Why I fucking hate liars
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OK, look: I've been friends with this dude, we'll call him Franklin (I won't tell you his name is Josh, that would probably make him mad.), for a really really long time. Really! ...But for the past seven or eight months, I've noticed that this very good friend of mine is a big, stupid, fat, stupid liar.
I fucking hate liars.
Anyway, I think it's time for a little background on this non-truth-telling sonofabeech. I've known little Joshua... FRANKLIN... since the 6th grade. After the EIGHTH grade, he moved away from HERE (Livingston - he was living with his mother at the time) to THERE (Huntsville, where he currently resides with his father.). Well, I started talking to him again after a long long while about 10 months ago, and subsequently met all of his new Hunstville-residing "peeps".
I know what you're thinking - "Well Blaine, that's just swell! But, we must ask, we MUST: Who gives a flying shit-piss-motherfucking-fuck-fuck?"
Trust me, reader, it will all make sense soon.
So I start taking a liking to all of these new people. In fact, I met my current girlfriend (Allison) through him. I hooked HIM up with the girl of HIS dreams (Jessica) too, just because I'm a super-kickass ladies'-man pal like that. I meet the people he eats lunch with every day - Victoria, Tiffany, Lisa, Laurie... A wonderful array of human beings. And then I became friends with them. And then we all related Josh Stories.
This is where all of the trouble starts.
One of the girls, we'll say it's Laurie (I can't really remember), said, quite empathetically, "Man, Josh really has a rough life."
I say in response, a little confused, "What do you mean?"
"Well, he's just so troubled. His life is so messed up. His father beats him, his mom used to dope him up all the time to shut him up... he's told us some crazy stories, Blaine, lemme tell ya... I'm sure YOU know them all though... you are his BEST FRIEND."
Now, let me just preface the rest of this by clueing you in to the fact that Josh is full of bullshit, in case you didn't catch it already.
All of this talk intruiges me. I know Josh's mother, I know Josh's father. They do not do these things. Why does he say this? Am I missing something?
It was all a mysterious mystery.
But then, as I keep talking to them and to him, I realize he is a dirty rotten liar. He is shiesty. Shiestier than Shiesty McShiester himself. NONE of these people knew him beforehand, so he could just make shit up all of the time, molting away the true Josh and making way for the 21st-Century-Angsty-Beflanneled-Teen-Who-Don't-Give-a-Fuck Josh.
But everyone slowly catches on to the game.
He lies about many things, some (by some I mean "all") of which very stupid and pointless to lie about. Here is a far-from-exhaustive list of his most famous lies:
+ Getten beaten up by his father.
+ Knowing Karate.
+ Having a total of 64 sexual partners in-between the ages of 11 and 16.
+ Getting shot.
+ Cutting his wrists over 150 times.
+ Having a rock band.
+ Being an alcoholic.
+ Being a "pill-popper".
+ Being a pill dealer.
+ Being cool.
+ Liking good music.
+ Being a ladies'-man.
What a big loser. Who lies about these things?
Jerry, his father, is the greatest father and friend a person could ask for. He fucking cooks a beautiful 3-course meal every day for this little lying turd. He buys him X-Box games and D & D metal-thingies, and new harddrives, and condoms... I mean really. This kid can do WHATEVER he wants to do, as long as he tells his Dad what it is. It's a fantastic deal.
He does NOT know Karate or any martial arts. He cannot spell "karate". He is a sissy-sissy man.
The only girl that ever paid attention to him is his current girlfriend, and WHO masterminded that relationship? Who brought them together? Was it her amazing assertiveness and keen love-hunting skills? Negative. Was it his amazing good looks and charm? PSH! IT WAS ME!!! I DID IT. He knew nothing of sex! It was a far-away destination, like Ethiopia or New Zealand, or Wisconsin - I brought it right to his fucking feet! His toes awkwardly caressed this knew dimension of life, unaware of how to deal with this new spectrum of Kickassness. Ahem. Most people go through puberty at 12 or 13. This guy didn't even know what sex was until at LEAST 12. Therefore, we can conservatively say that he is claiming that he had sex with a different girl about every 3 weeks for 4 years straight - and those are just the ones he remembers.
Who uses that big scary black man thing anymore, anyway? That's so REPUBLICAN of him! Ugh! Hearing him talk about walking home is like listening to an episode of Cops or The News - "A black man mugged a poor innocent white man today."
FUCK!
Furthermore, Gunshots normally take some sort of medical attention, especially if a big black gang member just capped you in yo' grill, boi. This "I got shot yesterday" bullshit is whack, dog! FUCKING WHACK!
On that same note, Razor-blade cuts *usually* leave scars. Ask any post-pubescent woman. It's true. I remember once, Joshua came to my house with an Ace bandage wrapped around his arm because he had apparently "just been at the hospital... AGAIN." An Ace bandage? Come ON. I wish I could get an Ace bandage and wrap it around all of his Stupid.
A rock band named "Dark Sarcasm." He tells people (People I know, keep that in mind) that I am the drummer for his band, and that the said "band" has somewhere in the ballpark of 173 songs ready for rockin'. WHERE IS THE LOGIC TRAIN, because SOMEBODY NEEDS TO GET ON BOARD.
Here's a typical conversation with the old Joshster:
JOSH: "Hey Blaine, what's up?"
"Nothing really, Josh, what about with you?"
"Oh, you know, just the usual."
"That's cool. So, what about that-"
"Yeah, my Dad friggin' beat me up today."
I sigh. Here we go. "Oh. Dear. What did you do Josh. Tell me."
"Well, I'm glad you asked - at first I was like 'Man, I'm gonna beat this motherfucker up,' but THEN I was like, 'no dude, that's my Dad,' so I just ran out of the house. I figured I could manage myself out on the street for a while... since, y'know, I'm such a hardass."
"Yep, that's you, Josh." Someone please hand me a revolver.
But no... Josh continues: "So then I'm walking down MLK - that's the bad part of town, but it's cool... I walk down there all the time - and just figure I'd hang out there for a while and keep cool. But THEN this big ass group of black guys came up and were like 'Hey stupid white boi, what you be doin' herre?' and I was like 'Step the fuck back, assholes, before I karate-chop your asses,' and then I spit on the leader. He was wearing gang colors. AND THEN, FOR NO REASON, they just jump on me and start beating the shit out of me."
"But Josh, I thought you were a Karate Master?"
"Oh... uh... yeah. Well, there were like a dozen of them, and I fucking took like five of them down, and then one pulled out a gun and fucking shot me in the arm. So then I'm like 'Fuck, now I have to go to the hospital or I'm going to bleed to death."
"But Josh, last time you got shot you didn't go to the hospital."
"Yeah, this one was fucking life-threatening, though! Don't question me!"
"Sorry," I say, "Tell about your normal average day some more. Forget I said anything."
JOSH: "OK, good idea." Totally oblivious to the mockery. "So I'm at the hospital, and I'm bleeding all over the place, but they manage to fix me up. They wanted me to spend a couple of weeks in there, because I was so messed up, but I had to get outta there... I got things to do, y'know? Anyway, so I stash some of the morphine drip bags in my Silent Bob jacket and then catch a couple of cutie nurses in a towel closet for a hott threesome, then hit the road. I decide I'm just gonna go home and deal with my Dad... y'know... because I'm so cool. So I hitchhike back over to my house and bust in the door and my Old Man is like, 'Where the fuck have you been, you miserable worthless little shit?' Can you believe that ass is waving MY bottle of rum around while he's saying this?"
"..."
"I know! And so I snatch that rum back and take down the whole motherfucking bottle, and say, 'Listen to me, you old fart, I just can't take this anymore!' and so I pull out my trusty 'Kwik-n-Easy Suicide' box, pull out some razor blades, and slice my arms to Hell right there in front of him! I was sure to cut up-and-down and not aross... across is for posers, dude."
Oh, the irony of that is almost too much.
So Josh continues, "And that motherfucker - you won't believe this - just starts beating me while I'm fucking dying in his arms!"
"That's crazy, Josh. So crazy. So, so crazy." *Cough.*
"I know! So I pull out my .38 and shoot that crazy senile SOB's kneecap off and drove him to the hospital."
"All while you're wrists are bleeding?"
"Yeah, I'm used to that though. Y'know, I've cut myself over one hundred-"
"I know."
"...Oh. So yeah, that was my day."
... What an asshole, that Josh.
...
I'm tired. I'm going to go heat up a kolache.
Blaine Billingsley hasn't filed his taxes yet.