I am a third culture kid. There are always

  • I am a third culture kid. There are always two sides to a story and there are some things you probably didn’t know about us third culture kids.

  • For example: we are lousy at keeping secrets, but great at asking questions. Just now, I revealed what you intimated to me to your worst enemy, while inquiring about the weather.

  • But how can we tell if a revealed secret is a truth or a lie? Because I am skilled at the devious art of lying by telling the truth. I named this skill as paltering.

  • Sadly, all this paltering non-lying has gotten me is a temp job as a third-string sewer scrubber. It seems that voters prefer a candidate that fibs out the fib-hole and flushes it

  • down the fib drain. No, I needed to start lying—and fast. I quickly surrendered myself to the underworld of untruths. My pants spontaneously combusted and my eyes curdled. The

  • deafening mantra repeated itself in my head. "Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!" This was my own doing. My burden to carry for the life of lies I embraced. "No, I did not eat your cake."

  • They didn't buy that the cake was a lie to begin with. The cake is always a lie. Even when it isn't a lie, it is. Cake itself is not a celebration. My burning pants weren't doing

  • anything to extinguish themselves, so I stopped, dropped, and rolled. I started laughing. The flames continued to rise. The cake morphed into a Baked Alaska. But it still wasn't

  • my birthday. However the partygoers didn't realize this as they were busy being on fire. So I ate the entire Baked Alaska and jumped into the pool. The resulting splash flooded

  • the town, emptying the pool. There I was: Sitting in a dry pool at a party attended by people aflame. I’ve had sucky birthdays, but this one took the cake…I mean the Baked Alaska.



  1. LordVacuity Jun 01 2020 @ 15:32

    Nome wasn't built in a night. Not even a long Arctic night.

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