chelle's story

A Tournament of Lies



D: A tournament of lies, huh?

M: Yup.

D: Leave it to Suze.

M: Maybe we could do a parody of her Peeling the Grapes of Wrath story, with the person who tells the least believable lie having to become a servant to the winner?

D: Why do I have the feeling Iíll be peeling a lot of grapes?

M: I know you know how to lie.

D: Oh, really?

M: Yes, really.

D: When have I ever lied to you?

M: What about the time you told Amanda we werenít sleeping together, swore to it on a stack of Bibles, as I recall?

D: Doesnít count. I didnít lie to you, I lied to her.

M: What about when you assured me that you hadnít slept with her during that visit?

D: I didnít.

 Methos raises an eyebrow.

 D: I didnít.  At no point did we sleep.

M: Iím sure you didnít.

 D: What about you?  'Why no Duncan, I didnít take a head. What makes you think that?'

Methos snorts.

D: Or how about ĎI know how tall Nero was?í

M: I do know how tall Nero was.

D: So does anyone with an encyclopedia.

M: How about ĎGod, Methos, no one has ever done that to me before?í

D: Well, no one had.  In a century or so.  Besides, Iím not the only one who pretends innocence.

M: Iíd never.

D: Oh really.  ĎBut, Mac, I have no idea how that got there.  I swear.í

M: I didnít.

D: Right.

M: This isnít very funny.

D: Maybe if we made chelle go get a beer.

M: chelle, go get a beer.  And bring me one while youíre at it.

D: So, a tournament of lies.  What can lie about?

M: The size of ouró

D: Youíd better lie.  Otherwise Suze gets upset.  For some reason sheís very attached to the size of youró

M: Thereís nothing wrong with the size of myóAnd I was going to suggest fish.

D: Fish?

M: Itís the classic thing to lie about.  You know. (Holds his hands about twelve inches apart). It was this big.

D: Nothing of yours has ever been that big.

M: Then why are you always moaning about how full I make you?

D: (flushing) Because well, the place it is is, you know, small.

M: Itís not that small.  In fact, yours is rather well used.

D: Methos!

M: Well, it is.

D: It wasnít until I met you.

M: One lie down.  How many more do you think we can get?

D: I wasnít lying.

M: You werenít?

D: No, I wasnít.  What do you think I am?

M: Um, easy?

D: Great, just great.  So Iím a slut and youíre what, a five thousand year old altar boy?

M: Of course not.  We didnít really have altars, although we did have big rocks.

D: Big rocks. 

M: You try and carve an altar without a chisel.

Itís Duncanís turn to snort.

M: We did have robes, though.

D: Robes.  So what god were you worshipping?

M: I have no idea.

D: You donít remember the god, just the robes and the rock?

M: And the sex.  We had sex on the rock.

D: Of course you did.

M (smirking): Why do you think we wore robes?

D: Was a single word of that true?

M: Maybe.

D: You lied and I was almost fooled.  Think thatís good enough?

M: I hope so.

D: Great.  Letís call it a night.

M: Whereís chelle with my beer?

D: She isnít your maid.  Why donít you get your own?

M: Iím a muse, remember?  I canít open the refrigerator.

D: Then how can you drink the beer?

M: The same way I can surf porn sites and touch you with my rod of joy.

D: Rod of joy?  No more porn for you.

M: But.

D: Besides, twig of joy would be more accurate.

M: Suze!


Send feedback: