Bill Murray
A few days ago, I had a sex dream about Bill Murray. Not Ghostbusters era Bill Murray, or even pensive Broken Flowers Bill Murray, but fifty-seven-year-old, pockmarked, alcoholic, Bill Murray. Freud tells me that this dream is simply an externalization of some repressed fetish, but I know that this is bullshit because Freud was a cokehead and I certainly do not have any sexual fantasies about Bill Murray, unconscious or otherwise. My subconscious is just lost in itself, like I am lost in this lonely world and this world could lose itself in me.
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