Ask a Pathological Liar: Dominatrix Days

Dear Pathological Liar:

My fiancé has been after me to tell him about my romantic history. He thinks sharing the details of our pasts will bring us closer. I’m reluctant to do that because for several years I made an excellent living as a dominatrix with an exclusive clientele, one of whom was the founder of the startup where my fiancé now works. I’m afraid to tell him that the fancy car I drive is a direct result of spending many hours castigating his boss for being a failure while keeping him chained to my toilet. Any advice?

Signed,
Not a Slave to Convention

Dear Notta:

Why are you afraid to tell your fiancé that you made a lot of money doing exactly what he fantasizes about doing everyday—humiliating his boss? Your situation reminds me of this one time when I was working at my dad’s high-end bordello in Monaco. There was this dominatrix there, Madame Stiletto—she was like a mother to me, albeit a mother who wore mostly latex. In fact, it was Madame Stiletto who staked me the money to buy my first European soccer team, which I used as a front to launder the proceeds from my counterfeit couture company. Ah, memories. Anyway, sorry. To get back to your problem, I think you should go ahead and tell the guy. But maybe chain him to the toilet first, in case he has an adverse reaction.

—-

Dear Pathological Liar:

This may sound like a strange request, but I need help learning how to lie. I am just patently unable to tell a lie to give myself an advantage in my personal and business relationships. It’s like I have a mental block that forces me to tell the truth, even when telling a lie would help me come out on top. To give you an example, the other day I bought a pack of gum and paid with a five dollar bill. The clerk gave me change for a twenty—and I brought the mistake to her attention! I just handed back fifteen bucks that I could’ve kept in my pocket. What the hell is wrong with me, and can you help?

Signed,
Honest to a Fault

Dear Honest:

No, I can’t help you. Help you learn how to lie?! Are you kidding? Who do you think I am, some kind of lying guy who lies all the time? Dude, I NEVER lie, because lying is wrong. Get me? I’m going to say it again slowly so you will understand: Lying. Is. Wrong.

Period.

I’m actually shocked and offended that you would ask me such a thing. You kind of remind me of my dad’s former business partner. He and Dad owned Walt Disney World for a few years, back when Disney couldn’t do anything without royally screwing it up. My dad and his partner were the ones responsible for bringing back Mickey Mouse, Snow White and all of those other characters that Disney misguidedly jettisoned. Also, they were the ones who got the idea to have amusement park style rides and stuff. Anyway, this partner of my dad’s was always trying to get my dad to cut corners and even to tell lies, all just to make a few more bucks.

“Look,” my dad said, “we’re already billionaires several times over. And Disney just offered to buy the theme park back from us for 18 times what we paid for it just three or four years ago. So why would you fib? It’s a sin!”

Eventually that guy really burned my dad, perjuring himself in federal court by testifying that Dad was the one who cut the deal with the South American bird smuggling ring. Our family went from having billions of dollars to being penniless in an afternoon. Literally. I remember a caravan of about 50 armored cars pulling up in front of our house and government men in grey uniforms rolling bricks of thousand dollar bills out in those heavy duty wheelbarrows you see at construction sites. My mom, the Olympic figure skater Peggy Fleming? It just about broke her heart.

So, teach you to lie? No, sir. I’d rather throw this one-of-a-kind million dollar Rolex on my wrist right down the garbage disposal.