A seemingly innocuous encounter between two individuals at the bus station took a turn for the bizarre. An obese man in a tropical-print ‘muumuu’ initiated an unsolicited (and clearly unwanted) conversation with a slender man in running gear; waiting impatiently in the corner.
“I’m a long distance runner too.”; The larger of the two men stated bluntly. Despite being monstrously out of shape, he offered that admission with the veracity of someone who expected to be believed. At first the athlete didn’t even feign interest but his snub didn’t faze the clueless behemoth. It seemed like a desperate attempt to form a superficial connection but the chances of that happening appeared to be, slim-to-none. Any casual observer would have picked up on the stark body-language disconnect between the two. Something just seemed to be lacking in the muumuu man’s powers of perception.
Like a cringe worthy train wreck, the one sided conversation continued on. Realizing it wasn’t going away, the athlete stifled a disbelieving snicker (out of polite courtesy) at the fat man’s very improbable tale. Occasionally he would even nod with mock sincerity.
“Mumm, yeah. I see you have the chiseled physique of dedicated Olympian”; The runner offered with a snort.
The talkative talespinner continued on unperturbed (or possibly oblivious) to his doubting subject.
“There always seemed to be characters like this hanging around the bus station.”; He thought.
“Yeah, I know it’s hard to believe (considering how I look) but I actually set the world speed record for the Boston marathon in 1987. Nobody broke it for 6 years!”
The athletic man couldn’t help but grin as he listened to the yarns roll out of his mouth. The ‘big dude’ continued to dig his pit of bullshit even deeper with each breath. Everyone has known a habitual liar at some point in their lives but his ‘whoppers’ were nearly as big as he was.
“At least this guy’s lies are good for free entertainment until the bus comes.”; He concluded whimsically.
Deciding to join and actively participate in the ongoing delusional fantasy in progress, he added his own thread to the deceptive weave.
“Oh, I believe you; really I do. As a matter of fact, I was the 9th man to walk on the moon.”
Surprisingly, the clever tactic to out-bullshit the bullshitter didn’t even phase the larger man. He just nodded approvingly and seemed to regard the athlete’s fib as absolute gospel. With less than three seconds pause, he unveiled his next fanciful blurb.
“During the Vietnam war I was in a special forces division so secret that it’s identity has never been revealed until now. I had many top secret missions and I actually saved the world on three different occasions.”
His latest revelation was one for the record books. If it wasn’t so frightening to hear from the mouth of a probable psychotic, it would be very commendable for its fanciful creativity.
“I was abducted by aliens and taught their ways and customs.”; The athletic guy deadpanned. (He was quite proud that there was hardly any sign of amusement in his voice with his counter story of one-upmanship.)
Once again, the liar initiated the next round before the words were completely out of his mouth.
“Elvis Presley lives deep in a cavern under my home. He and the King of the Bigfoot Nation annually negotiates with Heaven’s angels for the right of humanity to exist for another year. If they are ever unsuccessful, armageddon will begin! It almost happened a few years ago when the Atlanta Braves were in the World Series. Fortunately for all of us, they lost and the angels allowed humanity to continue on.”
The runner could no longer withhold his laughter. The latest absurd statement was too much and it did him in. He guffawed heartedly and clutched his side while expecting ‘Pinnochio’ to finally break with the comedy routine and explain why he was saying such outrageous things. To his chagrin, there was nothing but seriousness in the obese man’s eyes. No one could possibly keep a straight face after delivering a titanic-sized whopper like that, and yet somehow he was. It was the sort of fanciful narrative you might read on the cover of the ‘Weekly World News’ but the ‘muumuu marathon runner’ was no tabloid sci-fi writer. The only remaining possibility was that he really believed what he was saying; and that was more than a touch frightening.
“Come on! Pl-ease! Do you really expect me to swallow that load of crap? I know you don’t really believe those things, do you?”; He asked incredulously. “Why do you feel the need to make up lies like that?”
“Well, the real truth is… that… I am a hit man… sent here to fulfill a contract out on your head. I just wanted you to realize that it is nothing personal against you. I… hope you… understand.”
The athlete rolled his eyes and smirked disgustedly. Humoring a habitual liar for more than a few minutes was annoying. “Oh really? Well, let me see your gun then! Or do you use a knife in public situations like this?” The molasses thick sarcasm in his voice would have been evident to anyone. “However you do it, I forgive you.”; He added insincerely.
With that acerbic verbal confrontation, the fat man shrugged his shoulders and stuck his hands into his pockets. (insinuating the universal sign of embarrassed surrender). The ‘game’ was over and there was nowhere to go from his precarious position; backed into a proverbial corner. He looked down at his heavily burdened wing tips and swallowed perceptibly. Then he looked his ‘doubting Thomas’ in the eyes for the first time since the whole exchange started.
“Ok. Ok! The real truth is that in awkward situations like this I… “
The athletic man smiled respectfully as his colorful companion began his true confession. ‘It is never easy to confront a major personal flaw’; He thought solemnly to himself. ‘The sad character standing before me is finally going to admit he had a problem telling the truth. That is absolutely essential to facing and overcoming any personal issue.’
It made him feel strangely philanthropic to assist the curious, ‘mountain of a stranger’ with his addiction to making up untruths. It just wasn’t healthy to systematically lie to impress people all the time.
“In situations like this I… usually use a garrote since it is quiet and quick.”
With a deadly speed that the athlete would have never thought possible from a man of his girth, the fat man whipped out his preferred weapon of choice and looped it around the victim’s exposed neck. In less that twenty seconds, his unsuspecting mark lay on the floor in the final throes of moribund. No one in the virtually vacant bus station even glanced in their direction as the assassin dragged the body into a maintenance closet. In less than the time it takes for a vending machine to dispense some candy, the successful killer slipped back out into the anonymous night air.
Every professional hitman ‘worth their weight in salt’ earns a nickname (based on their usual modus operandi). The portly assassin had always been admired by his underworld peers because he chooses to meet his victims in person. His uncharacteristic method is to kill them after a psychological war (of sorts) where he slyly gets their forgiveness for what he is about to do. He puts them at ease with a series of blatant lies.
Just like ‘the boy who cried wolf’ too many times; eventually nothing he says is believed. Then when he deftly peppers in the equally hard to believe truth (that he plans to kill them), they just assume it is another of his fanciful lies and ‘forgive him’.
That’s why they call him the ‘Wolfman’.