The Chronicles of Uncle Bullshit

Everyone has those token family members who have quirky traits. Some family members collect unicorn statues, some have too many cats, and some get drunk at inappropriate occasions (school picnics or funerals). We have them all, and I have several. 

Today I’m going to talk about Uncle Bullshit.

Uncle Bullshit is named as such because after he tells a story and leaves the room it’s not uncommon to hear someone exclaim ‘bullllllllshiiiiiit.’ He has been known from a young age to start out a story within acceptable bounds, and then as time progresses and he starts to repeat it, it gets crazier and crazier.

An example: two years ago he told us that he was in London with a mate where they were, unfortunately, mugged. I’ve been mugged too. I was tottering home from the pub one night (yes, a bit drunk), laptop over shoulder, arms loaded with shopping and handbag dangling over wrist. The guy ran past, knocked me over and grabbed my handbag (yes, I did get it back eventually, credit cards and cash missing). I don’t question that being mugged isn’t traumatic, I was certainly upset, so I had no reason to doubt the original version of his story. At first it was believable - he claimed they had been confronted by a man with a knife. He claimed that they had handed over their gear, the mugger had run off and the crime had been reported to the police.

One year later, my sister, PartyGirl, broke up with her boyfriend for many, very valid reasons. Uncle Bullshit had decided to take the ex boyfriend’s side and had made some offensive phone calls about the issue, which had been responded to just as offensively. In response to this, he sent an email aimed at my mother (god I’m glad we have this in writing), and one of thing he included was an acusation that my mother did not care when he was in hospital in London - in intensive care no less - fighting for his life after the dangerous knife fight he participated in when confronted by a mugger/attempted murderer.

WTF?

So it has progressed from a stock-standard mugging:

To: 

This is what we have to deal with. I cut him off years ago because I have an issue with the illegal behaviour he actively participates in, but I am kept up to date by the rest of my family who still, for reasons unknown, communicate with him. So before I finish, here is one more story that pretty much sums up ‘Uncle Bullshit.’

My father was in a car accident. He was driving down the Monash highway in his ute at about 6.00am. He was minding his own business when BOOM, a guy hurtled onto the road, merged uncontrollably and smashed into the side of his car. It was a hit-and-run, and my dad’s car was un-drivable. He rang the cops, and witnesses who’d seen the impact corroborated the story. He wasn’t injured, and he was able to replace the car so all’s well that end’s well. Dad told the story of his car accident to Uncle Bullshit during one of his visits to see him.

Fast forward, twelve months later.

Uncle Bullshit is sitting in the room with my family when he leans back and says casually,

‘Did you hear about my car accident?’

‘No,’ replies Dad, ‘what happened.’

‘Well I was drivin' down the Monash Freeway, minding me own business when BOOM! Outta nowhere this driver comes down the onramp and smashes into the side of me! Turns out he totally wrote off my car! I tried chasing him for about ten k’s, got up to about 180k’s an hour at one point! I had the cops on the phone and they told me that they had him in sight on the chopper so I could stop the pursuit. After that I realised I’d been injured so had to go hospital’

Everyone in the room either exchanged knowing looks, or smirked into their tea. It was clear that Uncle Bullshit has forgotten that it was my dad who told him the story in the first place. To my Dad’s credit though, he didn’t flinch.

‘Shit,’ said Dad, ‘I would’ve thought that a high speed pursuit with police chopper escort would have made the news!’ Uncle Bullshit shook his head,

‘Nah, they didn’t want any publicity! Didn’t want to encourage other members of the community to do what I did.’

‘Well, thank god you were okay,’ said Dad, and that was the end of it, stored away for a session of hysterical laughter as soon as Uncle Bullshit went home.