Your Dirty Lies Are Starving My Dog!

I've got some liars in my life. Now don't get me wrong, I know we all lie - myself included. None of us are really exempt from those occasional "oh, I wish I could but I have to wash my hair and get a liver transplant that day" moments.

I am talking more about the giant, chronic, drama queen, ass-face liar. They use their lies more than they tell the truth. In fact, their tale spinning is second nature to them and they pretty much believe they are hiding well behind the camouflage of it.

I got a call recently from a pretty accomplished liar I know. As soon as I answer the phone my ear is under attack as the rapid-fire Armageddon victim story unfolds. One horrific occurrence after another has allegedly befallen this poor person.


It goes something like this:

"Okay, you're never going to believe this...I was superglued to the toilet by Somali pirates in the wee hours of the morning. They left me there in my own bathroom for dead! In my last-ditch effort to save myself, I managed to bite down on the toilet roll hanger bar and tear my butt cheeks from the toilet.

Once the massive bleeding subsided a little, I went outside to throw the toilet seat away (everyone knows that ass skin sticks like a mothersmucker to those seats, so I didn't doubt this part of the story) and I was attacked by a troop of ground squirrels. I guess they had been waiting for me on the side of the house, because as soon as I rounded the corner, they launched right at me! Before I could do anything, they had me face down and wrist cuffed with one of those zip ties. Then they sodomized me with a Star Wars toy light Saber they claim they found in the neighbor's recycling bin. They weren't gentle. And If you have ever heard a ground squirrel snicker....it was evil.

They left me face down ass in the air, but were kind enough to chew through the zip tie before they took off. I managed to get to my feet. I staggered back in the house and my cell phone was beeping with a voice mail. Apparently I had missed a call during my anal invasion. It was my boss. I got fired. Apparently he didn't believe me yesterday when I called in and tried to explain to him that I was having trouble getting to work because this chimp had chewed off my thumbs in the 7/11 parking lot the night before. Have you ever tried to start your car without your thumbs?! I was only asking for a little time to get transplants, but I guess he didn't want to deal with me. People with disabilities are so often discriminated against, ya know?

Anyway, as soon as I hung up the phone, the doorbell rang. When I answered it, some ski-masked punk threw a flaming bag of dog shit into the house, and it slid right across the hardwood into the living room. I limp-scurried my sore ass over to it to stomp out the flames, and I fishtailed in dog shit, fell, and broke my right hip. The fire spread and I only managed to save myself - the house and all of my worldly possessions inside, are gone.

When I got to the hospital the doctor examined me before the hip x-ray. Bad news -- they found this giant mole under my left nut that they think is malignant Melanoma. So I am probably going to die which is why I am canceling our plans at the last minute like this. Sorry."

Yeah, you're right -- I don't believe you.

I did however get pretty distracted by the whole pile of bullshit slung at me over the phone lines. So distracted in fact, that I forgot I was in the middle of feeding The Ru when I answered the phone. I didn't remember this for three hours after the call ended. Three whole hours. My dog could have died of starvation. There is no better reason than that to always abide by the Honesty Is Always The Best Policy rule.

The truth would have taken a fraction of the time.

It goes something like this:

"Hi there - I'm a fucking tool. I am calling to cancel last minute on our plans for today. I don't have a good reason, I just don't like planning. Flaking teaches everyone not to engage in scheduling things with me in the future. Sorry. And I say sorry because I know that is just one of those things I am supposed to say. I don't actually give a shit or I wouldn't be such a tool in the first place."

So much easier, right? And I would have had the brain power to feed my poor pooch afterward.