Welcome to the top 10 notorious roundup of Wikipedia hoaxes that managed to fool millions before being busted. While the collaborative nature of the encyclopedia fuels its brilliance, it also opens the door for mischievous edits that can spiral into full-blown misinformation. Below you’ll find a playful yet factual tour through the most eye‑catching fabrications ever to appear on the site.

Top 10 Notorious Wikipedia Hoaxes Overview

10 Sinbad’s Death

Famed stand‑up comedian Sinbad is very much alive—but back in March 2007, a prankster edited his Wikipedia page to claim he had died of a heart attack. Sinbad first learned of the inaccurate information via a phone call from his daughter and initially brushed it off. However, over the next few days hundreds of concerned fans reached out, assuming the worst. He later remarked the incident wasn’t “that strange,” noting that many celebrities—ranging from Ted Kennedy to Miley Cyrus—have suffered premature obituary hoaxes thanks to Wikipedia vandalism.

9 Wrightbus

This case illustrates how a “prank” edit can spark panic in a tense environment. In November 2015 a vandal added a false claim to the Wrightbus article, stating that FirstGroup, a Scottish transport firm, had purchased the Northern‑Irish bus manufacturer. The rumor quickly spread by word‑of‑mouth, unsettling the company’s 1,500‑plus employees. The timing was especially volatile because two major businesses—a tire maker and a tobacco firm—had recently announced exits from Ballymena, threatening over 1,700 jobs. Although local news debunked the hoax swiftly, the damage to employee morale lingered.

8 Jar’Edo Wens

This example shows just how easy it is to craft a faux article that slips through the cracks for years. In May 2005 a user created a page for a fabricated deity named Jar’Edo Wens—likely a clever twist on the name Jared Owens. The creator made only three edits: establishing the page, and adding Jar’Edo and another invented deity, Yohrmum, to a list of Australian Aboriginal deities. The entire process took eleven minutes, yet despite being flagged in 2009 for lacking sources, the page persisted for nearly a decade. During that span, Jar’Edo even appeared in a scholarly book criticizing theism, cited as a god who had “fallen out of favor.” When finally exposed in March 2015, it was recognized as the longest‑running hoax on Wikipedia at that time.

7 Maurice Jarre

Our next entry proves that Wikipedia isn’t always the villain. After Academy‑Award‑winning composer Maurice Jarre died in March 2009, several obituaries—including one in The Guardian—quoted him saying, “life itself has been one long soundtrack,” and “when I die there will be a final waltz playing in my head that only I can hear.” In reality, Jarre never uttered those lines. Dublin student Shane Fitzgerald seized the moment to test how quickly the media would cite Wikipedia. He fabricated the quote and added it to Jarre’s page, assuming newspapers wouldn’t use it because it lacked a source. The quote spread nonetheless, prompting Fitzgerald to confess his “crime” out of concern the false words would become permanently attached to the composer. He blamed fast‑moving journalists rather than Wikipedia, noting moderators removed the fabricated quote within hours.

6 Bicholim Conflict

This entry showcases perhaps the most elaborate Wikipedia hoax ever attempted. A group of editors authored a 4,500‑word article about a 17th‑century war between Portugal and India—a conflict that never existed. The piece was convincing enough to earn “good article” status, an honor bestowed on less than 1 % of all Wikipedia entries. The perpetrators even nominated it for “featured article” status, though the selection committee noted the sources were weak and ultimately rejected it. Unbeknownst to them, virtually every citation referenced a nonexistent book, and the only online mentions of the “Bicholim Conflict” linked back to the Wikipedia page itself. The hoax remained hidden until amateur wiki‑detective “ShelfSkewed” double‑checked the references, exposing the elaborate deception.

5 Orange Julius

Some hoaxes are simply too absurd to be believed. In June 2005 a Wikipedia article sprang up about Julius Freed, supposedly the creator of the Orange Julius drink. The entry portrayed Freed as a short biography, detailing his early life and the invention of the iconic beverage, and even claimed he devised inventions like an inflatable shrimp trap and a portable pigeon‑bathing unit. The fabrication went unchecked until “Jeopardy!” champion Ken Jennings discovered it. He set out to debunk the falsehood and posted his findings on his personal blog. Though no one was harmed, the hoax was so outlandish that Orange Julius briefly ran an advertisement promoting Freed’s fictitious accomplishments before Wikipedia finally removed the article.

4 Coati

In July 2008, 17‑year‑old Dylan Breves, a student from New York City, edited the Wikipedia page for the coati—a tropical American mammal—by adding “Brazilian Aardvark” to its list of nicknames. The motivation? While touring Brazil’s Iguazu Falls, Breves and his brother mistakenly identified coatis as aardvarks. He told The New Yorker he disliked “being wrong about things,” so he inserted the false nickname “as a joke.” Expecting Wikipedia to delete the entry for lacking sources, he was surprised when The Telegraph used Wikipedia as its source, and Wikipedia later cited that same Telegraph article, creating a circular reference. Consequently, the incorrect nickname spread to several major newspapers and even appeared in a University of Chicago‑published book.

3 Edward Owens

Don’t confuse him with Jar’Edo Wens! Edward Owens was a fictional pirate conjured by George Mason University students for a 2008 “Lying about the Past” course taught by Professor T. Miles Kelly. The class created a website, videos, and a fake Wikipedia page claiming Owens was an oyster fisherman turned pirate during “The Long Depression” of the late 1800s. Several blogs—including one linked to USA Today—reported the hoax as factual, but the perpetrators later admitted the deceit. Kelly revisited the concept in 2012, this time fabricating “Lisa Quinn,” a woman who believed her uncle was a serial killer based on strange items found in his trunk. The students produced authentic‑looking Wikipedia articles for four women murdered in New York between 1895‑1897. The ruse unraveled when the hoax was posted to Reddit; within 26 minutes users flagged it as viral marketing, noting the newly created articles and artificially aged documents.

2 John Seigenthaler

In May 2005 an anonymous editor—identified only by an IP address—added a Wikipedia article claiming journalist John Seigenthaler was a suspect in the murders of both John F. Kennedy and Robert F. Kennedy. In reality, Seigenthaler was a close friend of Robert Kennedy and even served as a pallbearer at his funeral. The false article remained live until November 2005 when a friend of Seigenthaler spotted it and alerted him. He described the incident in USA Today as “internet character assassination,” labeling the perpetrator’s mind as “sick” and “twisted.” The controversy sparked national debate about the reliability of user‑generated content. In December, deliveryman Brian Chase revealed he authored the hoax, admitting he thought Wikipedia was a “gag encyclopedia.”

1 Chris Benoit

In June 2007 Canadian WWE wrestler Chris Benoit murdered his wife, his son, and then himself in a tragic double‑murder‑suicide. Remarkably, about fourteen hours before police uncovered the crime, a Wikipedia editor from Stamford, Connecticut—just three miles from WWE headquarters—edited Benoit’s page to suggest he missed a WWE event because of “the death of his wife Nancy.” The 19‑year‑old editor, a known wrestling‑fan vandal, later posted a lengthy apology on a Wikinews forum, calling the edit an “incredible coincidence” based on rumors and speculation, insisting the comment wasn’t a prank. Police interviewed him and examined his computer. The episode serves as a stark reminder: regardless of motive, vandalizing Wikipedia can have unforeseen, serious consequences.

About the Author: Izak Bulten is an animator and amateur film historian who loves writing about conspiracy theories, pop culture, and “crazy‑but‑true” stories. He’s created logic puzzles for World Sudoku Champion Thomas Synder’s blog, “The Art of Puzzles,” and authored the e‑book “The Puzzlemaster’s Workshop.” Recently, he’s been covering animation news on his blog “The Magic Lantern Show.”

Welcome to our roundup of the top 10 famous deceptions that have baffled scholars, enthralled crowds, and inspired countless books and movies. From stone giants to fabricated scriptures, each entry below reveals the clever (and sometimes bizarre) tactics used to pull the wool over the eyes of the public.

Why the Top 10 Famous Hoaxes Captivate Us

These ten legendary scams illustrate how a mix of imagination, timing, and a dash of audacity can turn a simple trick into a cultural phenomenon. Whether driven by profit, ideology, or pure mischief, each hoax left an indelible mark on history.

1 The Book of Mormon

The Book of Mormon is venerated by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter‑Day Saints as a divinely inspired companion to the Bible. Its founder, Joseph Smith, claimed an angel guided him to a hill where golden tablets lay hidden, containing the entire text. Alongside the tablets, Smith said he was given a pair of crystal spectacles called the Urim and Thummim to translate the ancient record. After completing the translation, Smith allegedly returned the tablets to the angel, leaving no physical proof of their existence. The narrative includes a group of Jews who migrated to America and were visited by Jesus, and many passages mirror the King James Bible, such as a near‑verbatim copy of Mark 16:15‑18. Linguistic scholars note that the entire work mimics the style of the King James translation, suggesting a single author rather than a collection of ancient prophets. Moreover, the book mentions animals and crops—ass, bull, cattle, horse, sheep, goats, elephants, wheat, barley—that were unknown in pre‑Columbian America. The most striking evidence of fraud lies in the Book of Abraham. In 1835, Smith claimed to translate Egyptian papyri into a sacred text, the Book of Abraham, using the Urim and Thummim. When the original papyri resurfaced in 1966 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, they were identified as standard Egyptian funerary documents, not revelations about Abraham, confirming that Smith’s translation was unfounded.

2 The Cottingley Fairies

The Cottingley Fairies comprise five photographs taken in 1917 by cousins Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths in the English village of Cottingley. Using her father’s quarter‑plate camera, Elsie captured the girls among tiny, winged figures behind a beck. Their father, an electrical engineer, dismissed the images as fabrications, even banning Elsie from further photography after the second picture. Nonetheless, their mother, Polly, believed the images were genuine. The photographs attracted worldwide attention when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a staunch spiritualist, published an article in 1919 endorsing their authenticity. Medical professionals, however, warned against such credulity, noting that the images could easily be faked and might foster harmful superstitions. Decades later, both women confessed that the first four pictures were staged using cardboard cutouts and hatpins, though they maintained that the fifth image—a photo of a fairy perched on a hand—was genuine. The scandal persisted for over half a century, illustrating how even respected figures can be swayed by visual deception.

3 Alien Autopsy

In 1995, British producer Ray Santilli sparked a worldwide frenzy by unveiling alleged footage of a U.S. military team performing an autopsy on an extraterrestrial being recovered after the 1947 Roswell incident. The grainy film, presented at the Museum of London, showed a gaunt, gray‑skinned creature being dissected on a table. Although the broadcast version omitted the actual dissection, later releases featured the full, unedited sequence along with purported images of the alien spacecraft’s wreckage. Ten years after the premiere, Santilli admitted that only a few seconds of genuine footage survived; the remainder had been reconstructed using actors, props, and special effects. The reconstruction involved building a set in a London flat and employing sculptor John Humphreys to craft a dummy alien body from sheep brains, chicken entrails, and knuckle joints. The controversy highlighted how a single tantalizing glimpse, even when partially fabricated, can fuel enduring speculation about UFOs and government cover‑ups.

4 Piltdown Man

The Piltdown Man was unveiled in 1912 when amateur archaeologist Charles Dawson claimed to have unearthed a fossilized skull fragment and jawbone from a gravel pit near Piltdown, East Sussex. The find, dubbed Eoanthropus dawsoni or “Dawson’s dawn‑man,” seemed to fill a missing gap in human evolution, suggesting a large‑brained ancestor with an ape‑like jaw. The specimen garnered worldwide acclaim for over four decades, shaping early 20th‑century theories about the lineage of Homo sapiens. However, mounting skepticism led to a definitive analysis in 1953, which revealed the skull to be that of a modern human and the jawbone an orangutan’s, chemically treated to appear ancient. The forger’s identity remains uncertain, though suspects include Dawson himself, French priest Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, and even Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The Piltdown scandal serves as a cautionary tale about the dangers of confirmation bias in scientific research.

5 Feejee Mermaid

The Feejee Mermaid, displayed in the 1840s, was marketed as a half‑human, half‑fish creature—a sensational curiosity for P.T. Barnum’s American Museum. In reality, the “mermaid” was a clever composite: a monkey’s torso and head were sewn onto the tail of a fish, sometimes augmented with papier‑mâché. The exhibit originated with Boston showman Moses Kimball, who sold it to Barnum for $12.50 a week. Barnum christened the oddity “The Feejee Mermaid” and exhibited it across the United States, drawing massive crowds until a fire destroyed the original in the 1860s. The surviving specimen now resides in Harvard’s Peabody Museum, stored away in the attic. This hoax exemplifies 19th‑century freak‑show culture, where exoticism and imagination merged to create profitable spectacles.

6 The Priory of Sion

The Priory of Sion was portrayed as an ancient secret society allegedly founded during the Crusades, purportedly safeguarding the bloodline of Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene. In truth, the organization was fabricated in 1956 by Frenchman Pierre Plantard, who sought to legitimize his claim to the French throne. Plantard and his associates forged documents—most famously the “Dossiers Secrets”—and planted them in French archives, attempting to construct a lineage of grand masters that included Leonardo da Vinci and Sir Isaac Newton. The myth gained massive popularity after Dan Brown’s 2003 bestseller “The Da Vinci Code,” which presented the Priory as a real, centuries‑old order. Academic historians, however, have debunked the entire narrative, labeling it a modern hoax. The Priory’s lingering fame underscores how a compelling story can persist despite overwhelming evidence of fabrication.

7 The Turk

The Turk was a celebrated automaton that appeared in 1770 at Vienna’s Schönbrunn Palace, allegedly capable of playing chess against human opponents. Inventor Wolfgang von Kempelen presented the device as a mechanical marvel, opening doors and drawers to reveal intricate gears, while a hidden human chess master operated the concealed interior. The machine would make its first move with the white pieces, nod twice when threatening the queen, and three times when delivering check. If an opponent made an illegal move, the Turk would shake its head, correct the piece, and force a penalty. Over eight decades, the illusion toured Europe and the United States, defeating notable figures such as Napoleon Bonaparte and Benjamin Franklin. The secret remained intact until the machine was destroyed by fire in 1854, after which the true nature of the hoax—an ingeniously concealed human operator—was finally revealed.

8 The Surgeon’s Photo

The iconic “Surgeon’s Photograph,” taken in 1934, purported to show the legendary Loch Ness monster—a long‑necked creature emerging from the water. The image, captured by gynecologist Robert Kenneth Wilson, was originally described merely as “something in the water.” Over the decades, the photo was heavily cropped, making the alleged monster appear larger than life. In the 1990s, scientific analysis uncovered a small white object on the original negative, likely a piece of debris or a towed prop, suggesting the silhouette was fabricated. The full, uncropped picture revealed the “monster” to be only two to three feet in length, far smaller than the mythic creature described in sightings. The hoax illustrates how selective editing and public desire for mystery can elevate a modest photograph into a global legend.

9 The Protocols of the Elders of Zion

The Protocols of the Elders of Zion is a fabricated manuscript that pretends to outline a Jewish and Masonic conspiracy to dominate the world. First published in Russia in the early 1900s, the text plagiarizes an 1864 French satirical pamphlet by Maurice Joly, which criticized Napoleon III through a dialogue between Machiavelli and Montesquieu in Hell. Despite being exposed as a forgery by numerous independent investigations, the Protocols have been used to fuel antisemitic propaganda, especially during the rise of Nazi Germany. The document’s false claims—ranging from controlling the media to manipulating finance—have persisted, resurfacing in modern extremist circles. Ironically, many of the alleged goals, such as universal suffrage, the spread of Darwinism, and the acceptance of pornography, have actually materialized, further blurring the line between myth and reality for some believers.

10 The Cardiff Giant

The Cardiff Giant, unearthed on October 16, 1869 in Cardiff, New York, was a ten‑foot gypsum statue presented as a petrified prehistoric man. Created by tobacconist George Hull, the giant was carved from a massive block of gypsum shipped from Iowa to Chicago, where a German stonecutter fashioned it into a human figure. Hull, an atheist, devised the hoax after debating a minister about biblical giants. To lend authenticity, the statue was buried for a year before being “discovered” by workers digging a well on William C. Newell’s farm. The find attracted throngs of curious onlookers, prompting showman P.T. Barnum to offer $60,000 for a three‑month lease. When Barnum’s request was denied, he commissioned a replica and claimed his version was the genuine article, labeling the original a fake. Both the original and Barnum’s copy were later displayed in museums, and a 1870 court case confirmed the deception, though the judge ruled that Barnum could not be sued for calling the giant a fraud.

In today’s hyper‑connected world, fact‑checking is a click‑away affair. Yet, before the internet era, rumors spread at a snail’s pace, giving clever con‑artists plenty of time to weave elaborate deceptions. This list of the top 10 old hoaxes showcases how a single sensational story could capture imaginations, stir panic, or even influence politics for months or years before the truth finally emerged.

Why the Top 10 Old Hoaxes Still Captivate Us

Even now, these antiquated scams remind us that human curiosity and the desire for wonder can override scepticism. By examining each case, we glimpse the cultural contexts that made such fabrications believable, and we learn why the allure of the extraordinary never truly fades.

10 The Patagonian Giants

First surfacing in the 1520s, the legend of a tribe of twelve‑foot giants roaming Patagonia persisted for more than two centuries, amplified by a parade of explorers eager to dazzle European audiences. The tale reached a fever pitch in 1766 when Commodore John Byron returned to London after his circumnavigation aboard HMS Dolphin. Crew members recounted encounters with towering natives, and on May 9, 1766 the story debuted in the Gentlemen’s Magazine. Subsequent newspapers echoed the claim, some describing the natives as nine‑foot giants. Skeptics eventually demanded proof, and seven years later Byron’s full journal was published, revealing that the tallest individual measured a mere 6 ft 6 in—impressive by 18th‑century European standards, yet far short of the mythic stature previously reported.

9 Solar Armor

In 1874 the Nevada paper Territorial Enterprise ran a sensational account of inventor Jonathan Newhouse, who purportedly fashioned a “Solar Armor” to conquer the desert heat. According to the story, Newhouse trekked from Virginia City to Death Valley wearing a sponge‑like suit that employed a “frigorific mixture” to keep him cool. Ironically, the cooling worked too well: a day later his frozen corpse was discovered, an icicle dangling from his nose. The tale was reprinted worldwide before being debunked as a satirical piece by Dan De Quille, a colleague of Mark Twain who contributed to the paper. The hoax highlighted the era’s fascination with speculative science and the ease with which a vivid narrative could travel across continents.

8 The Native of Formosa

At the dawn of the 18th century, European audiences knew little of East Asian cultures, making them vulnerable to exotic fabrications. Enter George Psalmanazar, a flamboyant impostor who claimed to hail from Formosa (modern‑day Taiwan). With strikingly blonde hair, pale skin, and a Dutch‑tinged accent, he bewildered onlookers with bizarre customs: speaking an incomprehensible tongue, devouring raw meat, sleeping upright in a chair, and worshipping the sun and moon. Baptized in Scotland, he adopted the name George Psalmanazar and toured England, publishing a fabricated “History of Formosa” that captivated the curious elite. Despite mounting criticism, he maintained the charade until 1706, when he finally confessed his deception, exposing the gullibility of a Europe hungry for the exotic.

7 Princess Caraboo

Almost a century after Psalmanazar’s scandal, the English were duped again by a mysterious woman who arrived in Almondsbury on April 3, 1817. Clad in a shawl twisted into a pseudo‑turban and speaking an unintelligible language, she was taken in by a local magistrate and his wife. The lady repeatedly pointed to herself, uttering “Caraboo,” which they interpreted as her name. Soon a sailor claimed fluency in her tongue and announced she was a princess from the distant island of Javasu, rescued after pirates abducted her and she escaped by leaping overboard into the English Channel. The community celebrated their guest of honor, publicizing the story in newspapers. However, a former servant named Mary Baker recognized the woman and exposed her true identity, ending the brief reign of Princess Caraboo.

6 The Shakespeare Forgeries

When a neglected teenage son sought his father’s attention, he chose a daring route: forging documents tied to the Bard himself. In 1794, eighteen‑year‑old William Ireland presented his father, bookseller Samuel Ireland—a devoted Shakespeare collector—with a purported mortgage bearing Shakespeare’s signature, allegedly sourced from an estate’s archives. Elated, Samuel added the find to his treasured collection, and William continued the ruse, later producing a love letter to Anne Hathaway and, most audaciously, a full play titled “Vortigern,” claimed to be a lost Shakespeare work. The play was even staged once before actors sensed the fraud. Despite mounting suspicion, the Ireland duo persisted until the forgeries were exposed, illustrating how yearning for literary relics could blind even the most scholarly minds.

10 Obvious Lies That Changed The World

5 Scalps By Mail

Not every hoax aimed solely at mischief; some served strategic purposes. In 1782, amid the American Revolution, Benjamin Franklin orchestrated a deceptive campaign to sway European sentiment against Britain. He fabricated a newspaper supplement titled “Supplement to the Boston Independent Chronicle,” alleging that American Indian warriors were sending hundreds of scalps—purportedly those of women and children—to British royalty and members of Parliament as trophies. The lurid report shocked readers, painting the British as the target of barbaric retaliation and bolstering anti‑British feeling abroad. Though later disproved, the story illustrates how propaganda could harness sensationalism to manipulate public opinion during wartime.

4 Vrain Lucas

In 1851, French forger Vrain Lucas met mathematician Michel Chasles, who was eager to acquire alleged ancient letters. Lucas claimed to have discovered correspondence from figures such as Joan of Arc, Charlemagne, Julius Caesar, Aristotle, Shakespeare, Mary Magdalene, and Alexander the Great—all praising France. The letters, however, bore glaring anachronisms: they were written in French, printed on identical water‑marked paper, and some appeared on material predating the invention of paper itself. Over eighteen years, Lucas sold thousands of such spurious documents, earning a reputation as one of history’s most audacious counterfeiters. Eventually, Chasles grew suspicious, and Lucas was sentenced to two years in prison. His most daring forgery—a letter from Jesus, also penned in French—never saw the light of day.

3 The Turk

Automata fascinated 18th‑century audiences, but none captured imaginations like the “Great Chess Automaton,” better known as the Turk. Constructed in 1769 by Hungarian nobleman Wolfgang von Kempelen, the device featured a life‑size wooden figure dressed in Turkish garb emerging from a large cabinet. Billed as a genuine thinking machine, the Turk would accept a chessboard, appear to contemplate, then move pieces with seemingly autonomous precision. Hidden mechanisms—sliding panels and cleverly arranged gears—were displayed to assure onlookers of its mechanical nature. In reality, a concealed human chess master was tucked inside the cabinet, skillfully manipulating magnetic pieces while remaining unseen. The secret remained a mystery for decades, fueling early debates about artificial intelligence.

2 The Great Stock Exchange Hoax

In 1814, a man masquerading as a British officer arrived at an inn, proclaiming that the war with Napoleon had ended, the emperor was dead, and the government restored. Elated locals dispatched swift couriers to London with the news, causing a frenzy of celebration and a sudden surge in stock prices. The jubilation proved short‑lived when authorities uncovered the ruse: Napoleon was very much alive, and the proclamation was a calculated ploy to manipulate the London Stock Exchange. An investigation led to the arrest of a scapegoat, Lord Thomas Cochrane, who faced imprisonment based largely on circumstantial evidence. Though later pardoned by the king, the mastermind behind the scheme was never conclusively identified.

1 Manhattan Is Sinking

Perhaps the most baffling of all, a rumor began circulating in 1824 that Manhattan’s rapid construction boom had caused the island to tilt, gradually sinking into the Atlantic. The story gained traction until a retired carpenter, identifying himself only as Lozier, proposed a daring remedy: saw the island in half, tow each segment out to sea, flip them to correct the weight distribution, then rejoin the halves. Advertisements for the massive undertaking attracted scores of laborers eager for employment, and a date was set for the operation. When the appointed day arrived, Lozier had vanished, leaving the hired workers disgruntled, unemployed, and forever wondering how a city could be “sawed” in half.

10 fantastically elaborate hoaxes are the kind of mischievous deceptions that make history both amusing and baffling. A hoax is usually defined as a humorous deception, and while many scams are driven by money, pride, or revenge, these particular tricks were pulled purely for the sheer delight of the pranksters, often demanding weeks or even years of careful planning.

10 Fantastically Elaborate Hoaxes Overview

10 Martin Marty and Franz Bibfeldt

Franz Bibfeldt was, allegedly, a German theologian who supposedly authored a massive body of work on the concept of Year Zero—the fleeting moment between the BC calendar’s end and the AD calendar’s start. Supposedly, his 1927 PhD dissertation was cited in numerous academic journals, lending an air of legitimacy to his nonexistent scholarship.

That claim is odd, because Bibfeldt never actually penned a thesis.

In truth, Bibfeldt never existed at all. He originated as a footnote in a hurried college essay. A student named Robert Clausen, pressed for a deadline, invented the name Bibfeldt and quoted him, banking on the professor’s lack of fact‑checking. His roommate, Martin Marty, found the fabricated scholar amusing, and the duo began peppering citations with Bibfeldt’s name across essays, the university magazine, and even library loan requests. Their prank escalated to ordering “books” by Bibfeldt from the campus bookshop—each request returned as out of stock.

Since his debut, the fictional Bibfeldt has been embraced by theologians with a sense of humor worldwide, especially at the University of Chicago’s Divinity School, where Martin Marty taught for 35 years, turning the hoax into a beloved academic in‑joke.

9 The Dreadnought Hoax

Virginia Woolf isn’t typically associated with practical jokes, yet in 1910 she and several members of the Bloomsbury circle pulled off a brazen stunt. Dressed in exotic costumes and darkened their faces, they convinced the Royal Navy that they were an Abyssinian royal delegation, with Woolf’s brother playing the emperor.

The group attempted to sound authentic by learning a few Swahili phrases—unfortunately, Swahili isn’t spoken in Abyssinia (modern Ethiopia), making their linguistic preparation largely useless.

Nevertheless, points for effort.

The Navy’s welcome committee, apparently none the wiser, escorted the “royal” party aboard the famous battleship HMS Dreadnought, giving them a full VIP tour. The pranksters even managed to hide an obviously fake beard, which fell off shortly after they disembarked, further exposing the ruse.

When the story broke, the Royal Navy was mortified and threatened legal action, but ultimately let the matter fade quietly—perhaps the best outcome given the thin disguise and the fact that the memo announcing their visit misspelled “Abyssinia,” a glaring clue the pranksters ignored.

8 The Banana Skin Hoax

The 1960s, a decade of love, peace, and psychedelic experimentation, also birthed a wild rumor: bananas, when processed correctly, could produce a hallucinogenic effect comparable to LSD. The myth gained traction after Donovan’s hit “Mellow Yellow,” which he claimed referred to a “yellow vibrator” but which some listeners mistakenly linked to a supposedly electrified banana.

The rumor spread that the white underside of banana skins contained the same chemicals as LSD, and a 1967 issue of the counter‑culture paper Berkeley Barb even featured a “Recipe of the Week” detailing how to extract the alleged drug.

And, indeed, the story caught fire.

Scientifically, bananas do contain serotonin, a precursor to LSD, but in minuscule amounts insufficient to cause any psychoactive effect. Nonetheless, the hoax persisted, with publications such as The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal reporting the supposed properties as fact.

Within months, the tale appeared in the 1970 Anarchist Handbook, further cementing its place in the cultural imagination despite being thoroughly debunked.

Even today the myth resurfaces from time to time, though no one has profited beyond perhaps banana growers, who may enjoy the occasional surge of curiosity‑driven sales.

7 The Maggie Murphy Potato Hoax

Some hoaxes demand elaborate scheming; others are delightfully simple. Joseph B. Swan, a Colorado farmer with a penchant for mischief, opted for the latter, concocting a fake potato variety he christened “Maggie Murphy.”

With the backing of a local newspaper, Swan announced that he had harvested a staggering 26,000 pounds of potatoes from a single acre, thanks to his miraculous new strain.

That’s a lot of spuds.

He didn’t stop there—Swan claimed a single “giant” potato weighed a mind‑boggling 86 pounds. To prove it, he and a reporter staged a photograph of Swan hoisting the enormous tuber over his shoulder, a picture that spread nationwide like an early viral meme.

The image appeared in newspapers across the country, but skeptical experts soon exposed the fraud: the “potato” was actually a wooden replica, expertly carved to look massive.

Even after the truth emerged, enthusiastic growers continued to write, begging for seeds of the legendary Maggie Murphy. Eventually, Swan grew tired of the charade, claimed the prized potato had been stolen, and announced his retirement from the spud business.

6 The Erotic Novel Hoax

Literary purists have long debated what constitutes “good” literature, and one group of journalists decided to test the limits. In 1969, 24 Newsday writers, led by columnist Mike McGrady, banded together to write a deliberately terrible novel titled Naked Came the Stranger, stuffing it with gratuitous sex scenes, wooden characters, and absurd dialogue.

Their hypothesis: a reputable publisher would snap up any book that could sell, provided it contained enough steamy content. The novel was indeed accepted, and even reviewed by major outlets such as The New York Times, which failed to recognize the spoof.

Surprisingly, the book climbed the bestseller charts, proving the writers’ point about market appetite for lurid material.

When the hoax was finally revealed, sales surged even higher, as readers scrambled to own the infamous “trash” that had fooled the industry.

McGrady and his collaborators publicly disclosed the ruse on The David Frost show, after which the book lingered on The New York Times bestseller list for 13 weeks.

A film bearing the same title was later produced, capitalizing on the notoriety despite having no connection to the original manuscript.

The episode suggests that defining “literature” may be an impossible task, or perhaps that readers simply love a good, scandalous page‑turner.

Who can say for sure?

5 The Plainfield Teacher’s College Football Team

The year 1941 witnessed a peculiar episode in sports journalism when Morris Newburger, a New York city dweller with a fascination for college football scores, wondered whether the back‑page box scores were ever fabricated.

He hypothesized that a clever prankster could simply phone newspaper editors and invent a fictional college team—Plainfield Teachers College—along with a fabricated victory over Winona, 27‑3.

This curiosity sparked the idea: could a completely made‑up team actually appear in the press?

Newburger called every major New York newspaper—including The New York Times, the Herald Tribune, and the Daily News—relaying the invented result. That Sunday, the Herald Tribune printed the score on its back page, and eleven other New York papers followed suit.

Emboldened, Newburger didn’t stop there. The next week, he announced another win, this time contacting both New York and Philadelphia papers, expanding the fictional team’s reach to two states.

As public interest swelled, Newburger installed a dedicated phone line for the “team,” drafted press releases, and even created a mascot and school colors—mauve and purple, a choice that raised eyebrows.

He further embellished the myth by inventing a star player named Johnny Chung, a half‑Hawaiian, half‑Chinese athlete standing 6‑foot‑3 and weighing 212 pounds, complete with a halftime snack description.

To cement the ruse, the group fashioned a fight song, blatantly borrowing the melody from Cole Porter’s hit “You’re the Top.”

The pranksters hoped to keep Plainfield undefeated, and for a while they succeeded—until Time magazine caught wind of the deception and exposed the elaborate hoax.

In a final act of mischief, Newburger sent a press release announcing that “due to flunkings in the midterm examinations, Plainfield Teachers has been forced to call off its last two scheduled games.” No newspaper printed that final update.

Thus, the fictional football team vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

4 The Chess Playing Automaton

The Mechanical Turk, an 18th‑century contraption presented as a chess‑playing automaton, was billed as a marvel that could outwit the world’s strongest players—essentially a pre‑modern version of Deep Blue.

Invented by Hungarian nobleman Baron Wolfgang von Kempelen, the Turk debuted before Empress Maria Theresa of Austria in 1770 and toured Europe for nearly a century, delighting royalty and commoners alike.

Despite its grandiose claims, the Turk was a clever illusion. Inside its ornate cabinet lay a hidden compartment where a skilled human chess master could sit concealed, manipulating the arm that moved the pieces.

Victims, often unnerved by the machine’s eerie presence, frequently lost quickly—perhaps more due to psychological pressure than any genuine mechanical superiority.

In truth, the Turk’s secret was a masterful blend of engineering and theatrical deception: the interior was designed so observers believed they could see through it, while a concealed door, hidden behind flowing robes, allowed the hidden player to slip in and out unnoticed.

The cramped, uncomfortable space where the human operator hid added an extra layer of hardship to the ruse, making the performance as taxing for the concealed player as it was entertaining for the audience.

3 The Dictionary Hoax

Lexicographers are not typically seen as pranksters, yet Rupert Hughes, editor of the Music‑Lovers Encyclopedia, managed to slip a bizarre entry into his reference work that persisted for decades.

The final entry, listed as “ZZXJOANW,” claimed to be pronounced “Shaw” and defined as a Maori word meaning “drum” or “fife.”

That definition raised eyebrows.

The entry remained untouched for roughly 70 years, despite the fact that the Maori alphabet contains only 14 letters—none of which are Z or X—and that Maori words always end in a vowel, making the entry linguistically impossible.

Even more puzzling, Maori musical traditions historically eschew drums, favoring other instruments, casting further doubt on the entry’s authenticity.

Speculation abounds about Hughes’s motive; some suggest he was sending a secret message to a friend named Joan Shaw, embedding a personal note within a scholarly tome.

Regardless of intention, the entry stands as a testament to how a single fabricated word can linger unnoticed in an otherwise reputable reference work.

2 The Science Fair Hoax

Most school science fairs showcase predictable projects—baking‑soda volcanoes, invisible ink, or potato‑powered clocks—but in 1997 a student named Nathan Zohner decided to push the envelope.

His project, titled “Dihydrogen Monoxide: The Unrecognized Killer,” presented water as a dangerous chemical, highlighting its potential to cause excessive urination, bloating, sweating, and even death, as well as its role in acid rain and metal corrosion.

Zohner distributed the report to 50 classmates, who, alarmed by the alarming facts, voted to ban the substance—unwittingly calling for the prohibition of water itself.

The experiment revealed how easily people can be swayed by authoritative‑looking documents, even when the subject is something as ubiquitous as H₂O.

After the project concluded, Zohner revealed that his true aim was to ask “How Gullible Are We?”—a critique of critical thinking deficiencies in the evaluation of scientific claims.

His clever deception earned him first prize at the fair, cementing the hoax’s place in educational folklore.

1 Johann Beringer’s Lying Stones

Dr. Johann Berringer, dean of the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Würzburg in 1725, had a fascination with “lapides figurati”—naturally formed stones that resembled recognizable shapes.

Two mischievous colleagues decided to prank him by “discovering” over 2,000 fabricated stones within six months, each purportedly depicting insects, animals, astronomical symbols, and even a Hebrew inscription spelling “Jehovah.”

The joke took a darker turn when Berringer, convinced of the stones’ authenticity, compiled his findings into the 1726 volume Lithographiae Würzburgensis, asserting that the figures were so precisely matched to the stones that they must be divine workmanship.

Despite subtle hints—such as chisel‑like marks on the stones—Berringer dismissed them, claiming only God could have crafted such perfect engravings.

When the hoax finally came to light, Berringer sued his two collaborators, leading to a scandal that tarnished the reputations of all three men.

In the end, the episode stands as a cautionary tale about scholarly hubris and the perils of taking every oddity at face value.

Archaeologists spend their lives searching for great discoveries that will reveal something amazing about the past. Unfortunately, there are people who love to mess with them. Some people create hoaxes for fun, some for profit, and some to bolster their own pet theories about history. Most hoaxes are easy to detect—if a find looks too good to be true, it often is. Many hoaxes are also pretty poorly done. But sometimes, hoaxers go the extra mile.

Here are ten hoaxes that were carved in stone.

10 Crystal Skulls

In the 19th century, startling finds started coming out of central America that excited both the archaeological and spiritual communities. Skulls carved in intricate detail made from beautiful crystal were snapped up by private collectors and museums alike. While for researchers, they appeared to be the products of a little-known civilization, others thought they had magical properties. These skulls were claimed to be something between mystical healing devices and ancient computers. Could they have been the product of Atlantis or even aliens?

Their first known appearances certainly had a good pedigree. Eugène Boban was the official archaeologist of the Mexican emperor Maximilian I, so he would have had access to ancient sites. Examples of his discoveries ended up in the Musée du Quai Branly in Paris and the British Museum. There were doubts about their origin, however.

Scientific studies of the skulls revealed that the crystal they are carved from is unlikely to have found its way to Mesoamerica. Further examination with electron microscopes showed tell-tale scratches made by modern cutting tools—even identifying them as coming from a German workshop. Whatever Indiana Jones might suggest, they were definitely not the work of interdimensional travelers.^[1]

9 Glamis Stone

Scotland is dotted with standing stones that are carved with enigmatic symbols and figures. These Pictish stones often carry fascinating collections of images that some have interpreted as a form of writing—how the symbols are grouped together may suggest a message. No attempts at decipherment have yet been successful, though.

In 1929, however, a stone with a clear writing system was dug up by William Johnston near Glamis. It had four lines of an unmistakably runic alphabet. There was immediate excitement, and an expert on ancient British history was dispatched to examine it. He declared that it was the record of a major battle that had been fought in the area in the 7th century.

Despite this, other experts soon cast doubt on this amazing discovery. The runes were not native to the area and did not carry a message in an old language. Decoding the runes showed they were simply an English message written in the runic alphabet. “Stone cist. Found here. And also to the North.” Who planted this stone is unknown, but they might have left a more exciting Easter egg for people to translate.^[2]

8 Kensington Stone

The Norse Sagas of the Greenlanders and Erik the Red from the 13th century describe how Europeans reached the North American continent centuries before Columbus. Most scholars thought these were fanciful stories until evidence of a Norse settlement at L’Anse aux Meadows in Canada were discovered in the 1960s. Some, however, think there is more evidence of Norse contact than some ruins in the ground.

In 1898, a Swedish immigrant named Olof Ohman discovered a large stone with strange markings on it while clearing land in Minnesota. The markings were clearly runic, so they were sent to be translated by experts. The inscription reads:

“We are 8 Goths [Swedes] and 22 Norwegians on an exploration journey from Vinland through the West. We had camp by a lake with 2 skerries one day’s journey north from this stone. We were out and fished one day. After we came home we found 10 of our men red with blood and dead. AVM [Ave Virgo Maria, or Hail, Virgin Mary] save us from evil. We have 10 of our party by the sea to look after our ships, 14 days’ journey from this island. Year 1362.”