Posts Tagged ‘lies’

Whenever I look at the mirror on a grey Monday morning after a weekend binge I could crawl. The mirror of course lies. Retching and falling in drunken stupor was the night before. The mirror has had no way knowing my love with bottle. Yet when I pause before I lather I have a sneaking feeling it points an accusatory finger. I have shrunk several sizes.

The other day I was promoted over several others to the No.2 Position. When I walked past the cubicles of my former workmates, I looked at my reflection next to the cooler. I almost was blown over. I looked 10 feet tall. Till I meet my father-in law who is the numero uno. I flop instantly and have a whipped cur look. SometimesI think we human are really rubber ball or elastic that some unseen hand pull and bounce around.

My finances are nothing much but I look well heeled. Everytime  my wife palaver with women over some gala events,-it is a rehash of Real Beverly Hills housewives . Always I hear my take-home pay is grown astronomical. Whenever I mutter some cuss-words she has a laugh and tells, ” I just want to make the girls green with jealously.’ Between us we have a tacit agreement whenever she speaks of her age,- always two decades knocked out, I should keep a straight face. It is fine since a couple of drinks make me see nothing straight in the horizon nor anything in the drawing room.

Now after living through several avatars I am not sure it is plain lying or laziness to play by the cards on the table. I always have an ace up in my sleeve. Ever since in primary school I took a picture of Ronald Coleman and said it was the snapshot of my father. Unfortunately I was sitting in the class of a teacher who had played the same card before me.  He made me stand for the rest of the day holding a card LIAR. In fact I all along thought the teacher was asking me to remind him of his fib. You see my name by right is Billy Liar. It never connected. Not even this day.




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Widow Up-North was so fond of her hen. Throughout Iceland she was known for her industry. Up North with a hen whom she fondly called My little Bank. Every morning she would walk up to barn where the hen did not disappoint her. My Little Bank greeted her with a fine egg. The egg full of Nature’s goodness. Rest of the day was spent by the widow wondering if she would make a fine omelette or take it egg Benedictine. In her lonely life she learned to entertain herself by such simple things.
One day she received a call from one who said,’Trust me I am a Master of Egg management’. He assured that he had his degree from Yale and had worked with the best investment bankers. He also mentioned casually that his thesis ‘How to break an egg’ opened doors to the best corporate houses in the USA.
The widow was flabbergasted and never knew eggheads ever broke their heads on such a thing as an egg. The widow pleaded for time. She knew My Little Bank only needed her company and she never failed her. The Master in Egg Management came soon after with another fellow who looked like a worm but he assured that he represented credit agency Stuff& Nonsense. Without preliminaries he said,’I bring you great news.’ He squirmed as a worm would do and said,’My Little Bank gets Triple A status.’
‘What does that mean?’ Widow Up-North was perplexed. For the life of her she could not think the hen who did not make any one in Iceland act strangely was making some eggheads from across seas make a song and dance about her!
She brought her hen to see the two eggheads.
The hen cackled and she repeated it thrice and walked off. The widow was convinced. If My Little Bank forgot her manners and acted as though she was hit by lightning these two knew their business.
Poor Widow Up-North signed the papers on the dotted line.
The eggheads gave her sheaves of papers and explained.
‘Never Mind these complicated charts and projections! only the top in Federal Reserve Bank would know what all these means.’ The egghead from Yale said; and the worm added,’Of course whatever he knows my boss in Goldman Sachs would know better’. Thus Tweedledee and Tweedledum from Investment Banking left.
Widow Up-North went through the instructions and went to the hen and said,’You are a triple A hen. I will feed you in such a way you are going to lay triple A size eggs three times a day.
Thus the widow followed the advice of the terrible twins from USA.
One month later the widow found the hen bloated like a sumo wrestler and no eggs!
‘That cannot be!’ Widow Up- North was devastated. Everyone in Iceland came to know and said,
‘Two eggheads Tweedledee and Tweedledum broke My Little Bank!
Fancy statistics do not add up. Eggheads who never even picked an egg or a hen except to make a meal of her, ruined widow Up-North.

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Son pointing to the newspaper: He Pop, What is this Iron Curtain?
Pop, none too wise for all his reading scratches his head, ‘Reliable news is hard to come by from the East. What are the Commies up to?’
Son now in his father’s shoes is reading the news.
His son reading over his shoulders,”What’s thing about Bamboo Curtain?’
Father: This inscrutable Chinese! We can’t trust what we get to read from Beijing.’
Father now on his death bed asks his grandson: What’s new?
The boy of 12 checks his android and says,’ Protestors fired upon in Libya. But news from the ground are unreliable, it says. Must I go on?
Dying man turns other way murmuring,’All that I wanted to hear was news of the world as it was. Not even a single day I succeeded!

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Pie-in-the-Skye is no ordinary kingdom. The king was a louse and yet the subjects were the most patriotic in their sentiments. Everytime the king sent his coach driven by a team of six Arabian horses for some errand or other the people turned out in droves to pay their respects. The king was never allowed to show himself since a sight of him would have given their secret away. The King was shown to be ten foot tall and of the most magnificent bearing. The king knew he was a louse and his name was King Crusty.
The Royal House of Hot Biscuits never gave out press releases or employed a press agent. Somehow the patriotism of the man on the street got the better of him and he was apt to tell any visiting stranger that his king was the greatest. By repetition the royal person became enlarged as though he was the grandest. Indeed he was a louse till he wanted to prove he was not.
There was a neighboring kingdom by name Mush-hush beyond the mountain ranges. King Crusty never had an inkling his fate was bound with that realm by name Mush-hush, where thistles grew and men lived in squalor. No one would have thought it a place to settle down unless he had a taste for thistles.

One day Queen Crusty came into her husband’s study and said,” You don’t know who you really are! They speak of you as though you are Invincible, a god!”
“ Who me?”
“Yeah. You are a Hercules. That is what the people say.”
“ Whoever heard of a 90 pound Hercules. A god who is incontinent to boot?’
The Queen would have none of it. She said, “ You as my reports go, can swallow Mush-hush in one gulp. Show people that you are indeed as they think. Goaded by the Queen the king set out to conquer Mush-hush. The king and the army reached the border. Just before battle cry was to sound the army waited for the king’s signal. But the king felt his belly raging and he was helpless. He let go his shit there and then. It was a deluge that all the rank and file saw and they were soon rolling on the ground in uncontrollable laughter. How can an army laughing their heads off fight a war? Since then Pie-in-the Skye never practised war.
The people realized their king was just like any other, no more or less. They in fact felt more protective towards their king who was physically weak. Still he was their king.


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