"I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Monica Lewinsky."–Bill Clinton

The biggest lie of the twentieth century? Read the biggest lies of an elite group of pro riders and decide for yourself who’s got potential for running the United States of America.–Mike Cherico

Jeremy Baye, twenty, rides for Thirty-two, Spy, Alphanumeric, and Thicket.

"I was staying in a room with Russell (Winfield) and Damon (Morris) at Westbeach last year. We lied to the girls staying next door to us. We ripped out a White Dog ad from a Source magazine, and stuck it outside on our door. Russel had told our neighbor ladies that I was the rapper, White Dog, in the ad. Even though the cheezy ad had some white guy wearing a bandana with a shaved head and lots of gold chains who didn’t even look like me, the girls believed it anyway. The ad was promoting a new album called Thug Ride, and had a fake house in the background with a ton of gold records and Doberman Pinschers. The girls followed me around all week thinking I was this white rapper from Chicago, and Russell had them believing he was my manager. I didn’t get any play from any of them, but Russell did–but don’t include that, he’s got a girlfriend."

Todd Schlosser, 26, rides for Billabong, Oakley, and Fishpaw.

"Every time I tell someone their method looked nice, or they have a nice haircut. No, but really, Gnu scheduled a trip for me to go to Japan for a demo. When I got to the airport to leave, I traded in my ticket for two tickets to Cabo. I took my girlfriend and I spent my expense money on margaritas. When I got home I told them the conditions were shitty. They wouldn’t have known–until now."

Aleksi Litovaara, 23, rides for Smith, Northwave, Drake, Level, and Special Blend.

"I don’t really understand the question. Sorry about my English, but what does ‘lie’ mean? There. That was the biggest lie I’ve ever told."

Kyla Duffy, 21, rides for 686, Dragon, Northwave, Drake, Breckenridge, and Mom and Dad.

"I was at Tyrol Basin for their summer competition. We were staying at the ‘crack house,’ where everyone stays, going nuts lighting fireworks in the hotel room and smashing bottles–typical shitty snowboarder stuff. Eventually the manager comes to our room and tells us if we don’t stop, we’re going to get kicked out. We pay no attention and continue to party. A big window somewhere in the hotel gets broken and after some more fireworks the manager returns to our room. Thinking fast I take off all my clothes and wrap a blanket around me and tell a guy friend of mine to get in the bed without a shirt on. The manager recovers from being stunned by the sight of me in the buff and asks if we were lighting fireworks. I say, ‘Uhhh, not those kind of fireworks.’ He was embarrassed, and left, and we had a good laugh."