I'm exceptionally good at lying.
My tales of fantasy and untruth are so intricately wound that not only do they deceive the listener, they confound the senses and make me look dead clever, and that.

No tales of massive drugz or honda accords for me. The most unbelievable stories of adventure constantly pour from my lips as I astound gathered crowds at tales of my wonderful travels. A pensive hush falls over the huddled patrons of any bar I frequent as I hold forth on subjects which I have no actual knowledge of. Such is my skill, however, that the crowd cheers and carries me shoulder high, pronouncing me mayor and crying out my name, or the name they think I am called, anyway, ah-ha. Yes.

It's just that I'm a bit busy at the moment. I have some shelves to put up. And my wife, she's a supermodel, you know, she's been nagging me to do it. And I've got to walk the dog.

So I'll tell you the stories of my amazing lies that got out of hand once I've done all that. Unless I forget. I'm incredibly busy, you know. You'll like them, you will, they're dead good.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 17 Aug 2010, 16:16, Reply)

Mistaken Identity I
Not too many moons ago I was at a family gathering, usual christening type people milling around with nothing but some DNA in common and the fact they meet up for these events. Anyway my brother, how doesn't look too much like me, managed to dodge out of it, and as I wondered around I kept getting mistaken for him. Eventually, being bored and mischievous, I just started accepting the fact I was both brothers and answering questions about both my bar work or banking career as was appropriate. Did get rumbled when one relative was talking to my mother and called to me by the wrong name.

Length... an afternoon of my life I won't get back
(The Liquorice Allstar I need cricket, Tue 17 Aug 2010, 16:04, Reply)

In the autumn of 1998 I started college.
I met a girl on the course and we became close friends. Nothing past friendship mind as I had a major crush on her best friend. One day I found her crying and we went and sat in a quiet spot where she sobbingly told me that her father was violent towards her. Having lived in a house with a very violent father for years I told her she should come and stay with me at my parents house. As my mother had been beaten by her former (now deceased) husband for years she welcomed her with open arms. She stayed with us for many months and was very happy. As she opened up more and more she told me about the years of violence and I was shocked to hear her tales of how he had drunkenly sexually abused her.

One day whilst chatting with her best friend, who I was still desperately trying to get closer too she told me "You know that she's a pathological liar right?" "No" I replied. She then went on to explain that pretty much anything that came out of her mouth was a complete fabrication. Her parents had divorced when she was younger and she didn't actually live with him at all. She went on to tell me that her dad was one of the sweetest most gentle guys you'll ever meet. I confronted her that evening asking her if any of it was true. She packed a bag without saying a word and left. The next week I went back to college as normal. A friend of mine came up and said "Is it true?" "What?" I asked. "That you tried it on with her and when she pushed you away you threw her out and now she's had no choice but to go back to an abusive father?" The stories got worse and by the end of the week it was going around that I had tried to rape her. It got so bad I was pretty much hounded out of college and dropped out starting again the following year. I didn't see her again for 8 years. She came bounding up to me in a club threw her arms round me and said "PHIL! I haven't seen you in years!" "Yeh I didn't think you would want to see me seeing as I tried to rape you" I said sharply. "Oh yeh" She said. "Sorry about that I was a real bitch back then"

Her father is now my boss, I don't think he knows but it does make things uncomfortable at work.
( Peej, Tue 17 Aug 2010, 15:35, 4 replies)

So he chops off my hand
and then claims that he never killed my father, he IS my father!

If Ben was still alive I'd bloody throttle him.

Signed L. Skywalker.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 17 Aug 2010, 15:28, Reply)

Neighbours
Back in the day, I once told my mother that Helen Daniels died of a heroin overdose. I've no idea why she believed me but she, and the people she told, were rather disappointed when she died in her sleep, peacefully.

Now my mother doesn't believe anything I tell her.
(grimmmy, Tue 17 Aug 2010, 14:42, 2 replies)

Gary Galaxy - the local celebrity
To this day I don't know how it came about, but my mate Gary was a celebrity and all over town people knew his name.... except he wasn't.

We're talking around '99 here in the craphole that is/was Watford.

My attention was first drawn to Gary's new "game" when in a taxi on the way to town Gaz had the window down and as we drove past pedestrians he'd wave and say Hello to anyone we passed.
Full of himself he then spent the whole night introducing himself to literally hundreds of people "Hi, Gary Galaxy, nice to meet you" etc etc. The more he had to drink the more cocky he got with it. Then we started on it too, making up chinese whispers about his celeb status etc as we got drawn into conversations with random people out for a drink.

I didn't drink with Gary every week but I gather he did this for a month or so.

Then came the night I realised just how shallow the world can be. We were out in town, probably our 3rd pub of the night and it was edging toward nightclub time. I wander up to Gary, who's surrounded by a group of admiring teenage airheads, and say "C'mon mate, we're heading over the road in a min".

Then one of them breaks from the pack and in a total euphoric excitement (think teen girl meeting their favourite pop star) comes over to me and through her excitement can barely utter the words "Oh My god! How do you know Gary Galaxy!?". I look at her, not entirely sure I've heard her right... my brain mulls it over for a second, "we're just good mates" I reply. Seizing the opportunity my mate Chris comes over to us and excitedly says to her "Do you know who you were just talking to!?".
"YEAH!!!! It's Gary Galaxy!!!" she replied like a she'd won the lottery, then had to run to the loo before she wet herself.

Gary can't sing, dance, act and as far as I know has done nothing worthy of fame, ever. But it seems if you act like your famous and tell people you are, then eventually everyone believes it.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Tue 17 Aug 2010, 11:55, 10 replies)

QOTW.
Every week.
Wasn't one of you autisms sent to jail for pretending to be a doctor not so long ago?
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Tue 17 Aug 2010, 8:43, 24 replies)

I invented a friend
My most recent ladyfriend was a lovley woman called Amanda, we met through work, she was doing a presentation on health and safety (she went on to cut off part of my finger! - it was an accident I admit, and not really related to this story).

So Amanda and I had been going out for about three months when I began to feel very controlled, she had met all my friends, everyone I work with and knew my neighbours. The only person in her life that I was not on first name terms with was her postman. Amanda was great but she wanted to live in my pocket, so I came up with an idea to get some alone time.

My plan was simple, I invented a friend - meet Dave, my old mate from work years back. I told Amanda that my old friend Dave was back from living in Australia and I was meeting him, worked a treat, I got a night on my own to relax and all I had to do was tell a little fib, might have been fine if I had left it at that. Over the next few weeks Dave and I went out a couple of times, I wish I could say I spent these nights in a casino or a strip club to spice things up but the truth is I stayed home and drank beer while watching telly.

Problems began when Amanda wanted to meet Dave (should have seen it coming), I tried to fob her off hoping she would give up but it became a big deal for her, she was getting a bit upset so I started adding more lies, Dave was not good around strangers, Dave was a bit of a heavy drinker so it was not a good idea to meet up. Nothing worked, it became a mission for her to meet Dave.

This went on for about six weeks, now please consider that at the time I was drinking a bit too much so was used to lying. Also consider that I really did like Amanda - I did feel a little guilty for lying but once I started it was hard to get out.

So towards the end the lies had mounted up, little by little it all adds up, christ it was had work trying to keep track of it all. It reached the point were Dave was back from Australia to break the news to his family that he was marrying a woman he met online through a jail dating site, she was English and was nearly finished a five year sentence for smuggling drugs into Australia. Dave was going through a lot, his parents were not happy and he was worried that he jail mate was using him.

The happy ending for Dave was his jail-babe had been forgiven by her parents and they wanted the two of them to come stay with them, they owned a rental property in Cornwall so it would be a relaxed place to stay for a while, no pressure as neither of them were going to be working. Dave left and Amanda never met him, I promised to stop telling lies, they are really not worth it.

I thought that would end it and my promise to be a better person would stay with me, not so for Amanda, she decided that as the jail-babes parents had a rental they could sort us out with somewhere to stay when we went over for a visit. The next round of lies had to begin.

We broke up for unrelated reasons, and I am not sorry for that, we were not right for each other regardless of mow much we liked each other.

I really do regret inventing Dave, at first it was a bit of fun, then it became a challenge but in the end it was just me telling lies to a nice woman that I wish I could have been honest with.
(cname, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 23:32, 9 replies)

Not entirely my fault, but I helped.
We told the Shinners that they could achieve what they wanted without killing people.
To be honest, there was probably less damage done the old way.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 22:46, 2 replies)

Snowball effect
Quite a while ago, I engaged in relations with a young lady, both of us not wanting a relationship, well that's what I convinced myself. Nothing really came of it, she disappeared for a bit, and turns out she had a mild nervous breakdown (not my fault) and was living up north.

Anyway, I got a text message randomly from her asking what i was doing the following weekend. I was a bit worried about causing her more mental damage, and also didn't particularly want to see her, so started thinking of an excuse to tell her. Eventually I came up with, what I thought was an absolute gem, I told her that I had been seconded to Dublin with work, all terribly busy, I was back this weekend, but it was to see my son.

So that weekend I passed uneventfully and on the Sunday I picked up a new washing machine and then went to out on a date. Date went ok, came home on my own and walked in and to my housemate sat on the sofa grinning from ear to ear. Low and behold, aforementioned young lady had turned up uninvited and was sat on the sofa. Awesome. There was some awkwardness whilst I secretly relayed to the housemate the lies that I had been spinning.

Said housemate thought it was hilarious as I spent about an hour desperately avoiding her advances, sitting as far away from her as possible and sitting next to my housemate. All very difficult, but she was very keen. In order to fob her off more, I had to spin another yarn, and in an attempt to fend her off, I told her I had started seeing someone in Dublin, and I couldn't possibly.

She was visibly upset by this. I tried to shoo her to her car, but then she decided she couldn't drive, her concentration was amiss from smoking herbal cigarettes. I told her to make herself comfortable on the sofa and gave her a spare duvet and went to bed.

Then just as I was dozing off, my bedroom door opens. She came in announced she was cold, and there was no way she was sleeping on the sofa she might catch hypothermia. Whatever, nothing is going to happen I said. She then got in to bed lay there for a minute or so and then proceeded to strum her lady guitar. In my bed. Whilst I was lying next to her. I ended up telling her to get out, it was out of order, sleep on the sofa or go home. She slept on the sofa, then I had to tell her to leave this morning , I had to get to work.

Moral of the story. Lie your pants off.
(penishands, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 19:33, Reply)

I'm kinda in the middle of a lie of omission right now...
It could be months before this one plays out, but I have a secret and I want to tell it so bad I'm about busting. Apologies for epic length.

For the past few months I've been keeping an eye on the Humane Society and SPCA kitty listings. Animal shelters are in a bit of a pickle right now because of the economy. People are either moving and can't (/won't) take their pets with them, or they are truly so broke that they can't afford to care for their pets. There have been a lot of animals surrendered lately, especially senior cats. Luckily in my town there are great no-kill programs at the shelters, but the dreaded kitten season just happened. Shelters are stuffed to the brim, and relatively few of the adoptions are adult cats.

So a month ago I went kitty shopping. This one was totally by the book: I called my landlady, put down a pet deposit, and brought home Bell (name she came with, name suggestions welcome lest she forever be referred to as "kitty").



She's 6 years old, which decreased her odds of getting adopted. She had been there for three months and was starting to have some stress-related problems.

Two weeks ago, I impulse-adopted a second cat, Max.



He's 8 (officially "senior") and also had a three-month stint in the pen. However, he didn't take it so well and was suffering from serious kitty depression and related ailments by the time I adopted him. He'd lost weight because he quit eating for a while. Both kitties are pretty much back to 100% by now. It's amazing how quick having a home helps them out.

Max's adoption was not by the book. The landlady doesn't know about this one, but my larger concern is that my father will find out about it before he pays me back a few thou I loaned him (I know, I know, never lend money to relatives). My father tends to be an asshat about money, and he has previously pulled bullshit moves where he refuses to repay a loan because he doesn't approve of the lender's lifestyle and doesn't want to be an enabler.

It was hard enough to convince him that I could handle Bell, because I'm supposed to be concentrating on my school work and if I got a cat I'd spend too much time with it and then I'd fail out of all my classes and then I'd get kicked out of the University and I wouldn't be able to pay rent and then I'd be homeless because my own dad would be all "fuck you, I told you this would happen" and he'd take his loaner car back even though he doesn't live anywhere remotely NEAR here he would go out of his way to take it and put it in storage and then he'd be broke from buying the plane ticket out here and then everyone in my family's health would fail because of the stress of it all and we'd all die and then the universe would collapse in on itself because I'd done such a horrible thing and OH GOD IT'S ALL MY FAULT.

(Yes, that is a paraphrased version of what he yelled at me over the phone at the time, if any of you ever doubted the extent of my daddy issues)

If he found out I got a second cat there's a good chance he'd give himself a hernia thinking up end-of-the-universe scenarios and/or withhold my money thereby completely screwing me over for the Spring semester. So yeah, I'm trying to keep this one on the down-low until the 'rents come to visit for Christmas. Wish me luck, and adopt senior kitties!

Edit: OH GOD, MURPHY'S LAW GOT ME. Landlady just gave her 24-hour notification of inspection of the premises she has to do for refinancing her mortgage. The plot thickens!

Edit 2: Well that was about the shortest inspection known to man. I could have just stuck him in the bathroom, but instead I had to get all fancy and put him in a carrier hidden in the back of the car in the garage. Poor guy keeps following me around now.
(Exempt OH WOW, VICODIN, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 19:33, 15 replies)

i really do live here, honest!
many moons ago, during a very drunken party, i pulled a bloke who seemed very nice. within an hour or so, however, i'd realised that he was a massive twat who talked utter bollocks and loved himself, despite the fact that his b.o was so strong, it should have been on the guest list independently of him.
i decided i'd have to ditch him, the sooner the better. i made my excuses to the host and, turning to my stinky swain, told him i was leaving. "i'll drive you home!" he said. he was very drunk at this point, further proving to me what a twat he was. "it's okay," says i, "i only live down the road, just by the park."
i didn't live down the road at all, i lived three miles away. "i'll walk you!" he says and, before i can stop him, he's grabbed his coat, my handbag and my arm and piloted me sideways out of the door.
staggering more than a little, he walked me down the street and towards the park. "which is your house?" he asks. "ummm....that one!" i said, pointing to a large building about fifty yards away. i'd chosen that particular house because the lights were on and i could tell him that my parents were waiting up for me. "nice house!" he says. "i'll walk you to the door."
"no! you can't!" i cried, panicking a bit. " my dad's still awake, he'll kill me if he sees me with a man!"
my amorous companion swelled visibly at this. "oh, will he now? i don't THINK so." "what do you mean?" i asked. "if he so much as lays a finger on you, i'll fucking deck him!"
shitshitshitshitshitshit! think, smash, think!
fortunately, i was then struck with the kind of inspiration that only shows up after a few drinks. "i wouldn't if i were you, he's a professional wrestler, he'll tie you in knots."
"i'll fucking teach him a...wait, did you say wrestler?" i could see panic creeping across his florid features. "well, maybe i'll just wait by the gate and make sure you get in all right."
hoping for a miracle, i rushed up the path and rang the bell. the door was answered by a rather surprised gentleman in a dressing-gown, who looked nothing like a wrestler.
"please, can you help me?" i begged. "i'm trying to get away from that man by the gate, he's been following me and won't leave me alone. i had to tell him that i lived here, so that he would go away, but he hasn't!" i was by this point almost in tears of panic, nervousness and mild stress, which this kindly chap took to be tears of blind fear. glancing at my drunken klingon, he yelled "would you kindly leave? you're causing trouble here." like a rabbit spotting a fox, he was off. the feeling of relief was immense and probably much greater than it should have been over such a small thing, but i was half-drunk.
my saviour called his wife from the lounge, who gave me a drink and called me a cab. i may not have really been in trouble, but it's always nice to know that there are still people out there willing to help a complete stranger.
as for the smelly bloke, i never saw him again!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 18:24, 9 replies)

Oldie but a goodie
Many, many years ago, at junior school I had a friend called ahmed. We can't have been more then 8 years old when he told me Micheal Jackson babysat him when he was still living in Sudan. This was mid ninties, so I guess it was towards the end of jacksons's time as a beloved figure. I didn't belive him, but understood why he would make it up, I told a few porkies in my time. The whole incident passed into obscurity very quickly.

A few years later, we learned of the aleged "incidents" in which the king of pop was said to partake. This stired a memory in me, I quickly reminded all the boys in the class, and so began the taunts. Poor lad was gutted, he tried to deny it but I didn't relent.

Side note: I'm not sure if it was when the aligations first came out but it was the first we heard of it. (1997ish?)
(Mong goose, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 17:54, Reply)

The holiest of massive drugs
A bloke told me this story when I was at my nan's wake a few years ago. I was sat outside the pub having a cigarette and we got onto the discussion of drugs (for some reason).

Anyhoo, he told me a story about how him and a few of his mates had experimented with LSD many years ago and how one of his unsuspecting friends has been spiked and had spent the next few hours sat in the garden 'discovering God'. His friend had walked back in totally unaware that his discovery was based on a coctail of lies and mind altering drugs and exclaimed that as a result of his experience he was going to devote his life to God.

That chap is now a priest.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 17:36, 3 replies)

Have I had an STI test?
'Of course I have! clean as a whistle!'
(Clerk T Hazarde are all the wine, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 14:43, 2 replies)

My uncle the idiot, his balls and a garage door.
I received a telephone call from my mother last night. Her first words were to splutter, “You wouldn’t beeeeliiiiiiieve what your idiot uncle has done now!”

Considering my uncle dressed like a rapist-eyed clown and tried to spank my unwilling bare bottom on my 20th birthday, I figured this would be a most enjoyable story, and it was.

Yesterday, my aunt received a telephone call from a police station 300 miles from her house. My uncle had just made best his half-naked escape from a hospital. As he got a bit slappy and kicky with the hospital staff, he was arrested and placed under supervision. Could she pick him up? “What the...?” she cried. Worried that her partner was in quite a serious physical state and even more grim trouble with the law in a strange city, she hopped in the car and raced to this hospital a state away.

Two days previously, my uncle stood up in the middle of dinner and announced he was leaving. He walked to the door, picked up a pre-packed bag and left. He would not answer his phone. Nobody knew – friends or family - where he’d gone or when (if) he’d be back. My aunt was distressed; worried about the usual things like suicide and adulterous affairs. She was ready to call the police, when the police called her.

Find out, he had been diagnosed with prostate cancer in February. Instead of telling anybody, he thought he could check himself into a seemingly random hospital, have the surgery, discharge himself straight away and spend the next several days with ice strapped to his nads in a roach-infested hotel. He didn’t have any insurance, so he was getting the surgery done in the cheapest fashion possible. The hospital wouldn’t allow him to discharge himself, so, in his woozy state; he tried to run away with his bandaged bollocks flapping in the wind. Instead of listening to the nurses’ reasoning, he just hit them. Drugs, eh?

Why not tell the family? How could he live with the big C word looming over his soul for a whole six months?

He didn’t want my aunt to know; not because he wished to save her feelings or that he didn’t want her to worry until he was certain that everything was OK. No, the cheapass was concerned about the amount of money he had to spend on himself. As he and my aunt have an agreement that x amount of money spent on one equates to x amount of money spent on the other, he was fretful that she was going to spend however much it cost to save his life on herself.

More specifically, that she was going to buy a new garage door, an issue of magnitude in my aunt’s household.

The lie got so out of control that he didn’t realise that prostate cancer surgery != garage door, and instead, he may very well go to jail on a number of charges.

Dumbass.

**This story is built on Chinese whispers, so the details are a bit sketchy. The reason, the method and the outcome, however, are accurate.
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 14:42, 4 replies)

Haircuts and Lies
I believe this to be my first ever pearoast - hope you like the taste.

Only this morning, I was wandering merrily down the streets of Edinburgh not doing an awful lot when I became increasingly conscious of the fact that my fringe was flopping about in an irritating manner, getting in my eyes and generally looking a bit shit.

'Time for a trim', methought. I bent my steps accordingly towards my usual hairdressers', only to find that the entire place was boarded up for a fortnight-long refit. Curses.

For those of you not in possession of a fringe, suck on this fact. Hairdressers will trim fringes for free, as many times as you like, providing you got the original cut at their salon. As mentioned above, though, said original salon wasn't open for business. And my fringe was still looking shit.

Disconsolate, I began to mooch homeward, but as I went (dodging the slack-jawed bumbling tourist hoardes who seem to emerge from the pavement at the slightest hint of clement weather) a plan began to form in my mind. Why not, I thought, just dodge into any old hairdressers', and try my luck at pretending to be a regular client? We probably all look the same to them, considering how many punters they must coiff in a day. So, sparing little thought as to the details and giving my lieing muscles a mental rub-down, I trotted into the first salon I came across, which happened to be a branch of a popular nationwide franchise.

All went well at first. I successfully negotiated the desk-gimp by distracting her with a compliment on her t-shirt. She told me to take a seat and wait for the next available hairdresser.

'Oh,' she said, almost having forgotten, 'when did you say you were last here?'

'About three months ago,' I lied smoothly. This was easy.

'And your name is...?' she enquired, leaning across to her computer keyboard.

Shit, I thought. Think quick. 'Er....Sarah,' I replied.

'And your surname?'

'Er....er....Williams. Sarah Williams.' I have no idea where that came from.

Fuck. This was not going well. She turned to the computer, a slight frown overcasting her orange-masked features.

'What's your address?'

Oh, balls. Why did I do this? I'm in way over my head. 'I've er, just moved actually,' I lied frantically.

'It's just we've got four Sarah Williams on our database. Were you the one at **** Street?'

'YES!' I cried desperately. 'But I moved, now, and....er...I've already forgotten my old postcode, so....'

This was dire. I very much wished I hadn't got myself into this fix. I cringed inwardly, waiting for the management to be called and massive embarrassment to ensue. Unexpectedly, though, she smiled. 'That's fine,' she said. 'Take a seat, it won't be long.'

Relieved, I dragged myself to the nearest chair and pretended to look at some magazines detailing the breakfasting habits of the various members of Girls Aloud. Sure enough, soon I was seen to by an anonymous scissor-bint and emerged ten minutes later, triumphantly pleased with myself at having scored a free (partial) haircut. Take that, overpriced chain of salons! I was just about to leave the building as quickly as possible when the desk-girl called me back.

'Just a moment,' she said. 'I'll need your new address to update our records, and as it's been over two months since your last visit, there'll be a £5 charge. Is that OK?'

Shit. This was really not worth it. The upshot was I had to stand there babbling some made-up address (it's harder than you think on the spot) and generalised postcode) while she ran my card through the machine. I had utterly failed to take into account that this might happen. On the front of said card in glorious silver letters, is, of course, my actual name. Neither 'Sarah' nor 'Williams' make up any part of it. Once the payment had gone through she took out the card and very conspicuously stared at the name upon it, then at the screen, then at me.

'I got married!' I squeaked in a strange, strangled accent. 'That's why it's not my name! I didn't have time to get it changed yet!' I carefully shifted my satchel so as to conceal my ring-free left hand.

'Right,' she said. That was all she said, but what a weight of disbelief, disapproval and pity was contained in that syllable. She knew, and I knew she knew. I was a fraud. I got out of there and hurried away down the street, very red in the face indeed.

So I suppose I didn't really get it stuck to me in any financially punative sense, but I do feel extremely silly. Oh well, plus ca change, frankly.

Length? About a centimetre shorter and much tidier than it was.
(jennymnemonic, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 14:32, 2 replies)

I was at a festival a few years ago
and one of the girls we were with had arthritis, so she was allowed a wheelchair. Her arthritis wasn't so bad that she couldn't walk at all, but long queueing, etc., was painful for her. We mostly used this wheelchair to smuggle booze into the arena as they never checked her.

One night in the arena she had already gone back to the tent but had left us the wheelchair full of booze. One of my perfectly abled friends was sitting in it when it started to rain. He got up to go and get a beer and asked me to sit in the chair so it wouldn't get wet, which I did.

Whilst I was sitting and quietly enjoying the music, a really drunk guy stumbled over, didn't see me sitting down, and fell fully across my lap. Suddenly, a cavalry of nearby lads leapt over to save what they saw as this poor disabled girl from being trampled by some oaf. They yanked the guy off me and threw him away somewhere before running back to me and checking if I was ok. I didn't want to dampen their heroics so I let them believe they had rescued me and were all wonderful human beings, karma would surely reward them for their good deeds.

At this point, my friend came back with his beer and told me to get out of the chair.

"I can't" I whispered.

He repeated his order more forcefully that I vacate the chair. I pleaded with him that if he could just wait until these lads had left then he could have his chair back.

He wasn't having any of it, so he grabbed the handles and tipped me bodily out of the chair and onto the floor. The ground was a bit muddy so, forgetting myself, I leapt to my feet and jiggled around like Michael Flatley trying brush the mud and grass off. As I was doing this I looked up to see the group of heroes all scowling at me.

"Er....it's a miracle?" I ventured.
( Kitty v1.0 desperately naive, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 13:23, 11 replies)

The Magical Irish Bow Tie
pearoast...


First of all, I have to applaud the Huddersfield University Events team for organising the most dreary, pathetic graduation ball in the history of time.

The only reason I had decided to go was because I had been trying to get my end away with the most beautiful blonde angel by the name of Suzanne. Id stare at her in Lectures for hours on end and when she asked if I'd go to the Grad ball with her, I was never gonna miss it.

A plate of crap food and a few too many nerve calming shots of cheap vodka later, I was on the dancefloor, doing my thing.

Suzanne clearly wasnt impressed with my moves and was staring at me like I was a demented rapist on acid.

And when she left with another man, I had 2 choices. Sit in the corner and sulk or round up some troops and go to Camel Club. The latter it was.

Earlier on in the night I had closley resembled a Fine Gentleman in my hired Tuxedo but now I looked more like a pengiun that had narrowly escaped the claws of a yeti. My kind mates, took measures to straighten me up in an attempt to get my stumbling ass past the beady eyed bouncers.

Not only did my perfectly straight bow tie, get me past the bouncers but it also seems that tuxedo's and drunk women on dancefloors are like moths and flames. A few pints later and enjoying the female attention, out of the smoke and from deep within the club, i saw a large silloute approaching.

This huge Troll promptly walks up to me and in the prettiest of Irish accents squeaks "caan oiy weear yoour tiy?"

Until this day, I do not know why but my retort came in the most outrageous faux Irish accent that sounded more like a scottish/northern irish hybrid and in the highest tone "suuure"

We had a lenghty conversation about growing up in our respective irish towns and even though I was brn and raised in rural surrey, I had gathered enough knowledge and shaping of irish words from my NI flatmates; I could pull it off.

After a long tonguing session in the club we left to go back to hers. How she didnt expose my dodgy accent away from the noisy club, I still don't know

When during the act, she exclaimed she, and I quote, "Loikes t be noisy" i felt the need to join in.

I can tell you that there is no dignity in shouting "JESUS CHROIST" at the top of your lungs in a fake irish accent, still wearing a bow tie.

Unable to keep up the act, I left at the earliest opportunity and unable to escape the from under her bridge, had to scale the fence and broke my foot on the descent.

I spent the next day in hospital with a huge hangover and an even worse sense of shame.
(Eggstrovert isnt patronising you...honest..., Mon 16 Aug 2010, 12:06, Reply)

This questions needs fewer lies in its answers
- well, okay, not fewer lies, but certainly better ones. And most importantly a hell of a lot more evidence of 'got out of control' rather than simply 'was a lie'. Consequences, people. Preferably hilarious ones. We can all start in on the puns in a day or so anyway.
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 11:09, 7 replies)

Can You Feel The Force?
"These aren't the droids you're looking for".

Signed,

O. W. Kenobi.
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 10:40, Reply)

How to fake your Birthday on Facebook.
Change your birthdate on facebook for about a weeks time. When the date comes, just see how many people will write Happy Birthday to your wall :)

They fall for it every time :)

See how many times you can get away with it in a year.
(Miggyman, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 9:21, 2 replies)

Pretending to be Irish
Noctu reminded me of this'un.

When I was in high school I did a lot of theatre stuff and worked part time at KFC. One night I came in for a shift and I was introduced to our new manager (who turned out to be a psycho bitch, but anyway). Because the play my class was currently doing was Irish, I'd been speaking in a fairly realistic accent all day and, rather than greeting my new boss in my normal voice, I gave her a hearty "Top o' the mornin' to ya!"

I immediately apologised and told her that I was just joking, but from that day onwards she swore that I actually was Irish and that my natural speaking voice was fake, to the point where she'd get angry and yell at me to "USE YOUR REAL VOICE!" She probably still thinks I'm not a New Zealander, despite my thick, natural accent.
(ElGranto, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 3:42, 1 reply)

Not really "out of control", but I'm sort of proud of it.
I was visiting my ladyfriend in Brisbane. I observed pedantically that a footbridge's "2T MAX LIMIT" warning sign wasn't much good unless you constantly did a mental tally of the number of people on the bridge. She said "that's why there's a little warning light over there."

"Ah, good thinking."

"Nah, not really. Gotcha."

Game on, woman.

Some time later, we were on the train, when I noticed the upcoming station was Toowong. "Ah! I was reading about Toowong recently."

"Oh yes?"

"Yes, there's a pretty radical pilot project in traffic management there."

"Oh?"

"Yes, to smooth traffic flow and prevent queues, you can only take left turns."

"Gosh, really?"

"Yes, in Toowong don't make a right."

"Damn you!"
(Ladyfingers is in your wardrobe,, Mon 16 Aug 2010, 1:43, Reply)

RP: Ogg the Caveman
My mate, Ogg the Caveman, faked something once with devastating consequences.

He was a big guy, and him and his mate Ugg used to help out around the peaceful cave-man community by moving heavy things around. They'd happily pick up rocks and stuff, and put them where they were needed. They were always competing to see who could lift the biggest rock, so people would ask "Who put that rock there?" and they would proudly say.

One day, a little cave-boy pointed up to the mountain, and said "OK, who put that rock there then?"

Ogg and Ugg looked at each other, and Ogg had an idea. "Our enormous friend, Godd," said Ogg, not realizing that he had just faked certain knowledge based on sod all.

Before they could correct the boy, the boy had told everyone, a schism had whipped through the cave-man community and Ogg and Ugg were burned as heretics using the newly discovered stuff "fire".

So now you know where religion came from.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Sun 15 Aug 2010, 23:10, Reply)

I told my family I was fine with sorting out my book myself.
The truth? A month after I've finished illustrating the damn thing and proofing it a hundred times, I'm still too chicken to write a cover letter and send it off. The thought of publishers reading a cover letter is much more terrifying than the thought of them reading the book.

Anyone got any advice/experience with similar things? Because this is getting both ridiculous and excruciating.
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Sun 15 Aug 2010, 21:34, 13 replies)

Christianity
One woman's lie about having an affair that got seriously out of hand.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Sun 15 Aug 2010, 20:58, 7 replies)

Hello Dear
I want to hear everything about your day.
(Sadarse works like Mist condensing mud flaps, Sun 15 Aug 2010, 20:58, 6 replies)

I can't believe they didn't ship me off to the juvenile home right then.
In second grade, (age 7 or so) I told the entire class @ Show'N'Tell I had a zoo in the basement. I went on and on about how I fed the giraffes and petted the baby elephants and hippos. The teacher just smiled and nodded knowingly.


Such a patho little liar.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sun 15 Aug 2010, 20:44, 3 replies)

Not so much a foreign language,
but I tell everyone I'm Canadian to avoid conversations related to American politics and the NBA (people are strangely obsessed here). I've memorised every Toronto factoid on Wikipedia, and am always sure to use correct spellings (colour, organise, centre, etc.).
My entire Turkish neighborhood, however, found me out last week. My free kebap across is gone now. The men on stoops give me shifty eyes. At least I can hide my head in shame--as a woman here, it's surprisingly easy.
(tenley, Sun 15 Aug 2010, 20:03, 1 reply)