Mad Dogs and Englishmen

She told me she didn’t do it, but with my keen observational skills, the fact that I have opposable thumbs, a larger brain, and language (I know some words) — I knew she was lying.
Plus she was the only other “person” in the house.

The conversation went something like this:
ME: Hey, you. Where YOU going so fast and what did you do to the rug?
DOG: What rug?
ME: The one in a pile at your feet.
DOG: I don’t see a rug.
ME: Seriously?
DOG: Oh, that. Is that a rug? Because it looks more like…
ME: It was until your track and field event ran through here.
DOG: Track and field. That’s a good one. You should write a humor…
ME: Why do you lie so goddamn always?
DOG: It came with the cute. A package deal. You know, puppies and toddlers and twenty-year-old models named Raoul.

She was right. I straightened the rug feeling duped once again. If there’s a grudge in here somewhere…  I’m holding it.

Back in my jewelry days, I had a limey friend. He was unattractively attractive in that way that some men can be. You know, so ugly they’re sexy. A guy whose British accent was so thick that if you got any on you—it would stick and eat through you, like alien slime, taking with it any and all traces of your common sense.

Everything he said was melodious and beguiling— a perfectly wrapped gift to my ears.
It was also a lie.
He was one of the slimiest characters you could ever hope to NOT meet, but everything he said sounded like poetry.

Like a shitty smack-talk, lying sack-talk sonnet.

He once told me to “sod off” when I caught him in yet another lie. And even though I had no idea what that meant —I wanted to do it. Immediately. AND it made me a little hot all day — I’m not gonna lie.

So, lies. They come in all shapes and sizes. Tiny, white, “I didn’t eat the last cupcake”, ones — to giant, wtf, “I can be and do whatever you think you need. I’m here to save you”, delusional ones.
In other words, everything that comes out of a politician’s mouth.

Unfortunately, they become acceptable when they have a cute puppy face, a thick foreign accent, or apparently a shit ton of money, a stage to stand on, and a camera pointed in their face.

I don’t now about you, but it’s beginning to feel like we’ve all been slimed.

I, for one, am pretty sick of this shit. I’m not falling for it anymore. Is that because I’m old? Or too smart? Or did the slime wound finally heal and I regained my common sense?
I feel like I can’t be lied to for one more minute!

Not by the lying limey with the lilting language, (Okay, you gotta love that).

Not by the cuddly and cute but corrupted canine (I’m on a roll).

Not by any of the plotting, placating and prevaricating politicians.(Bazinga!)

Can we just call foul; tell ‘um to “sod off”; take our balls and go home?

What do YOU think? Ever had anyone lie to your face? How many times before you got wise to it?

I’ve gotta go now. I need to teach my dog that it’s not okay to lie. I’m going to ground her AND take her phone away.

Carry on,
xox