PURE LARD: PANTS ON FIRE

D.J. Kirkbride writes this Pure Lard column every fucking month. He just does. A while back, he asked Wayne if he could put it in tastes like chicken. After several bribes of Guinness, Wayne said, \"Why the hell not?\" So, on to the good times.
Starting a new job can be fun. I know this, as I\'ve done it at least once a year-- sometimes as much as thrice annually-- since graduating from the illustrious University of Rio Grande with pointless honors way back in the last Century. One of my first jobs out of college was at a Barnes & Noble (B&N). Then I left that gig for another one. And then I got laid-off. Soon after, I began yet another new job at a different B&N. It was only non-life-sustaining part-time, but I chose to make the best of it by reinventing myself... to amuse myself, mostly.
I liked to start off subtly. At B&N, we worker bees got all kinds of perks... like stripped magazines! (When magazines don\'t sell, the publishers only want the covers sent back to them, so we \"strip\" them, so to speak, keeping the coverless magazines to either throw away or enjoy ourselves!) In front of several other employees, I asked the magazine guru to save movie and TV magazines for me whenever he remembered... but once we were alone, I asked him to also save me the hairstyle magazines. (Which, in fact, I have no interest in, as almost all are made for women, featuring complicated and showy hairdos, for the most part.) \"We\'ll just keep this between us,\" I added conspiratorially. He nodded, quizzically taking a peek at my blandly parted-on-the-side hair.
Sure enough, a few days later there were three stripped women\'s hairstyle magazines in the break room with my name on \'em. How wacky that others looking through the stripped magazines would see these hairstyle magazines with my name boldly scribbled on the coverless fronts.
The next time I worked, I was sporting a new hairdo, trendily mussed and messy like all the hepcats on TV. No one commented, but I\'m sure a few coworkers noticed. Especially the magazine guy... heh, heh, heh.
After this subtle ruse, I felt it time to move up the ante, moving on to blatant, mildly outlandish, and completely pointless lies.
My opportunity presented itself when a coworker was talking about seeing celebrities when she lived in... somewhere other than Ohio. She mentioned running into Ralph Macchio at a grocery store.
\"Feh. Them Karate Kid movies are a load o\' shite right out me arse,\" I said with the faux Scottish accent I\'d adapted for this job.
My new coworkers naturally wondered why I\'d say such a thing. I explained that Mr. Miyagi\'s trainings were obviously written by some screenwriter who knew nothing of karate. The example I pulled out of my ass was the \"wax on, wax off\" bit. Clearly, I said, it should be \"wax off, wax on\", with no explanation as to why, silently going back to my work.
They shrugged and changed the subject. After a few perfectly timed moments of keeping quiet as they talked amongst themselves about different things, I chimed in as if the Karate Kid conversation was still going on. \"And the fookin\' tournaments at the end of the first and third ones were bullocks, too, ye know.\"
They confusedly looked at me, the weird new Scottish guy with stylishly gelled hair.
I shrugged. \"Anyone who’s been to one will tell ye the same.\"
One of them asked if I’d been to a karate tournament.
\"Aye, of course, ye wee spotty bastard,\" I answered insolently. \"I\'m a black belt in taekwondo!\" (Incorrectly, for my own amusement, pronouncing it \"tee-uh-kwan-doe\".)
As a demonstration, I gave a karate chop to the air with an \"eee-cha\", Ernie Reyes, Jr. style.
That seemed to satisfy them as they backed away from me. Just for good measure, I gave a high kick to some empty book boxes, knocking them over and making a mess.
\"How ya\' like me now?!?\" I demanded, thumping my chest and accidentally losing my fake Scottish accent.
They never called me on it, though. Nope, they knew better. Ah, those were some good times... I want a burrito.