The Old Country Where Rambo Died

As long as I can remember, I've always been addicted to telling people untrue stories, as though it was actuality. In elementary school, I'd tell other kids about exciting adventures that my whole family had been up to, like meeting entire hockey teams and such. In Grade 10, I remember convincing my uncle that the fire that had happened at Cawthra Park High School completely demolished the school, and that all of the students were being farmed out to local parents for a kind of pseudo-homeschooling. Recently, I told a fellow film guy about the last 15 minutes of a film that he missed in class, and told the most preposterous ending, involving a character lifting up dismembered limbs of his children in his arms in pain, his blood and their blood mixing in a little swirl on the ground. The fellow actually bought this, and for some reason I didn't bother to tell him that this wasn't the case.
I'm not sure why, but this has never seemed in my mind like lying. Obviously, it is. But I've never treated it in my own mind like lying. I don't know if I should feel bad about taking advantage of other people's gullibility for my own amusement. I really don't, and can't foresee it ever being the case.
For a person who claims to be a horror fan, I was pretty late in seeing Saw. And I think there's a reason I was late in seeing it, as it was one of the silliest things I have seen in a while.
Speaking of silly, I've recently starred in Illya's latest magnum opus. Watch for it in cineplexes everywhere.
There's been a lot of excitement of late. I have a feeling that the near future will hold even more excitement.