Best lie you told in a bar

I went to a bachelor party in Marion, Ind. when I was in college. The groom got drunk off his ass and passed out early, so two friends and I went to a strip club.

This wasn't just any strip club, but a hillbilly strip club in a down on its heel old factory neighborhood in Marion. Real shithole. Someone had been shot there a week earlier.

Our Marion friend knew it could be a source of great humor and so it was. Beer was in cans and was a cooler behind a plywood "bar", but that was just the teaser.

The stage was nothing more than a some kitchen tiles on a top of some crates. Then came the ladies!

These strippers were straight out of Cops central casting. One had an overbite that made Chunk from Goonies look like a Pepsodent spokesmodel. It was hard to tell where the natural ugliness ended and where the trailer park drug deal beatdowns she was on the wrong end of began.

Better still, the strippers plied their trade with change cups. Tucking was allowed and liberally encouraged, but given the clientele, change cups were the order of the day. It was like dropping a toll on the Tri-State with Grade Z tits.

Given that we stuck out like the sore thumbs we were, i.e., we appeared to at least have some legal tender on us, the strippers flocked to us like quarter-grubbing bloodhounds. Given that the actual groom was 10 fathoms into a blotto haze at his house, we made up a story that our friend John was the one getting married.

We created a backstory that he wasn't sure if his "fiance" was right for him. He played the part well too, Struck all of the right sensitive, but frisky high points. The strippers were intrigued. Or least they gave on that they were as they drooled over our "money".

A few performances in, a rotund blonde came up from behind our friend. She grabbed the back of his head, pulled his hair, and proceeded to stick her tongue right down his throat.

My other friend and I watched with amazement. Not so much as what she did, but we could see that John was having repeated visits to his doctor for herpes treatments flashing before his eyes. He was stone terrified.

It was about that time that the regulars were starting to get resentful that we were hogging their women. We sensed trouble and got out of Dodge double-quick.

Not the greatest lie, mind you, but one that was really fun ... since it didn't happen to me.

The epilogue? John is happily married ... his chlamydia hasn't slowed him down a bit.

 

A lie Spike Chiquet himself is tangentially involved in. . . .welcome back weekend my senior year in college, me and a bunch of friends are doing a little drinking and me and another guy strike up a conversation with a group of women. They seem bored after a few minutes and one mentions that she heard the football team was having a party that night and they should head there. "Naw, screw the football team, you want to party with athletes, party with us, we're the baseball team," I say. My school did not at that point have a baseball team and only in the last couple years has started a club team, but whatever. It didn't work that night but for some reason we decided it would work a lot better if we have a website, so we cooked up a site using the names of our friends as the players. I'm the starting second baseman.

 

In college, one of my buddies would say that he had been a contestant on Nickelodeon's GUTS, and that he had won a piece of the Aggro Crag. He was charming anyway and probably didn't need that schtick, but it worked because 1) it was a famous enough show that almost everyone got the reference and 2) it wasn't famous enough that anyone he brought it up with would have specific knowledge to refute him.

The opposite end of this spectrum - A year ago, a female friend of mine asks me if I've heard of John Smith who plays for the Pawtucket Red Sox, the AAA affiliate for Boston. I tell her no, and then I check the roster, and he's not there. I ask her if she's sure she has the name right, and she's positive, and that he plays second base. I try The Baseball Cube, which basically has stats for anyone who got a cup of coffee in the various minor leagues, and still nothing. She was essentially dating the Montaous Walton of New England. I'm not sure what his end game was though, since this wasn't just a one-night stand in a bar - they had been out two or three times, according to her. She was not pleased.

 

I was Moddy.

 

Did you score?

 

Ahhh, yes. I miss that website. I think I was a pitcher?
The record book was my favorite part.

 

The promise of getting to see a piece of the Aggro Crag would probably get me to go home with a guy, not gonna lie.

 

I have absolutely no idea what the Aggro Crag is. Sounds like some kind of disease or condition — or at least an infestation.

 

I was JDV.

 

Provably and demonstrably?

 

When I was at UVA, my roommate did video for the football team and had a bunch of team-issued gear. One weekend, that involved him trying to convince girls he was the kicker. Granted, we were at a bar the night before a home game, but he explained that away with "I just have to do this" while miming a shoddy kicking motion. He had a name and everything - Phil Waterman. Didn't work.

I've said this here before, but I'm the same height as Matt Schaub and we were the same year at UVA. We also look a good bit alike - I've got a much better hairline than him (knock on wood) but that wasn't the case at the time:



Did I try to tell girls I was the quarterback? I did. Did it ever work? It did not.

 

Club here once had a dancer with only one leg.

Your turn.