The fine art of lying


I once told my friend Kitty a story that so delighted her with its slice-of-life qualities that she declared, “You know, you should be the Canadian Garrison Keillor.” Now, I’ve never read a whole lot of Garrison Keillor. But I’ve been wary of such comparisons since my other friend Tasha compared me a couple of times to Chuck Klosterman, with whom I wasn’t familiar at the time. Now that I’ve read a fair amount of Klosterman, I’m familiar with him as a writer whom I frequently enjoy and just as frequently yearn to punch in his arse-like face. And I do mean “arse-like”; compare these pictures of Klosterman and the character Arseface from the comic book Preacher:

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ANYWAY, this all-capitals “anyway” thing I’m doing is a device Klosterman frequently uses to get back on track after he’s digressed from his point and isn’t it annoying? It’s like he’s huffily rolling his eyes at you even though he’s the one who’s gone off on a tangent. Anyway, I just read a Salon article by Keillor that makes the comparison seem valid, though surely not in the way Kitty intended. It turns out that he’s not only a raconteur, but also a recreational liar. I can appreciate that. After all, I once convinced a college classmate that our school was officially changing its motto to “Hey there, sweet-tits!” True story.

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