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This is a question Lies that got out of control

Ever claimed you could speak a foreign language to impress friends, colleagues and/or get laid? Make a twat of yourself - and I couldn't possibly comment - saying you were the godson of the chairman of BP? Tell us how your porkies have caught up with you

(Thanks to augsav and Sandettie Light Vessel Automatic for the suggestions)

(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 13:03)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

When I was 14, I decided it would be a good idea if I shaved my head. I’d asked my mum if I could have a ‘grade 1 all over’ but she’d refused on the account that she thought I’d look like a thug. I tried to argue that it would save me time in the mornings, plus keep me cool (it was the Summer), but still she wouldn’t let me, so I did what any young boy would do; I did it anyway.

I waited for her to go shopping one Saturday afternoon, retrieved the clippers from the bathroom, and got to work. As my hair cascaded down off my shoulders and onto the floor, I started wondering about how much trouble I’d get into. I realised that I’d made a mistake but I’d gone so far that I had to finish off the job regardless. After shaving off the remainder of my hair, I stood back and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look like a thug at all – more like The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas with an illness. Panic set in, so I ran out the house and to the park to play footy with my friends.

They all loved my new look. I was greeted with shouts of ‘SKIN HEAD’ and they all wanted to stroke my fuzzy scalp. It made me feel better about what I’d done and I soon forgot all about the trouble I’d get into when I got home. A couple of hours passed, and everyone had to go home for dinner. Reluctantly I made my way home. My mum was still out. Result.

“What the fuck have you done?” were my brothers exact words as I walked into the kitchen.

“What does it look like?”

He started laughing at me.

“Mum’s going to kill you. Hahahaha. This is going to be brilliant. I knew you’d done it because I saw all the hair in the bin. You utter wanker!”

By now I was bricking it.

“What shall I do? Can we try and sort of stick it back on do you think?”

My brother laughed.

“It’s all in the bin mate. You’re dead!”

I was in big trouble. I even thought about shaving both of the cats and using their fur on my head. I had to do something. Anything. As thoughts raced through my brain, I heard a car pull up on the drive. My brother looked out and confirmed my fears that mum was home. I grabbed a black sweatshirt, and tied in around the top of my head; I copied the way I’d seen ladies wrap towels around their wet hair.

My mum came into the kitchen and started putting the food she’d just bought away, whilst asking what we’d been up to. Eventually she looked at me and asked why I had a jumper on my head.

“Errmmm, well we were playing football and I wanted to be Ruud Gullit, so I just played like this because it’s like I have dreads”

“You pillock, you look more like that woman from M-People”

I’d gotten away with it, for now at least. For the whole evening and the following day, I managed to go about my business with my shaved head without my mum noticing, by just wearing a jumper on my head when I came out of my bedroom. However, Monday morning came and the inevitable happened. As I went to leave for school with yet another jumper tied around my head, my mum called me back.

“You can’t wear that to school. Take it off”

“I’ll take it off when I get there”

“No you won’t, give it here”, and with that she pulled it off my head.

Before she could start shouting at me I spluttered,

“It…it..just fell out”


“Over the weekend”

“WELL WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?! JUST FELL OUT? Right come on, I’ll book an appointment with the doctor; you might have a serious illness”.

With that she went to the phone, dialed the number and began to book an appointment.
It took me until we pulled up outside the doctor’s surgery to admit what I had done. I had thought about trying to blag it, but I didn’t have the balls for that. I received a huge lecture about lying and disobeying my mum. I felt terrible.
A few years later I found out that she knew all along what I had done because, like my brother, she’d seen all the hair in the bin. She just wanted to see if I’d own up and how long I’d keep on wearing jumpers on my head.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 16:42, 2 replies)
I'm Spartacus!

(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 16:40, 3 replies)
When people ask me for directions
and I am clueless, I will invent some rather than enduring the shame of confessing my ignorance.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 16:33, 12 replies)
This statement
is a lie.

There, that's now out of the way.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 16:13, 3 replies)
"I love you."
Perhaps the stupidest lie of them all.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 16:13, 4 replies)
I did NOT
have sexual relations with that woman.


(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 16:09, 2 replies)
I'm going to be the first to mention cake here.
Anyone else who mentions it from now on is a dense illiterate, a lazy sluggard or a measly unimaginative copycat. Or both.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 16:06, 4 replies)
My entire b3ta career

All lies. I'm out of control. I'm crazy me!
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:44, Reply)
On QOTW? On B3ta? *SNORT* I think you'll find that sort of thing doesnt happen round here. Be off you with you. *INDIGNANT HURUMPH*.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:38, Reply)
After the interview...
...they gave me the job. Then I knew I was in trouble!
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:38, Reply)
St. Peter Gets Bored
The long line outside the pearly gates is a fast moving one, but St. Peter rarely has to bother looking up from his clipboard anymore. All he says is:

'Woolies Pick N Mix?'
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:34, Reply)
In halls I spent some time telling everyone I knew that you could get Hepatitis from Foam Parties
This rumour still abounds within Edinburgh university. Yay.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:33, Reply)
The Day I Wore My Slippers To School
One day, at the age of nine, I accidentally wore my slippers to school.

"Hey! Duck!" shouted Steven B, "You're wearing your slippers to school!"

I looked down, saw a red pair of carpet slippers, panicked, remembered we were allowed plimsolls instead of outside shoes in class, and came up with a bare-faced porkie: "No. No they're not. They're my new school plimsolls."

From that moment on, I was doomed. To avoid ridicule, I had to sneak them out of the house every day, and when challenged on the fact that I appeared to be wearing a pair of red carpet slippers to school reply "No. No they're not. They're my new school plimsolls."

I also had to wear them in PE, and my feet were agony.

Then, one day, the ultimate humiliation - a familiar figure in the door of the classroom. My mother. My mother had come into school.

Deathly quiet as one of the great taboos was broken. Your mother. In class. It couldn't get much worse.

Then, it did:

"I saw you wearing your slippers to school this morning, so I thought I'd drop off your shoes."

We had recently discovered a new word, and as my mother disappeared into the car park, thirty voices (including, for some reason, that of my teacher) echoed as one: "WANKERRRRRR!"
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:32, 6 replies)
Speaking Klingon
At my new school at the age of 13, I jokingly admitted to speaking Klingon just to appear 'cool'.

Little did i know that almost every dinner time for about half a year or so, i would be cornered by groups of kids and the occasional teacher all prodding me to speak certain words in Klingon.

Luckily i just made words and noises up and got away with it...
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:28, 1 reply)
I'm Spartacus.

(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:28, 2 replies)
"I'm Spartacus!"

(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:27, 1 reply)
Lies at school
As a child while honest enough, I had a negligible grasp on the truth. Life was so boring I felt the need to make things up, and once I'd said it/written it down part of me honestly believed it had happened.

Two incidents that spring to mind that led to embarassment for both me and my family are the following

(1) I had a lovely new dress and was very happy with it. My mother had invited a priest round to do a blessing on our new house, and he made some polite comment about the dress. I promptly informed him that it was the dress I had worn to my mummy's wedding. Since my parents had been married for ten years before my birth, I'd performed quite a feat of timetravelling.

(2) The other one got me into a lot of trouble. People may remember that in reception/first year you sometimes had to write about what you did at the weekend. I wrote that I had stolen my mother's diamond engagement ring, sneaked out of the house at night with my neighbour (a boy about the same age) and we'd had a big adventure, then buried the ring under a tree. The teacher told my mother about it, and I got a massive bollocking, and when they found out everything bar the sneaking out (alone as it happened) was a lie, I got told off even more for lying
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:21, 2 replies)
In the band
myself and 2 friends were asked if we were late-90s US pop-punk band Eve 6 by a journalist from Kerrang! I obviously said yes, and gave an interview for 5-10 minutes.
I don't think it was published.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:15, 2 replies)
I lies in my bed
a good couple of hours beyond the start of work this morning. I blamed the football, which was the absolute truth of it. Hangover is starting to get way out of control.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:04, Reply)
I'd had a letter from the police...
Due to me being witness to a crime. On the top of the letter was the Met badge et al. The letter went in my wallet and was forgotten about.

Some time later my (huge as in tall and broad) friend and I were going to get royally plastered. We chose a bad pub to be in if it kicked off, and all knew it. Four pints of guinness ordered (two to be poured during the drinking of the first two) and I opened my wallet to pay. Mr barkeep spotted the letterhead and asks if we were police.

Me "No!"
Friend "Yes!"

A moment later;
Me "Yes!"
Friend "No!"

Barkeep; "Well, have these on me before you decide."
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 15:00, 7 replies)
Comrade Dervel.
To get myself out of a holiday to the States that I could little afford, rather than suffer the ignominy of telling everyone that I was skint I told my mates that I’d been refused a visa on the grounds that the USA thought I was an acting communist.

I made up the back story that one day, a year or so previous whilst at college, this really beautiful chick had walked up to me, and that I’d bought a copy of the communist manifesto off of her and signed up for what I thought was a newsletter, but turned out to be party membership, and that I only did it because she was really that stunning and I desperately wanted to talk to her.
I also bought a copy of the manifesto from WH Smiths in case people asked to see it.

This was 15 years ago and I’ve never admitted to making it up. I just can’t now; it’s too old a lie.

Personally I don’t even think as a story it bares close scrutiny, but everyone firmly believes its fact and will still, for their own amusement, mention to new people that I’m not allowed into the United States.

I still have the copy of the Communist Manifesto, it’s remarkably pristine.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 14:53, 1 reply)
Oh crikey - the girl who got run over.
I'd completely forgotten this one...

My parents used to ask me every day "so how was school today?" and obviously the fairly mundane stories of maths, spelling, P.E. and all the rest got a bit repetitive. During a particularly uninteresting season when I was about six years old, I started making things up. Mostly small things: Christopher got into trouble, Emma brought her pet rabbit to school, we went on a nature walk and saw some bees, that kind of thing.

One day I got home, my parents asked the question and I answered "oh, a little girl got knocked over by a car outside school and died." This was complete fabrication but to my six-year-old mind seemed not entirely unfeasible. My parents, of course, were shocked and asked for more details so naturally I invented some: it was Robbie's mum, she was driving too fast, it was one of the girls in reception, she'd crossed the road without looking, the car had run her over, some people saw it happen and lots of children screamed, all that sort of thing that came rapidly to my road-safety-fed and imaginative small child's mind.

I think it was the exertion of the hasty invention that made me seem a bit reluctant to talk further, so my parents stopped asking me any more questions and I toddled off up to my room. My parents, thinking I was in shock and of course not doubting my account, phoned the school - the number was engaged. So they called other parents, asking if anyone knew anything more about the little girl killed outside school today. I sat in my room, happily playing with Lego and blissfully unaware of the dramatic Chinese whispers-like panic, gossip and search for answers rapidly propagating along the telephone lines of the parents of infants in my year all now hastily calling each other. The school telephone remained engaged.

It was only the following morning, when I'd completely forgotten about my lie and was taken to school by my dad as usual on his way to work, that we saw a huge throng of parents and journalists waiting outside the school gates, some with bunches of flowers to place outside the school, being confronted by a very bewildered head teacher who was being accused of trying to deny everything and stage some sort of cover-up.

Fortunately, somewhere in the midst of all the phone calls and drama the night before, the original source of the utter lie had somehow been forgotten - by everyone except my dad. He said very little as he left me at the school gates but I vividly remember the huge and lengthy shouting-at session (of course accompanied by having no dinner) I got from both parents when I got home that night, on how and why lying was bad and wrong and how if they ever caught me lying again they would tell the whole school where the story of the run-over girl came from...
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 14:52, 10 replies)
In work...
...a woman was laughing at me because I had matching-odd socks on (they were the same patern but one was pink and white squares while the other was blue and white squares) so I say to her "why're you laughing at me?" to which she replies "could you not find a matching pair?" pointing to my colourful ankles.

Not wanting to have to go through the ball ache of trying to explain to a 40+ year old woman that I kinda like having socks that are the same in one way yet different in another, I decided it was easier to say "they are the same... Oh no I've done it again. I'm colour blind you see" at which point she looked like a wave of guilt hit her in the face and says softly "oh I'm so sorry love, my son's colour blind as well I know how bad it can be so sorry" then the guilt must've moved onto my face, but I'd already gone too far so I couldn't admit to it now.

A few days later I'm playing on a "colums" style game on a friends iPod, in which you had to match up all the colours and in walks said woman just as my friend shouts "you fucker can't believe you beat my high score" to which she replies "How did you do that? I thought you were colour blind?"

I haven't spoken to her since

(first post, take it easy)
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 14:52, 3 replies)
"Jay the Gay"
Guy we lived with in the first year at uni literally couldn't say anything that wasn't, what's the technical term here, complete fucking bullshit.

Some of Jay's gems included:
* I own a mod car showroom and drive a Merc (barely 2 days later he turns up in a Nissan Micra)

* I used to play for Saracens (My dad: Oh so you must know X, Y & Z guy in the office? J: ......er (Also more amusing as he had chronic asthma)

* Anyone know someone who'd want to buy 1.8million tonnes of aviation fuel?

* Teddy Sheringham is a good friend of mine

* Sure, I can get you a box at Middlebrough FC (3 mates come up from Cambridge to be told 40mins from kickoff 'Ah sorry, they sold the box so we cant have it'

* Seriously, I did the Wamdue Project remix for 'King of my Castle'

What a dumbass.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 14:49, Reply)
When I was 15
I played pool for a pub team in a local pool 4th division league. I wasn't bad, but the rest of the team was shit, and the 35 year old captain would never pick me despite me being one of the best players, always coming up with an excuse week after week after promising to pick me the week before.

One week in particular we didn't have a league game scheduled, and instead held a couple of pub tournaments, both of which I won, walking home with about 50 quids worth of pound coins, a couple of months pocket money for a night's work. He then refused to pick me for the next week's team.

By this point I'd had enough - after not getting selected yet again, I went home (this was in about 1997, had just got the internet) and downloaded a copy of the British Pool Association's logo. I then wrote a letter stating that by not picking me he was in breach of rule XYZ and was facing expulsion from the league. I posted this letter to my uncle in London, who then posted it back down to Cornwall so that it had a London postage mark.

The captain then spent a weekend writing a 4 page ranting letter to the British Pool Association saying how I was tactically naive, and therefore didn't think I was mature enough to play for the first team etc etc. He also sent a copy to me, the local pool league, and the pub landlord.

I then wrote another letter from the Association saying that the team had been disqualified from the league due to the captain repeatedly lying in his letter, as I had supplied them with tape recordings of our conversations which contradicted his letter.

The next Monday Pool night he got me in front of the whole pool team and gave a long speech saying that because of me contacting the British Pool Association the whole team had been kicked out the league, and tried to shame me.

I then revealed it was all a hoax. He did look like a bit of a cunt at this point, having been fooled by a 15 yr old boy in front of all of his mates.

I never did play for that team.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 14:45, 1 reply)
Yeah Sure
I will build your website for you.
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 14:43, Reply)
Young and daft,
I told some girl at school that my name was "Michael Englebert Humperdink Tyson"

Took years before I was called by my real name.

Silly I know. I'm sure there'll be better...
(, Thu 12 Aug 2010, 14:41, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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