All flights were cancelled due to the storm. People always told Hal he looked like Bill Murray. Casually dressed, hair askew, sneakers, cynical expression, modest paunch, a certain fetid smell. Maybe it was time to take advantage.
He begged a cabbie to take him to Chicago, a two hundred mile ride, claiming he was the star and was good for it. The cabbie was dubious. Burp, he ordered. Burp like Bill. Hal did as told. The cabbie shrugged. Passable, he said. Now give me a beer fart.
But I haven't been drinking, Hal protested.
You're Bill Murray-- that shouldn't make a difference.
Hal came up with a weak facsimile. The cabbie shook his head.
Just then a BMW pulled up and out popped the real Bill Murray, who tripped, fell down, burped and farted in short order. The key was still in the ignition. Hal gave the cabbie $20 to help him dump Murray in the back seat.
Hal noticed they both smelled of rancid salmon. Maybe we are related.
No comments:
Post a Comment