It’s our wedding reception, and Bill Murray just randomly shows up and crashes it, which is fine by me, because I freaking love Bill Murray. “Rushmore” is the best. Anyway, I’m dancing with my wife, and he comes over, taps me on the shoulder, and, in that classic dry tone of his, he asks, “Can I cut in?” And I’m, like, yeah, it’s Bill Murray, of course he can cut in. So he starts dancing with my wife for one song. And then another song. And then another. And then I look over and he starts French-kissing my wife, and my wife is super into it, and I’m, like, “Holy shit, the one and only Bill Murray is French-kissing my wife!” And then he and my wife leave the dance floor, get into his car, and drive away. I haven’t seen my wife in months. Bill Murray’s the best.
I go to Chipotle, and, when the guy behind the counter asks to take my order, I think that I recognize the voice, so I look up and it’s Bill Murray. Bill freaking Murray is taking my Chipotle order! Anyhow, he puts way too much rice and guacamole in my burrito, doesn’t wrap it correctly, and gives it to me looking like a pile of disgusting slop that kind of makes me want to throw up. “Eat it,” he says, totally deadpan. So I do eat it. And I do throw up. A lot. “Keep eating,” he says. This is, like, so funny. So there I am laughing and throwing up, and it’s basically the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me.
So my friends and I are doing a guided hike along the Appalachian Trail, and for some odd reason our guide ends up being—get this—Bill Murray. All of us are so psyched. We fucking love Bill Murray. So we follow him into the woods, and my friend Bryce gets bitten by a copperhead. And we ask our guide, Bill Murray, what to do, and, in what is literally the funniest moment of my entire life, he just calmly says, “I don’t know.” And then there’s this pause and we all bust out laughing and Bryce just dies right there. Love Bill Murray.
I’m watching television on a Sunday, the doorbell rings, I get up to answer it, and it’s Bill Murray. He asks, “Are you Kevin?” And I say, “No.” And then he pulls out a steak knife and stabs me in the stomach six times. So random. So funny.
Three weeks ago, I’m watching “Ghostbusters,” and, like, out of nowhere Bill Murray shows up in the beginning of the movie, and he just, like, joins the Ghostbusters and helps them bust ghosts. That guy is so crazy.
I’m about to have open-heart surgery, and, before I go under, I notice that instead of my heart surgeon scrubbing in, wouldn’t ya know it—it’s Bill Murray. Everyone in the operating room is loving it, and Bill Murray picks up the scalpel and says, “This is what I’m going to use to make a six-to-eight-inch incision down the center of your chest, and then I’m going to cut your breastbone and open your rib cage to get your heart.” I ask if he’s ever done this before, and, in that classic Bill Murray deadpan, he responds, “Not that I can think of.” Everyone starts laughing his face off. Anyway, after the surgery, I wake up, and there’s Bill Murray standing over my hospital bed, holding my heart, and he says, “This is mine now,” and then he just walks out of the hospital.
I saw Bill Murray once. Or maybe it wasn’t him. I don’t know.
It’s three weeks after Bill Murray stabbed me in the stomach six times and I’m in rehab, and Bill Murray shows up at the rehab center and again asks, “Are you Kevin?” This time I say, “Yes.” He stabbed me again anyway. The man’s a genius.
