When Your Best Friend Lies All The Time…And I Mean, BIG ASS WHOPPERS!

Imagine this: you’ve got a friend who’s practically the Picasso of tall tales, except instead of blue and pink periods, he’s got a “gas station murder” period and a “mysterious ex-wife” period. He’s over 50, still living with his parents, and lies about everything, like a compulsive storyteller who can’t bear to look at his actual life.

One night, he leans in, gives you that serious look — you know, like he’s about to drop some deep, cinematic truth — and tells you this absolute thriller: he was once married, but his wife got murdered at a gas station. Of course, he goes all in, claiming he personally took out her killer in an act of revenge-heroics. So, next day, you’re Googling it, half expecting to stumble across this epic tale splashed across the crime reports. Nothing. Not a blip.

But that’s the thing with him — it’s like he’s got this endless grab-bag of bizarre tales, and you never know which one he’s going to pull out next. It’s ridiculous, but you keep coming back, entertained just to see what on earth he’ll concoct tomorrow.

As a writer, I’m always on the lookout for stories. And here’s one I’ve got right in front of me — a man who’s truly disabled, no question about it. I’ve met him; he looks disabled, is disabled, and happens to be one of my closest friends. But here’s the twist: he spins the wildest yarns, these epic, unbelievable tales, all day long.

Psychologically, it’s a form of dissociation — a way for him to escape facing his reality head-on. I get it.