Liar's Dilemna

Plato hypothesized that a liar would be unleashed on society who could tell a lie so dominant that even he couldnt convince the people it was false. I dont know how many fellow compulsive liars I have out there, but a majority of my lies have no possible gain whatsoever possibly even negative expected value. Like that time I told a fourth grader that all liberals hate the soldiers in iraq and many give money to the Iraqi resistance. Or that time I told my pledge marshall I could do 200 pushups without breaking a sweat. Its not that I necessarily want to trick anyone, but I just want the conversation to be a little more interesting and I want to see how far I can push something until Ive pushed too far.
I once offered a wager of 20 dollars that Louis L’Escalair(Pronounced esss-cal-yay) invented the escalator, just cause I wasnt going to admit my bluff had been called. Shit backed off when I held my hand out strong ready to shake, and I won the proposition showdown. But more perplexing than the individual lies, are the campaigns of lies undertaken with the same common goal in mind. My buddy the ironfoot sent me an instant message claiming he had inside info on our whipping boy the Doormat. The Doormat was often the target of our scheming and could be counted on for some pussy ass retribution that would be about three steps removed from the dominance that had earlier been unleashed on his head. On this occasion, the ironfoot opened strong claiming “I know some shit that you could never know about the Doormat.” I of course responded “Nope, I already heard all about it.” From there we played a cat and mouse game where I slowly revealed a ficticious antecdote about the Doormat’s Psychologist father being committed for a short time due to self medication. I acted as if he had fooled me into the revealing process and then started typing like I was all scared that he better not say anything as he blugeoned me with the phrase “Pill Poppppppin Doooooooooooooormat”. I gave in to minor blackmail attempts leading up to a face to face encounter in which I acted like I had reached my blackmail limit and all but dared him to confront the accussed. When he made a huge deal out of it, we all had a good laugh at his expense, and he still didnt believe he had been the lead fool in my production of “Ironfool in the Big City.”
I have systematically led my boss at the tutoring agency to believe that I am integral to his operation, such that I have slowly scaled back my hours and upped my compensation all the while rolling into work at his office in a drug induced haze. By most standards, I should have been without such employment shortly into my tenure, but I know how to read a boss. This dude wouldnt get rid of me if I lit my desk on fire. Shit was working to my behoovement, then another interesting offer came along. Now, Im trying to convince him that I am not very important to the institution at all and highly replaceable. Undoing my months of work must be done carefully, as I need a fall back bridge and can not ignite it in my usual blaze. In order to achieve this end, I have been casually instigating him in games of skill in the office which allow me both to waste time and control his psyche. By the end of it all, he may well be paying me for hours I never intended to attend.
As we drove home from a dominant Moultonian performance tonight at my buddies Luke Potsmoker and Chewchiba’s den, I got in a discussion with Carlos Venesuala about our heritage. He claims to be a spanyard, and I an english/french/german/russian mutt, so I kept asking him “Hows the Armada doing?” “You going out yachting with the fleet anytime soon?” Eventually, he admitted that our shits put the Armada in its place and Spain never recovered. I further proffered that my great great great great great great grandfather was an english sailor, who met my great great great great great great grandmother was a french Sea Captian’s daughter who were both involved in the sinking of the spanish armada and were actually married while raiding one of the many doomed Spanish vessels.
Carlos got all interested like and said something along the lines of “Once I get some cash together, Im going to hire a geneologist, but like a reputable one, and figure all that stuff out.” When I laughed at his resolve he continued, “No really, that story’s really cool. I wish I knew shit like that about my family.” I took the oppurtunity and expounded “Actually, its Venesuala right? If I remember correctly, you come from a maratime past as well.” He perked up and said “Yeah, I think my green eyes mean an Irish girl might have met a Spanish guy, maybe even at the Armada.” I countered “Its widely known that any Irish who were on the open seas at that time were a breed of women known as Sea Whores. I wouldnt be suprised if your entire lineage was Sea Whores. Thats one of those genes you just dont shake. I hope Im not stepping on any toes here, but Im fairly confident that every female member of your family is at her essence a Sea Whore. Your mother is a Sea Whore. Your sisters are Sea Whores. Frankly if one of your promiscuous sisters has already been impregnated by one of her many naval sexual partners, the impending fetus is likely a Sea Whore. You just cant shake it dude, its in your blood.”
As to the dominant Moultonian performance that I obviously wont let slide. I played in a four handed game of no limit hold em for five bucks a man and shit wasnt even close. After the first hand when I stole the blinds I started making train sounds. “Ch..Ch…Ch..Ch..Ch..Ch..Ch..Chip Leadaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”. Then I would do that thing where you churn your arms at the elbows like you’re a locomotive, and scream again “chip leadaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”. I was crossin cats out there, stealing at will and calling out bluffs like they were bingo numbers. Sometimes, the best player has to win dude. Prior to that, I was paid out for my constant bluffs. After claiming to be good at any trivial game of skill, someone finally called me out on ping pong. What you dont understand is that I could be nationally ranked in ping pong if I agreed to play in sanctioned matches. Im that good dude. I beat a guy left handed, another where I wasnt allowed to hit any shot but a lob. Im just that good dude, like a brick fucking wall. Thats where lying really pays off. When you get a reputation for being completely full of shit people will pay you off when you aint. Is there a liar out there good enough to convince himself hes not living a lie?

Liar's Dilemna

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