Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Guest Blog #2 "Fibs, harmless right?"

Today on my day off I was at Schnuck's picking up Kelly's (sp change because of stalkers-remember?) pre-natal vitamins. During my 20 minute wait I ventured to the magazine and book rack. The book that caught my eye was by the girl that does the show "Chelsey Lately" and it was titled "Dear Vodka, It's Me Chelsey". First off, tell me that's not an awesome title of a book. The first chapter was about how she told a fib when she was young. This immediately sparked my usually lacking memory, about how I think telling fibs can be hilarious, with mild-to-serious repercussions.

I cannot go through every fib I have ever told, but I will narrow it down to the three that stick out most. I will start out with the one that I believe might have been my first blatant fib. I was in elementary school, about 1st or 2nd grade, (I can't remember, like I said, I don't have a good memory). One day at recess all the kids were playing, Me with myself...I mean, by myself, because I was kind of a loner in elementary school. (Very mysterious, the chicks dug it, and I had plenty of friends in my head) Well all of a sudden there was utter chaos, all the kids started running over to the fence and there stood the greatest thing that could happen at recess, a dog. Everyone was talking and saying how cool it was, and 'wondering whose dog it is'. I, with the confidence of a teeny-bopper on the red carpet, said "It's mine." Oooh! What's up? All eyes on me!! Which I believe is where I wasted my 15 minutes of fame. Then my reality came crashing down, the teacher comes over and disperses the mob, all of the smart-ass little brats say, "It's ok, It's Patrick's". At this moment, my barely formed nuts fell out of my shorts. The teacher says, "Patrick, make sure you lock your dog up so it doesn't come back anymore". I say, "Ok". Crisis averted right? Wrong. The effin dog came back the next two days, and at this point I'm balls deep in the mess, I can't say I "fibbed" so I stuck to my guns, "let it ride" the devil on my shoulder said. The next day it was obvious that the dumb-ass real owner of the dog locked it up, like a responsible pet owner, because the dog never came back. Except for a littel stress and anxiety, no body was hurt and I was eventually elected as class president. Just kidding.

Fib #2. My middle initial is W. You know how curious kids are in 6th grade, so, my future best friend asked me what the W stood for. First name that came to my mind was Wilbur. As he began laughing outloud, I was laughing internally because he obviously believed my fib. After random taunts, my friend-whose name ryhmes with Madam-eventually lost interest and the topic was never discussed again. Until we were 28 years old. Kelly mentioned my real middle name, to which my friend pointed and laughed at her, saying that I lied to her. Not True my friend. I "fibbed" to you! I have to admit that when he found out he was a little hurt that I kept it going for so long, but at the same time, it is hard to be sympathetic when you're laughing so hard you could shit yourself. The Verdict: The friend is over it and I got a really good laugh, no harm done.

Fib #3. This is by far the best one I have ever gotten people to believe. While I was in the Marine Corps, at the end of my enlistment, my platoon went on what they call, 'a float'. This means we jump on a Navy ship and go to different places in the world and show off our muscle. Before I go on, let me say that if you're not on an aircraft carrier (which we were not) there isn't anything to do on a Navy ship. This took place in the middle of September in 2001. This date might ring a bell. On our way to Africa we got the news about what had happened back home, and of course people began to panic, very understandably. Boredom is at it's extreme two weeks into a trip accross the ocean. I went to a crew chief meeting that was called, which the lower ranking Marines did not get the pleasure of attending. Perfect for my next "fib". When I got back to the platoon's bunking area (our room) I put on my most serious face and said "Hey Marines, gather around real quick, I need to pass on some news. I was just informed that we are the closest unit to Iraq, so they're sending us after those bastards" Shortly afterwards, I went to the mess hall to eat dinner. Holy Crap. When I got back I could have sworn WWIII was taking place. Guys aged 18-25 running around trying to email home, one guy crying, and others talking shit about what they were going to do in the face of battle. An extremely large amount of anxiety set in. I had no idea they would take it so seriously, after all, I'm the guy that is never serious, seriously. Word got passed to my commander that I had passed on some bad info, so a platoon formation (gathering) was held. Wonder what this could be about? After my commander gave a geography lesson, and told the Marines that there were a lot of other units a lot closer than we were, I was reprimanded. To say it nicely. I tell you what, our bathroom never looked so spotless, our hallway glistened, my push-up count increased drastically and everyone was well rested because I pulled all of the night-watch for a loooong time. Now that I think about it that was a pretty shitty thing to tell people. Oh well, what's done is done.


  1. I think I was there when the real middle name was revealed. Funny stuff!
    When we go to restaurants, N always tells the hostess a fake name. This is a funny fib until they call the name and no one knows it's our table! Funny post, P.