[Another late night at the lima bean cannery. It’s me, Bill Murray and the Professor, and we’re in line for bathroom but the line’s twenty deep so Bill Murray and I leave the Professor to fend for herself and walk outside and piss against a wall. Bill Murray is struggling.]
Bill Murray: Man, I got that salty piss tonight. Thick, orange urine. Burns. It’s so salty it’s scraping my tubes. You ever get that?
Me: Never. And I don’t think that’s salt in your urine. You might have a UTI or an STD or something.
Bill Murray: Nope, it’s a salty pee. I get it all the time. I eat too many pretzels and don’t drink enough water and all this salt builds up in my system and comes out through my dick when I piss. But the piss is so thick with salt that it scrapes against my ‘rethra and burns like a motherfucker, and even when I’m not pissing I can feel a tingle in my tiphole sometimes. It’s all that salty piss. All Murray men get it.
Me: Dude. That’s not true. If you feel a burn when you piss, it’s not a salty build-up. You have a UTI or an STD. Have you asked a doctor?
Bill Murray: Yeah, like I’m gonna walk into a doctor’s office and ask him about the pee burn, a condition I’ve had for ten years, when I know for a fact it’s just salt in my urine. It’d be like going up to my fruit guy and showing him an apple and saying, Hey fruit guy, is this an apple? It is? OK cool, here’s fifty bucks. Like I’m gonna pay a doctor fifty bucks to tell that there’s salt in my piss when I know for a fact there’s salt in my piss. Why would I do that?
Me: Dude. He wouldn’t tell you there’s salt in your piss. He would tell you the Professor gave you the clap or gonorrhea.
Bill Murray: He would tell me that dumb young men who know nothing about STDs or salty piss should not tell wise old men when they have salty piss and when they have an STD. I know when I have an STD. My hands get puffy. When I have salty pee, my pees burn. My dick burns. I can feel the salt scraping against my tube. You don’t get to tell me what my body is telling me. Only I know what my body is telling me. [he puts dick away.] Woops, I thought I was done, but I’m not. [pulls dicks out again and pees again.]
Me: You have a case of the stop-and-starts, too? That is not salty pee.
[Bill Murray pees on my shoe.]
Me: You’re a rude man. A rude man with a sickly penis.
Bill Murray: Enough dick talk. Ladies always say that men are too obsessed with their dicks and we’re playing right into their hand. So let me tell you something: Been hot out lately, hotter than it would be if I were in charge, and I got this problem: I only got thick socks. My sock drawer, it’s all thick socks. No thin ones. Last winter I must have bought fifteen pairs of wool socks, but God knows what happened to my summer socks. I didn’t throw them away. Maybe they’re packed away somewhere. Or maybe the Professor has them. She toys with me, you know. Every once and awhile she’ll take my shit and hide it at her apartment. She does it for attention, and because she wants to be caught and then punished. In bed. Like, I’ll beat the shit out her with a spatula if I find those summer socks in her closet, and she knows that. But if I ask her, Hey you little cunt, have you seen my summer socks? Did you take my summer socks, you cunt? You know what she’ll say? She’ll say, Bill, you’re an asshole, I’ve never taken anything from you. I have better things to do than steal your summer socks. And I know that the next morning I’ll be rummaging around in her bra drawer, that’s one thing I do that makes me happy, I’ll find five pairs of my summer socks. I haven’t asked her about them yet because I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’s bothered me. That’s tonight’s lesson: if a lady is doing something that’s bothering you, don’t even let her know that it’s bothering you and for the love of God, do not mention it to anyone because it will get back to the lady and the lady will know that even though you never told her, she was bothering you and in her own little way, and she’s won.
Me: I might tell the professor about your summer socks.
Bill Murray: Don’t even joke about that. If you tell the professor about my summer socks I will get revenge. I will write, direct and produce a film about how much of a coward faggot you are and I’ll use your real name and every scene will be you prancing around a public place in your underwear asking people for hugs, and I’m calling it I’m a Coward, Give Me Hugs and that Bieber kid’s gonna play you and I’ll play your dad, and the climax is your dad beating you with a hockey stick and it’s broadcast on national television, but as I was saying, my problem was: no summer socks, only thick ones. So yesterday I’m walking back from the Professor’s, she lives on Hudson, and I’m on Fourteenth near Union Square, and I pass that Wendy’s and I’m like, Well, shit, I haven’t had Wendy’s for months. C’mon, Bill, live a little, get some Wendy’s. So I get in line and there’s this pissed off dude in front of me. He’s wearing a Wendy’s hat but civilian clothes. He must work there, but he was off the clock yesterday, and he’s yelling at the dude behind the counter who’s making his iced tea. The dude wasn’t stirring it right, and the dude in the hat was like, Yo brother – he was black, so that’s how he talked – brother, if I was a customer, you would stir that shit better. And the dude making the tea was like, I did stir it, motherfucker. And the dude in the hat said, Not enough. You didn’t stir it enough. A lady employee walks over and whispers something to dude in the hat, probably like, You are making a scene, please settle down. But the dude in the hat didn’t settle down. He said, This nigga isn’t showing me respect. Tell this nigga to show respect. Now, I’m just in line to get a five piece nugget and a Frosty and I hear a dude say motherfucker and nigga, and it was a Wendy’s employee no less. Can you believe it? [he’s singing now:] America, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain. For purple mountains –
Me: So what about the socks?
Bill Murray: Right, so I leave Wendy’s. I got the nuggets in one hand and the Frosty in the other. I’m poppin’ nugs, I’m sipping the Frosty. It’s hot out, girls’ legs are out, they’re looking at me, then they look at their friends, and they’re like, O M G, is that Bill Murray eating Wendy’s on Fourteenth Street? As if I’m not allowed to eat Wendy’s wherever the fuck I feel like it. So I’m doing OK, I’m strolling, and I come upon a Nordstrom’s.
Me: There isn’t a Nordstrom’s on Fourteenth Street.
Bill Murray: Yes, there is.
Me: Dude. No there isn’t. You are so wrong about everything tonight.
Bill Murray: Why would I lie to you about there being a Nordstrom’s on Fourteenth Street?
Me: I don’t know, because you’re a drunk asshole.
Bill Murray: I know what’s what on Fourteenth near Union Square. You got the Wendy’s, you got the Guitar Center, you got the Sleepy’s, you got the Salvation Army, you got the ladies-only gym, you got the Levi’s, you got the Taco Bell, you got the Subway, you got the Whole Foods, and now the shoe stores: you got the Foot Locker, you got the Shoe Mania, you got the other Shoe Mania, you got the DSW, you got the Journey’s, you got a few small shitty ones, and you got the Aerosoles. I might be missing one but I know what’s what on Fourteenth. You got the Best Buy, you got the Amish Market, you got the side entrance to Westside Market, you got the tiny cupcake place, and you got the Quizno’s. And Jack Rabbit. And you got the Nordstrom’s.
Me: But you’re wrong. It’s not a Nordstrom’s. It’s a Nordstrom’s Rack.
Bill Murray: OH FUCK YOU.
Me: It’s different. Nordstrom’s Rack is shitty Nordstrom’s. It’s different.
Bill Murray: ANYWAY. I’m strutting along Fourteenth. I’ve got my nugs and I’ve got my Frosty, and I see the Nordstrom’s RACK, and I get to thinking: I need summer socks. Nordstrom’s Rack sells socks, presumably summer socks. So I pop in there and walk around and, boom, I pick up three pairs of summer socks. Now I’m set for the summer in the socks department.
Me: What if the Professor take them?
Bill Murray: She won’t, because I’m not gonna tell her about them. And you can’t either.
Me: I might.
Bill Murray: Promise me you won’t.
Me: I can’t make any promises. I’m friends with her too. We have our own relationship apart from you.
Bill Murray: Dude. Promise me you won’t tell her. After all we’ve been through tonight, it’s the least you can do. [takes out dick again and pees.] Man that burns. I can feel that salt scraping my tube. It’s scraping so much I can hear it, seriously. Listen.
Me: No way.
Bill Murray: Shut up and listen. You hear that? It sounds like this: Screep. Screep. If we were out in the woods or the desert, you’d be able to hear it scraping my tube.
Me: If you buy my flight, I’ll fly to the desert tonight and listen to your salty piss scrape your tube.
Bill Murray: The human body is mysterious machine.