Ladies, I am an Awesome Liar

Liar Liar

(This is a satirical dating profile from my book, Fake Personal Ads (Or Real Personal Ads for Fake People).)


Ladies like to complain that men are liars and that, as a result, ladies want no liars, which is to say that they want no man, though they want a man. I am here to say that if all men are liars, then why not go all the way and date the greatest liar of them all – ME.

I once lied that I had AIDS just so I could have a buffet table all to myself at a Tea Party convention. Another time I misrepresented myself as mulatto in order to gain entrance and tuition to MIT, though I am about as good at science as I am at speaking the truth. And how can I forget the time I called in sick to work saying that “I” had just died, and that the viewing was scheduled for tonight, so I needed the day off to, first, make myself available for embalming, and, second, to buy a new suit to wear later when grieving over the coffin filled with my own lifeless body – but that, boss, I should be in tomorrow to finish that project I started last week.

As such, I can be the guy who, if you have an ass the size of a Volkswagen, will tell you that I have never seen such a tight, heart-shaped rump in all my days roving the strip-club circuit; who, if you are duller than trampled sheet-metal, will claim that I have never met a funnier, wittier lady this side of Sarah Silverman; who, if you own a hideous harelip, will press my hand against my fibbing heart, and profess to you that even Angelina Jolie would die for such a pretty mouth.

Hell, I’ll lie that I love you with all the love that Antony felt for Cleopatra just before his love cost them both their lives, to say nothing of two huge pieces of prime real estate. I’ll lie that, honey, I love your irritating dog, or your eye-scratching cat, or your imaginary friend, Cybil. I’ll lie that I love dancing, cooking, reading poetry and all that other rarefied stuff just to fulfill your fantasy of having a gay boyfriend with eyes for only you, a girl. I will dissemble about your choice of clothes, that, yes, dear, you should wear that trashy halter top to the charity fund-raising ball. I will keep a perfectly straight face when informing you that even though you read and follow the advice of mass-produced woman’s magazines, that you are nonetheless a unique gal who marches to her own drum.

Yes, ladies, I will lie to you like how you lie to yourself, even better, spinning such a gorgeous web of deceit around your spinning head as to make you feel special, loved and worshipped.


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