Don't Push Me, Mr. Murray Chapter 1

"Kingpin"

Like over 35 million of my fellow Americans I suffer from insomnia. I have tried every method, both conventional and obscure. Nothing really works, and often times I find myself turning on a DVD and watching it as I try to fall asleep. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Last night I decided to watch the Bill Murray masterpiece "Kingpin" when bedtime came around. Let me just say this here and now: I absolutely love Bill Murray. He's a comedic genius whose work will stand until the end of time. He is such a force on the screen that I even consider movies like "Little Shop of Horrors" and "Zombieland" where he has small cameos to be "Bill Murray Movies". For the sake of Bill I even endured the crime against humanity that was "Space Jam". When it comes to people who constantly make me laugh, the list reads BILL MURRAY and then everyone else. My opinion of Bill cannot possibly be any higher. That is what makes the saga you are about to read all the more perplexing. Never in a million years could I have guessed that my fondness of William James Murray could ever be diminished, and yet that's precisely where I stand today.

Somewhere around the scene in Kingpin where Randy Quaid is learning to dance I finally drifted off to sleep. My eyes opened and I was in the backseat of an 80's model Honda Civic. I was not aware of who was driving the car, I only knew that I was headed to a wedding rehearsal. The car sped along a dirt road and pulled up to a large white farmhouse. In the yard was a wooden altar, chairs, tables and a banner that read "Congratulations PJ and Janet". Aha. I was headed to the wedding rehearsal for my friends PJ and Janet. This struck me as odd being that I distinctly remembered attending their wedding, but I had to be here for a reason. I exited the car and headed into the farmhouse. The interior of the farmhouse was adorned in white streamers, balloons and other traditional wedding decorations. In the center of the living room sat a white lace covered table with a chocolate fountain and a framed picture of the soon-to-be bride and groom. "Hey Mike!" I heard Janet say from the kitchen. "You're early. Have seat. Everyone else will be arriving soon. Thanks for helping out today."

"No problem, Janet. Anything for you guys." I sincerely meant this. Janet was one of my wife's first friends she made when she moved up here and was kind enough to have us as her roommates for the first couple years of our marriage. Helping set up for her wedding was the least I could do. The front door opened and my friends Chris and Jerry walked in. We walked outside and began setting up chairs for tomorrow's wedding. We finished and headed back inside. Janet had a smile on her face and told us she had a huge surprise for us. "PJ and I have a friend who you guys will probably be interested in meeting. This is our friend Bill!" Bill Murray came sauntering down the hall way. Our jaws hit the floor as he walked up to each of us and introduced himself, shaking each of our hands.

He took a seat on the couch while the three of us stood in amazement. "Come over here, guys. Take a seat. Tell me about yourselves." How in the hell did Janet and PJ know Bill Murray? Why in the hell was he at their wedding rehearsal? I knew the answer to neither of these questions. I took a seat to Mr. Murray's left. "So, who are you?" he asked me as he put his hand on my shoulder.

"My name is Mike, and I'm a huge fan." My answer wasn't timid, but it most certainly wasn't the most confident reply I had ever given.

"HA! Who the hell ISN'T a huge fan of mine? Tell me something interesting about yourself. You missing a toe? Ever go to jail? Tell me something other than the normal bullshit people tell me." He slapped me on the back and pulled his feet up so he was sitting Indian-style on the couch. I was having a difficult time coming up with something to meet Bill's request so I blurted out the first thing that popped into my mind.

"I want to write a script for you." Bill's mood instantly soured.

"Oh, OK. You're a hack. You're some typical no talent schlub who thinks because he's seen Rushmore 3 dozen times that he knows how to write a script for Bill Murray. Listen up, puke. You don't have the writing chops to write a script for me. Jesus, Janet! Do you have any friends who aren't total losers? I need a drink." Bill got up and stormed out of the living room. I had met one of my heroes and made a total ass out of myself. I wanted to disappear into a crack in the floor. Bill came back with an armful of beers and handed them to us. He again slapped me on the back, this time much harder. "OK, I think we got off on the wrong foot. Let's try it this way: What do you do for a living."

"I'm a mailman. I deliver mail."

"OK, that's something. You wear a uniform and everything?"

"No, actually I'm a rural carrier. We don't wear uniforms."

"Nope. I was right about you the first time. I have lost interest in you." He turned his attention to Jerry. "What about you? What's your deal?" I got up and walked out of the room. Icon or not, I can only take so much abuse. I walked into the kitchen and started slicing carrots for the salad. Every once in a while I would hear the roar of Chris and Jerry's laughter, only serving to further my embarrassment. Janet walked up as I was slicing the carrots.

"So, what do you think of him?"

"He's kind of an ass."

"He's from Hollywood, he's just being funny. You should go back in there and try to talk to him again. I'll finish the carrots."

I walked back into the living room and sat back on the couch. Bill again slapped me on the back in a menacing fashion. "Welcome back, Mark."

"My name is Mike."

"That's what I said."

"No, you called me Mark. My name is Mike. It's not a big deal." Bill cracked a wry grin.

"Clearly it IS a big deal. Otherwise you wouldn't have felt the need to correct me." He stared at me for a moment, gauging my response. I looked down at the ground, doing my best not to give him the response he so clearly wanted. Bill seemed less of an aging man and more of a high school girl. This both amazed and sickened me. After a moment of awkward silence Bill finally spoke back up. "Anyway Mark, I was just telling both Chris and Jerry here about my years with the Boston Celtics. In '85 I got the bulk of my playing time. I played in 45 games that year. I even started 13 games when Larry pulled his hammy." I instantly busted out in laughter.

"You didn't play for the Celtics," I said.

"I most certainly did."

"That's a lie. In '85 you were a little busy with Ghostbusters. You didn't play in the NBA."

"Yes I did."

"Well, if you consider a cameo in Space Jam as playing in the NBA, I suppose you did, but that wasn't in '85. You're telling my friends here something that is an absolute lie." Bill jumped to his feet. Not wanting to be out-drama'd I did the same.

"You got some balls on you, mailman. Standing here, in front of my two dear friends, Chris and Jerry, and calling me a liar? You're lucky I don't slap the piss out you."

"These are MY FRIENDS and if you keep up with the hostility I'll knock your old ass out!" Jerry jumped up off the couch and pulled me into the kitchen. Chris took Bill outside to calm him down. Things were unraveling fast.

Some time passed and I found myself outside watching the wedding rehearsal. Janet and PJ were standing at the altar with an elderly man who would be officiating the wedding. I was holding a video camera, so apparently my job was to tape the rehearsal. I looked around and saw no sign of Bill. "HEY MARK!" Bill yelled into my ear as he slapped me on the back yet again, causing me to drop the camera. The camera hit the concrete and exploded into a million tiny pieces. Everyone in the rehearsal gasped in astonishment at the shattered camera. "Way to go mailman!" he yelled as he slapped me across the back as hard as he could. "Relax, everyone. Ol' Bill has this under control." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of one hundred dollar bills. "I'll have a new camera here in less than an hour." The wedding party cheered and burst out into applause. This was enough for me. I headed back to the house. "Hey Mark!" Bill yelled as I walked away. "Go grab a broom and clean up the camera you just broke." I stopped in my tracks and turned around slowly.

"Get it your DAMNED self, you pompous ass." I turned back around and headed back to the house.

"Hey! HEEEEEEY! Nobody talks to me like that. Get back here, tubbo!" I kept walking which further enraged Bill. I walked through the front door and stood in the living room. Bill followed me. "Look here, BUD, I'm Bill effin' Murray. I'm a big shot. I could buy and sell your sorry ass a thousand times over. You dropped Janet and PJ's camera. The least you can do is clean it up. No go grab the broom and clean up YOUR mess. Stop acting like a baby, Mark." I ignored Bill and tried to walk past him. He reached out and gave me a push. "The broom is in the kitchen Mark. Walk your ass in there and get it." I again tried to walk past him and he again shoved me. "Stop being a bitch, Mark." Bill shoved me for a 3rd time. Then a 4th time. I looked Bill in the eye and cleared my throat.

"Don't push me, Mr. Murray," I said as firmly as I could. "You push me again and I swear I'll-"

"You'll do what? I'm Bill Murray the movie star and American cultural icon. You're Mark the obese mailman. What could you possibly do to me?"

"Push me again and find out." Bill gave me a solid two handed chest shove, knocking me to my feet. The line had been crossed. The price must be paid. I jumped to my feet and threw every ounce of my being into a murderous uppercut. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as my fist connected with Bill's smirking jaw. The momentum of my punch sent Bill flying through the air, causing him to crash into the white lace covered table where the chocolate fountain and picture of Janet and PJ stood. The table crashed under the weight of Bill Murray's 60 year old body, sending the chocolate fountain and picture crashing to the ground.

I stood there for a second, amazed at what I had just done. Bill was laid out cold, not so much as twitching. I leaned over his unconscious body and whispered "My name is Mike," into his ear. I smiled a grin that only those of us who have achieved the greatest of triumphs are permitted to smile. I turned around and saw everyone else gathered at the front door. They all shared the same stunned look. Eventually Jerry stepped forward.

"Holy shit, Mark beat up the guy from Caddy Shack!"

"MY NAME IS MIKE!"

I was snapped back to reality by the blare of the alarm clock. I looked around and saw the familiar sights of my bedroom. Wife sleeping next to me. Two dogs sleeping on the floor. Kingpin DVD menu on the television. I gently shook my wife to wake her up. I was covered in sweat and couldn't shake the feeling that something wonderful and terrible had just happened to me. My wife could see that I wasn't quite myself.

"Mike, are you OK?"

"Yeah, just had a weird dream."

"What was it about?"

"I kicked Bill Murray's ass."