Is There Any Truth to the Liar’s Club?

Every time I pass the Liar’s Club bar in a nearby town, my curiosity is aroused.  A faded “Closed” sign has hung on the door for years, but I’m not falling for it. I think the sign is just a clever deception.

I am not a drinker, but I could grab a cup of coffee and sit around and swap lies with the best of them. It wouldn’t really be dishonest . . . would it? After all, it is a liar’s club.

I can only imagine the conversation with my wife if I ever decided to go:

“Hey Bonnie, I’ve always wanted to check out the Liar’s Club. It sounds interesting. I think I’ll run down there tonight and see what goes on.”

“Ha. That’s a good one. Where are you really going?”

“What? Do you think I’m lying?”

“Duh, isn’t that what liars do?”

“I’m not a liar.”

“Then why are you going to the Liar’s Club?”

“I thought you didn’t believe I was going there.”

“Of course I don’t.”

The conversation would never make it out of the rut. As I walked out the door, I’d ask her to trust me, to which she would most likely reply, “Yeah, right. Tell me another one.”

I—like probably many others in the Liar’s Club—was raised to tell the truth. Maybe we got on the pathway to lying when our wives started popping questions to us like “Do I look fat in this?” or “Do you like my banana bread I stayed up all night baking for you?” Those are times where I’m thinking they don’t always want the truth, and it’s not wise to tell it.

It would be weird going in and meeting the liars. Do members give their real names? It would be hard for me not to. But come to think of it, that could be a good thing. I never did like the name Clarence. I could give them one of the cool names I had as a kid, like Butch or Bill.

If I could get through the introductions, I’d probably be OK because I’ve got plenty of good stories. Probably what makes them good is that it’s hard for me to tell a story exactly like it happened. My condition is so bad that if I was holding the actual fish in front of you, I would still find a way to exaggerate its size.

There are questions I want to ask. Like, if someone said “good story,” could you really believe him? Or, would the rules of the club permit you to tell the truth occasionally if you cross your fingers? 

I want to know how they elect their officers. Who could you trust to count the votes? Maybe they just automatically make the biggest liar president. And could you ever believe the treasurer’s report?

I wonder if there would be any ladies in the club. Lying might not come as easily to them. You could make it easier for them to start by asking their age.

I can see me losing track of time and getting a phone call from Bonnie about midnight.

“Do you know what time it is? Remember, we have early duty at church in the morning.”

“Oh wow, it’s later than I thought. I guess I’ll head on home.”

“Where are you anyway?”

“I told you where. Want me to put my phone on speaker and have the guys verify where I am?”

“Nothing personal, but do you think I’m going to believe them?”

Once again I’d see where this was going—or not going—so I would just tell her I’m with my Bible study group. By then lies would be flowing naturally. And she just might believe that one.

Maybe I should think twice before checking out the Liar’s Club. If there’s any truth to it, it might be more than I can handle.