There are those who dream of the stage, and then there’s the man known around Melbourne—sometimes in Reddit corners, sometimes viral on TikTok—as “fake seizure guy.” For roughly two decades, this elusive figure has committed to a singular performance: collapsing, convulsing, and coaxing helpful strangers—almost always men—into pinning him down in public. As news.com.au documents in a detailed exploration of his antics, the routine is unsettlingly specific, theatrical, and persistent.
A Familiar Script in an Unfamiliar Play
David, the man whose recent TikTok brought renewed attention to FSG, described what started as a good-Samaritan moment gone off-script. It was a typical walk through Princes Park when he witnessed another man collapse with dramatic flair, only to then direct David with unnerving precision: roll him face down, pin his arms, and—critically—straddle him. According to news.com.au’s recounting of his experience, David hesitated but complied, only to watch the “patient” abruptly recover and stroll away with his dog. The brief performance left David—and several summoned schoolboys—equal parts bemused and bewildered.
In a twist that would amuse any archivist of the unusual, David’s TikTok quickly unearthed a community of the equally confounded. Comments flooded in from others who had encountered a man matching FSG’s description—sometimes in the very same park, even within hours of each other. As detailed by the outlet, some commenters recalled interactions with FSG as far back as 2003, while others referenced a dedicated subreddit and online photo gallery cataloging his odd encounters. The footprints, it seems, stretch impressively far and wide.
Grouped together in these online spaces, the reports tell nearly identical tales: FSG targets public spaces—parks, train stations, zoo entrances—inserting himself into strangers’ day-to-day narratives. Witnesses consistently recall receiving pointed instructions to restrain and straddle him, orders that strike most as strange only in the aftermath. Some even noticed that the man’s dogs sat by, unperturbed, as their owner played out his scene.
Consistent Deliveries, Puzzling Motives
It’s not just David’s story that echoes through Melbourne. Christian Hull, a local comedian and content creator, recounted his 2018 brush with FSG to news.com.au. He describes being drawn to the man’s feigned medical crisis near Queens Bridge and, like many before him, being directed with offputting specificity. Hull noted how, while “seizing,” FSG remained lucid enough to issue instructions—an oddity, yet persuasive in the moment. When an ambulance was suggested, FSG’s act reached for plot: he allegedly claimed he’d “just escaped from prison” and fled when police were called—only to resume the routine with a fresh audience not far down the road.
Heath, another Melbourne local, told the outlet his own story unfolded outside the zoo. FSG collapsed onto yet another unsuspecting man before enlisting Heath’s help. Soon, Heath found himself awkwardly restraining a stranger while the man’s dogs sat placidly nearby—a visual touched upon in the Reddit sightings as well. In retrospect, Heath and others often become aware of the unusual nature only after connecting with others who’ve shared the experience. News.com.au indicates that reports reach back years, and that multiple families have discovered unexpected common ground in their run-ins with FSG.
What compels someone to undertake such an intentional and outlandish performance repeatedly, and in public? As the outlet notes, speculation abounds: some believe FSG may have untreated mental health challenges, while others suggest that gratification—psychological or otherwise—is the driving force behind his persistence. In David’s account, he admitted that the nature of the interaction only raised questions in hindsight: “At the time, I didn’t think it was sexual, but looking back, having a near 90-kilo man sit on you like that—it makes you wonder.” Reports consistently point to the fact that FSG almost exclusively seeks out male helpers, sometimes outright refusing assistance from women.
How Does a Public Performance Last for Decades?
What’s perhaps most striking is how the fake seizure guy has managed an extended “run” in a city known for its quick-witted skepticism. The behaviors described—collapsing with jerking movements, issuing clear instructions during the episode—differ markedly from genuine seizures, as highlighted by medical advice referenced in the article. According to the Epilepsy Foundation, typically, one should not restrain someone having an active seizure, and being able to converse and command would be uncommon, though not entirely unprecedented. The dogs’ calmness, as several witnesses noted, only adds a surreal flourish.
Even police, the outlet remarks, are aware of FSG but face practical limitations. Reports are sporadic, and, as Christian Hull observed, it can feel odd to accuse someone of orchestrating a scam when the upshot is simply odd physical proximity (“I sat on a man,” he noted with characteristic understatement). Many participants walk away believing they provided medical aid, only to look back with a sense of being cast in a performance they never auditioned for.
Navigating Human Kindness in Unscripted Theatre
As documented by news.com.au, FSG’s antics have had an odd chilling effect. David reflected to the outlet that he’ll still help someone in distress, but if a stranger demands, “Get on top of me,” he’s out. Others express similar wariness. The instinct to help is deeply ingrained, but fake seizure guy’s legacy seems to be a subtle undermining of Melbourne’s Good Samaritan reflex.
The larger question lingers, like a slow zoom out in a documentary about urban legends: is FSG a wily social experimenter, a misunderstood artist, or the city’s most persistent oddball? He forces bystanders into uncomfortable roles and leaves communities trading bewildered stories in park-side conversations and online forums. Could this be a mirror held up to our willingness to intervene—or simply one man’s idiosyncratic method of filling his days?
Either way, it’s difficult not to marvel, ever so slightly, at this level of sustained commitment to an unwitting public performance. If you find yourself in a Melbourne park and someone requests an impromptu bit of wrestling, you might consider looking for the hidden cameras—or at least check if the dogs seem unimpressed. After all, how many unreported bits of guerrilla theatre are happening right under our noses?
