layers of licentious lying (LOLL)

They said they're a pathological liar. They readily and proudly admitted it. Your first thought might be, what if that confession is itself a lie? Don't go there. You'll get all twisted. And don't bother splitting semantic or nosological hairs about pathological versus sociopathic versus narcissistic versus compulsive liars. Don't waste your time. She lies. He lies. They lie. They lie when the truth would serve them better. They lie under oath or over a dime. Don't bother debating or seeking to uncover the truth or confronting with evidence. None of that matters. And don't expect remorse. Why would they have remorse about lying? It's always been the way. Would a fish feel remorse for swimming in water? 

We're not talking about the innocuous social nicetie or lapse of etiquette, such as complimenting you on your hair when they hate its color and style. We're talking about where you were, when you left, what you said, whom you love, whom you hate, how much you made, how much you spent, who did what at work, how much you drank, how much you snorted or shot, how much you smoked, what you believe, what you think, what you feel. 

We have lost interest in the subtle shades of the chameleon. We don't care anymore that you do not flinch when you lie any more than when you supposedly tell the truth. Where and how is the infrastructure for this built? Who designs it? Genes or behavior or will? 

Winston Churchill said, "In wartime, truth is so precious that she should be attended by a bodyguard of lies." During World War II, the Allies devised an intricate and ingenious web of deception and charades to fool the Germans about the timing and location of the D-Day invasion.

You yourself are the bodyguard of your own lies. For what invasion? For what surrender? What victory? 

Call it Ganser syndrome, selective amnesia, pseudologia fantastica, histrionics, exaggeration, confabulation, or delusional fantasy.

Or call it lies.