There was once a man who spoke the truth. He always told you what you already know. When you were fatigued, he'd say "go sleep it off, you look like you're dying". When you spoke too loudly, he'd shush you. If you lied, he'd smack you on your back and make you swear you wouldn't do it again. If you did well, he'd commend you and ask you to keep it up.
Sometimes, when you felt naughty, you'd do something bad - cheat someone, maybe - and then feel bad about it. He'd come down on you like a brick wall. "You're a shitty person. Go think about what you've done," he once shouted.
The man who spoke the truth was a failure. No one liked him. He got nowhere.
But there was another man, his friend. He never spoke the truth. He'd tell you what you wanted to hear. He'd asked you if you'd lost weight ("you look so fit") when you were tired. When you were loud, he back-patted you for confidence; he called you smart when you lied. When you achieved something big, he'd say - "Dream big! This is nothing... You are capable of great things".
He always said people oughtn't be judged. You obviously had your justifiable reasons to cheat other people. He would support everything, and their opposites too. If it happened, he'd say something you'd like hearing about it.
The man who never spoke the truth was a smashing success. Everyone loved him. He did whatever he liked.