many years ago (SWED90, yay!!) we had all sorts as it was funded by the dole office and the only qualifying standard was a UB40 in your pocket. Early in the course we had to knock up our CV noting any relevant IT experience. One of our number (a former Estate Agent - BIG CLUE!!) wrote that he had been using the IBM personal computer since 1975. We took the piss out of him for such an obvious blunder but he was adamant that he was not lying. Some of you will no doubt pull on your pipes and tell me he may well have worked on the embryonic PC but he was also FUCKING USELESS at everything he tried so I'm prepared to believe he was a dirty little liar!!

Length? 141 words. Plus this bit. Plus that...and that.

Oh cock it!
(gobbo, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 19:24, Reply)

I know a pro comedian
no really! Recently we were on a week-long thanksgiving holiday and a friend of mine who's in tenth grade returned to school without a voice. Now there's been a lot of illness going around so I wasn't shocked, but I found out the backstory and I'm really impressed.

We learned it was from screaming... because of witnessing a stranger giving birth (to a stranger, obviously)... on an airplane, unsupervised... in flight from LA... (I live a good 2,000 miles, rougly 3,200 km, from California) after a large comedy gig...

He's about 15 or 16 and the chances of his parents letting him fly alone to LA and back are pretty slim. The most bewildering part is the $750 (£360 or so) grill he had shown us as proof, and said he'd bought with saved up money from shows. His profit now totals around $40,000.

Now, we'd been hearing about his career for a while, but this was just too much.
(procrastinatingmusician, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 19:11, 8 replies)

My friend told me this story:
Every year I host a garden party for all those people in my local area that have been cursed with the plague-like affiliation of dwarfism. Last night saw this event take place and a plethora of small people turned up. Dwarfs and midgets chatted as one, and I even threw in a few party games as well.

I took it upon myself to start hosting this event for a number of reasons. Firstly, I wanted to raise my profile in the local community as I aim to become town mayor by the time I am 40. Secondly, I am sick and tired of ‘little people’ being treated different from other members of our society, I thought I should make a stand and help make others realise that we are all the same. The final reason is the warmth I get inside as I watch a smile form across their faces when they see what I have done for them. Smiles so big that they almost take your eye away from their whacking sized foreheads. I love the way their little limbs flap as they clamber up my stairs and roll about in the sand pit. Oh how I laugh when I see them running for the punch, like a toddler, only funnier.
Last night was no different.

Invites had been sent out last week to about 30 midget people that I have got to know over the last few years. Guests started arriving at 7 o’clock and I directed them into my front room where they could enjoy the delights of ‘Guess which name I’m pointing to in the Yellow Pages’ whilst they waited for the arrival of the others. I’d provided a small finger buffet of cocktail sausages, pineapple and cheese on sticks, beetroot sandwiches and radish slices.


Around half an hour later, all my guests had arrived and it was time to show them to the garden. As I pulled back the curtain from the patio door, there were gasps of delight and their little faces lit up like tiny children at the fairground. I had erected a gazebo to keep everyone dry from the rain (after all, we didn’t want to see anymore shrinkage) and halogen lights lit the place up like Blackpool, only cleaner. I had even layed out an old carpet, and provided seating, and a small BBQ was ready to go.

The first party game was to be the piñata. Up stepped Mike, a dwarf that works in the local butchers. He makes small trinkets from the bones and carcasses of the dead animals there, and sells them on a stall outside. He grasped the baseball bat in his tiny chubby hands, his watch almost disappearing from sight amongst the rolls of fat as he bent his grip backwards. I blindfolded him and stepped back for safety. The piñata swayed in the gentle breeze, the pink and orange tissue paper that I had used to decorate it reflected the light hypnotically. Mike stepped forward a pace, and to a chorus of clapping and cheering, swung at the piñata with all his might.

He missed by a mile.

The clapping got faster, the midgets cheered louder and Mike swung again, this time leaping a little off the floor to try and get more power into his hit. He was still a long way off though, I estimated about 4 foot lower than the bottom of the piñata. I called to Mike to let the others have a go and so he removed his blindfold and put it around the face of Jenny, an even funnier looking thing. Her body was way out of proportion. Her arse is like that of rhino, whilst her body like that of an aphid. Her head is indescribable.

Mike gave her a quick pat on the back for good luck and made his way to the others. Again the clapping started, and encouraging cheers were this time as loud as ever. Jenny aimed the bat upwards and swung, the sheer momentum of it causing her to fall over. There she lay, flustered, like a woodlouse on its back. A small kick to her side was all that was needed to get her up.

Over the next half an hour, many more midgets had a go, but none of them could reach the piñata. This was a great shame, as inside lay many a treat including a baby bullfrog, a spinning top and a small Buddha statue, signed by Konni Huq of Blue Peter fame.

The next game was apple bobbing but with a twist. For this game, I had hired out a pool, one of the self-assembled variety that are seen in many gardens these days, and at 4ft deep, was adequate what I wanted.
I asked each midget that wanted to play this game to stand around the outside of the pool, in their underwear. They stood and watched as I tossed about 30 apples, each coated with concrete so it sank into the pool and made them all tie a balloon to their pants. This was to make the bobbing much more difficult, they would have to power their little legs harder in order to reach the bottom of the pool.

“On your marks. Get Set. Go!", I shouted and 12 midgets leapt into the pool. This was a sight that will never leave me. Little people all trying their utmost to get to the bottom of the pool, but bobbing about like buoys with small limbs. The winner of this game was to be the person that could retrieve most apple, with their mouth, from the bottom of the pool, in two minutes. Those that were not playing shouted words of encouragement, I just laughed at them. Their legs flaying out of the top of the water, kicking around uncontrollably as they tried to get to the bottom of the pool, was sheer comedy. Even those not participating found it hard to control their laughter.
I looked at my watch at shouted for them to stop. They got out of the pool and stood next to the apples they had managed to bob. Not one of them had managed even one, until that is, I reached Brian..
Brian stood triumphantly next to a pile of 7 apples. I was amazed at this amount. None of the others had managed a single apple, yet Brian, a man smaller than many at the party, had somehow amassed 7.

I congratulated Brian and gave him his prize, a homemade lemon gateaux with added fish essence. I told him to turn around so I could untie the balloon from his pants and it was at this point I was taken aback. I noticed a large,pointy lump coming from the bottom of his pants and asked Brian what the Hell it was.
“Oh, that? That’s my tail", said Brian proudly. With this, he lowered his underwear slightly to reveal a small wagging tail, only skin covered, not hairy.
“How….how did you get that??" I asked. He went on to explain that his spine hadn’t stopped growing, even though the rest of his body had, and so he had a little tail. He could wag it like a dog, and had used the power from this to propel himself to the bottom of the pool.

“This is an unfair, amphibian like advantage" I cried, throwing the gateaux over the fence. I had decided to disqualify Brian and so there was no winner. After a bit of protest, he agreed that he was in the wrong, so we moved onto the game – the high jump.

This was a game that everyone was to compete in. At one end of the gazebo, I had two piles of breeze blocks, four high, with a broom stick in between them. The midgets formed an orderly queue at the other end . One my command they all took it in turns to run at the broomstick, and attempt to clear it. Those that could would go through o the next round, where the bar would be raised, until we had a winner.

The next 20 minutes proved to me that my party games were a waste of time. Not one midget managed to clear the bar, and we lost Darren, the young AIDS victim, through a broken nose. He had tripped and smashed his face into the breeze blocks, losing 4 teeth in the process. Instead of playing the other games I had lined up; basketball and wrestling, I decided to call a halt to proceedings.

“Every year I host a party for you guys, this year, you’re just taking the piss",I shouted. “If your not willing to put the effort in to these games I’ve arranged for you, then I’m not willing to have you all in my house. Go on, get out. Be gone you pathetic excuse for humans".

They looked at me stunned, slack-jawed. I snared and they began to file out of the garden, through the house and out the front door. “And don’t come back!!" I screamed, waving my fist in the air, as the last one closed the door behind him. I had wasted my time , money and effort in organising the party. I felt saddened at the fact that these midgets had tried to make a laughing stock out of me, even though I was willing helping people understand them. What had I done to deserve this?

I walked back out into the garden and extinguished the flame on the BBQ. Walking back inside, I glanced over my shoulder to survey to mess they had left behind them. “The bastards", I said to myself, and went to the kitchen.



It wasn't true.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 18:47, 3 replies)

Re: Compulsive Liars



I once had a manager like that. It was the brass-necked way she'd try it on when both of you knew she was telling whoppers that beggared belief.


Only in the civil service would they make someone who hated dealing with people into a personnel manager.

She'd tell you any old shite just to get you the fuck out of her sight.

Hi C, have you got the XYZ report at all?

"(Does 'rabbit in headlights' look) Err, no, no, I err, gave it to Mary, err yes, yes that's what I did with it"

Right so, I'll ask her for it shall I?

"Yeah, she'll have it."

Cue one trip to Mary's office to be told that there's no XYZ report and that C was supposed to have handed it in two days ago. Back we go again.

C, Mary says she never got the report.

"(Laughs nervously) Oh, that old thing here you go (Hands over manky, crumpled sheet of A4 with some old shite scrawled in biro)"

Er, thanks. You don't have the full detailed report then?

"I'm working on it right now. Tomorrow ok?"


She then would go 'sick' for the rest of the week with one of her umpteen mystery ailments. She used to get a mad hypochondriac fit whenever some deadly plague was supposed to wipe us all off the face of the planet and insist to her long-suffering doctor than she had Ebola or whatever the "We're doooooomed!" disease of the moment was.

When it came to lunchtimes she used to ostentatiously nibble distastefully at an apple while making "urgh" faces at our choice of sandwich. "Ooh, how can you eat that muck, it can't be good for you." (Looks at apple as if there's half a worm in it) "Oh, I can't eat this, I'm not hungry at all today." Very noble I'm sure but we all saw the contents of your bags of shopping. Umpteen "This is not just wanky mono sodium glutamate, this is M&S overpriced unhealthy mono sodium glutamate" meals for two destined to be meals for one. Along with every flavour of crisp going, several tubs of ice cream and half a bakery of cream cakes.

Instead of coming over to the pub with the rest of us for a few drinks and a relaxing night of jolly conversational-type fun, she had to pretend to be busy with umpteen charity events, film & theatre premieres, etc. The pathetic thing was that Mary (she of the no report) was the one who did the charity stuff and one of our number, Gary, was doing the film and theatre stuff - yet C would somehow expect us to believe that it was she who was doing it and not them.

Her utter lack of life experience and no friends meant that she had to make up a fake life out of whatever us, her work colleagues, got up to. She was in her late thirties, had never owned a passport never mind actually left the country yet used to claim to have been to all sorts of foreign destinations - coincidentally enough, usually around the time one of us lot came back from said destination.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 17:26, 1 reply)

i've a friend
who constantly lies, even under oath.

oddly enough it's always causes of death that he lies about. some say he's a pathological liar
(cs192 is sucking on a Koala at, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 17:14, Reply)

Ben
Well, his name isn't really Ben, but for the purposes of this story, it is.

I met Ben at college. First impression - just another person you meet on the first day of college. (Although I didn't fail to notice he was attired in a Slipknot “hoodie”, and bore an odd looking mole on the left side of his neck.)

After a few weeks, I got to know Ben a little better. I talked to him at lunch time a fair amount, and we got to know each other reasonably well. One of the prominent topics Ben would speak about was the band “Slipknot” and/or various other bands of the same genre. (Most of which I had never heard of, and never wish to hear of again.) Death metal isn’t really my scene; however Ben was fundamentally obsessed with the idea of bands eating dead pigeons on stage and the like. He also seemed to like bringing to college photographs of people who had died in horrific ways. (Most of which I suspect he obtained from sites such as rotten.com (NSFW, obviously))

One of the first claims that Ben made to me, was that he was in a death metal band himself. Of course at this point, I had no reason to disbelieve him. I had known him only a few weeks, and the thought he might be a pathological liar never even crossed my mind. As the weeks went on, Ben would tell me of rehearsals with his band, how they nearly came to be signed, and how they were on their way to the “big time”. One thing niggled me about this – he never rehearsed nor played a gig in our hometown of Sheffield. My friends and I thought this was odd, but put it down to him not wanting to perform in front of his friends, rather than the fact that his band didn’t exist. A month or so into the first term of college, the first major porkie was told – Ben came to school looking rather depressed on this day, as he confided in my friends and I that the drummer in his band had hung himself the night before. This not being the kind of thing you like to accuse someone of lying about, I left the situation alone, not really knowing whether or not it was true.

A few weeks after the “drummer suicide” episode, Ben proclaimed he had a new girlfriend – A female wrestler by the name of “Belladonna”. On one particular Friday night, my friends and I went to the pub. We invited Ben along. After about twenty minutes, Ben pointed to the other side of the pub, telling us he’d spotted his girlfriend and he was going over to talk to her. I said I would come with him to meet her, but he told me she was really shy and didn’t like meeting new people unexpectedly. Ben navigated the crowds to the other side of the pub, and was not seen again that night. Over the course of three of four months, Ben had many “girlfriends”, all of which had some unique trait, such as “female wrestler”, “gynaecologist”, or “left arm torn off in an horrific car accident”. Of course by now, I wasn’t believing a word of it.

Ben’s final fabrication before I confronted him came in the form of an MSN conversation we had during the summer holidays. In the morning, he told me (On MSN) that he was at home, and was preparing to travel to America to work with his uncle who was a pathologist. He said goodbye to me on MSN, at around eleven o’clock in the morning. Three o’clock in the afternoon he logged back in, with the MSN name “Just solved my first pathology case, now time for some REAL gore!!!”. I then asked him (Over MSN) for his IP address. I cant remember what excuse I gave for wanting it, but he pressed the “publish IP address” button on MSN. I took the address and worked out where he was…..

Grimsby.

I told him I knew where he was and that he must be lying to me. I wish I had saved this MSN conversation, but his reply was something along the lines of…

“YOU HAVE NO FAITH IN ME!!! YOU HAVE TO TAKE A FUCKING LEAP OF FAITH, I AM IN AMERICA I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT YOU THINK, YOUR WRONG, YOU’RE A FUCKING SHITHEAD I HOPE YOU HANG YOURSELF…” etc etc.”

That about wraps It up for Ben, who apparently IS in a band now, and is no longer a pathological liar…

Many, many, many, APLs
( FreudianSlap, Sun 2 Dec 2007, 16:51, 3 replies)