Liars' League

Free Cake by Peng Shepherd

Free Cake by Peng Shepherd

Read by Alex Mann

Earlier this afternoon at 3pm, the head of my Assistant Director of Communications exploded. The incident shut down production for at least 45 minutes, while the rest of the Communications Department waited for the Cleaning Crew to remove the biological matter and sterilize the office to working standards. Total collateral damage was calculated at one computer terminal, three computer monitors, the all-in-one printer machine, two blazers, two blouses, and one pair of trousers (the two managers seated nearest to him). It was an exceptionally messy episode.

 

Beginners by Will Boast

Beginners by Will Boast

Read by James McNeill

My father was never happy in work. His one great glory came when I was fourteen, about the time I started playing jazz seriously. He was a shift manager at a fancy resort hotel. He wore a mustache then, dyed and combed, and a lemon polo, and wandered the carpeted halls of the complex with purpose, straightening pictures, rearranging the continental breakfast, and playing grab-ass with the maids. Somehow he lasted three years. They hated to let him go. Without being able to say what he actually did around the place, everyone seemed to love him.

 

Hop Heads by Kit Caless

Hop Heads by Kit Caless

Read by Emile Clarke

I got a job at this craft beer bar. They stocked over fifty different beers, of all types. Porter, Pale Ale, IPA, Stout, Bitter, Belgian stuff. The boss was intense in the interview. I thought it would just be the regular conversation; you’ve worked in a bar before yes? When can you start? Great. See you Monday. But this guy, he started telling me about how a revolution was happening in beer. How it was changing, how taste was king and we should all get on board the beer bus towards flavour utopia.

 

Colours by Graham Buchan

Colours by Graham Buchan

Read by Paul Clarke

The job description on Danny Bannerman’s new business card was very straightforward: it said ‘Writer’. Not that Danny really needed a business card. He had a few regular clients who kept him in enough work, and he lived simply and inexpensively, so it wasn’t as if he had to actively market his skills. In fact he hadn’t thought of getting a business card at all; it was just that one afternoon he had half an hour to spare before his train at Victoria Station and there was a machine on the concourse which produced them.