Liar, Liar Pants On Fire

You know what the world needs? Another, reality show.

I'm not kidding, but not just any old reality show. Yes, I have a concept for a new reality show.

Still working on a title but maybe Liar, Liar Pants On Fire, The Biggest Liar, or The B.S. Test.

Here's how it would work. In the beginning stage you give each persona scenario they have to carry out. A mission that only a skilled bullshitter could carry out. Maybe he's gotta talk his way backstage at an Oprah taping. Or maybe a woman has to talk another woman into revealing her true dress size. Or maybe it as simple as talking their way into getting their money back for a Whopper at Burger King. This stage would be a way to introduce the major players and weed out the pretenders. I'd compare it to those horrendous early auditions in American Idol.

Then the real fun would begin. The lie off.

Through a series of challenges each week two contestant would face off in an elimination battle. The first would tell a totally made up story. The other would have to top it. This would go on until one one contestant failed to top the story or the audience drowned them out by yelling bullshit. Entertaining stories and humor would be needed to keep the audience off your back.

Sure it sounds ridiculous but I'd rather watch that than a bunch of grown men cram fifty-bajillion hotdogs down their throats in a five minute span. Or the Rock, Paper, Scissors national championship live from Vegas. Yes, ESPN does show both of those.

And yes, I want to be a contestant. Heck, I think I'd be one of the favorites. Now a brief story, which is a true account of my abilities to spin a tall tale.

Several years back me and group of friends headed north to Colorado for a week of Elk hunting. For those who've never spent time in a hunting camp let me tell you, the truth gets stretched tighter than the waistband of an Elvis suit in the later years. A bit of bragging and boasting is not only acceptable but expected. Stories are swapped and everyone tries to outdo the other hunters. Feel free to sing the song from Disney's Beauty and the Beast.


No one hunts like Gaston.
No one dances like Gaston.
No one fights likes Gaston.

Be sure and throw in adequate fist pumping.

So there were six of us. Five all knew each other and the sixth was a friend of the newest member of our group. We shall call him Gaston. He flew in from Florida to joint the hunt.


Problem was he was a jackass of the highest order. He spent all of the first day giving me marital advice. In all fairness he did have more experience than me since he was on wife number seven whereas I've only ever had one.

The second day he told all of us how stupid we were for hunting this particular area of the mountains. Sure, he'd never shot an elk but he had gone once before some ten odd years ago.

Day three he talked about how bad the food was that we ate and brought along. Never mind the fact he didn't bring anything but his own clothes and hunting equipment. Oh and his gun was far superior to the crappy weapons we carried, and his walkie-talkie reached twice as far as ours.

By day four we were tired, cold and hungry so we headed to town for a steak dinner. While Gaston got ready I told the others that I was going to have some fun with him tonight.

So we sat down and sure enough Gaston started in with a story of how wonderful his hunting lease in Florida was. I one-upped him and spoke of the monstrous mule deer in Texas.

Back and forth we went and ever time I took his outlandish story one level higher. After a gang got to snickering so I had a hard time keeping a straight face, but I maintained control just to see how far this idiot would go.

So finally he tells this ridiculous story if a guy he knew he kept a pair of deer antler with him at all times that had screws inserted into the basis. That way he could shoot a buck or doe and simply screw the antlers on to fool the game wardens since only bucks were legal game.

His tale had more holes in it that a desolate stop sign in redneck country ... but instead of questioning him I launched into my own sordid tale.

This guy I knew was out hunting on the last day of Elk season. He hiked seven or eight miles up into the mountains. Dark was closing in a storm was moving down from the north and he was all alone above the timber line. He should have quit and turned back hours ago but he'd been trailing a monstrous bull elk all afternoon. Finally he stalked within rifle range, but then it hit him. He could never drag such a large animal all the way back to his truck by himself. Not before the storm hit. So he pondered the situation until he began to shiver and then it came to him.

At this point I'd lowered my voice and Gaston leaned closer to hear more.

So he raised his rifle, took aim, and shot the huge seven by seven Bull Elk.

Gaston nodded as if he'd known it all along. Smugly he leaned back as if this story held no merit. "Bet he had fun dragging the big bastard all by himself. He probably got frost bite before he made it back to his truck."

I smiled. I'd reeled my fish in.

Oh, he didn't drag the elk back. He only shot to wound it enough so he could catch it. Then he hopped on its back and rode the things down to his truck where he finished it off with a shot to the head from his pistol.

Gaston opened his mouth to speak and for one brief moment I though he was going to try and top the story then he stopped and said, "Awww, Bullshit. You expect me to believe a story like that?"

Of course everyone else dies laughing, but I merely raised my hand in victory and said yes, "Finally a story that not even you are willing to try and one up."

He never went hunting with us again.