What if you lied about your pants being on fire?
Liar: My pants are on fire.I find that in the mornings, especially, I am often beset by these weird Moebius-strip like turns of logic, and I sort of hate my brain for inflicting that on me. I would much rather be mindlessly listening to Steely Dan on my iPhone, or contemplating the infinite number of ways I will be able to spend my stimulus refund when it gets here.
Non-Liar: I think you're lying.
[The liar's pants burst into flame.]
Liar: [calmly] Thank Zod this isn't painful in any way.
But I also find that when I have my stupid little visions, they are so vividly detailed as to probably be worthy of some sort of detailed psychiatric evaluation. For instance, in the above scenario, the Non-Liar had a pencil thin mustache and was drinking a cup of Earl Grey tea with milk, and fussing about whether he had included enough Bergamot in the mixture, which he most certainly had not. The pants in question were a deep blue polyester with barely visible pinstripes, a detail which quickly became moot once the pants were aflame.
I totally need to buy some Steely Dan.