bill kelso


by Chris Kelso

Christmas is a special time of year – our omnipresent alien overlords take a rare day off, we all don knitted novelty jumpers before gathering round the altar to chant “Gunga Galunga.” and offer wooden objects and precious stones to our one true prophet and savior – Bill Murray.

In case you’re new to the Church of Murray, ‘Murrayology’ is a new age religion which emphasizes the independence of the human spirit, equality between all forms of life, and takes a non-violent stance towards all living beings. The church of Murray focuses on the important things in this life, like being a great party-guest, making kick ass movies and hosting ice-cream socials (and occasionally partaking in a spot of impromptu karaoke!). My girlfriend and I have been Murrayists for over five years now. We’ve never been happier.

Recently, my girlfriend and I went to visit the saviour’s ashram. We were initially greeted by two fellow disciples, simple natives born of the Ayrshire ergs, who led us to his quarters.

On our way down the echoing galleries, they offered us an orated history of the ancient canvases Murray had acquired, interpreting the cultural and natural heritage of each painting and how it related directly to the Prophet.

“This one was painted in the Caddyshack era by the great Ramakrishnahi who foresaw the coming of the Great One and how he would lead us all to spiritual and nutritional purity.”

It was quite stunning.

We didn’t expect to actually see much of Bill but there he was, strewn out in his eco-hut on a bed of stonewashed sacks that’d been stuffed with dove feathers, smoking deeply from a nebulizer and exhaling the vapour out into a great ceiling-dwelling maelstrom of pink, vanilla scented cloud. At the time Bill wore a beard of alabaster swung round his neck like a scarf and his eyes changed pattern and colour at the sight of us. They went from a hazy airbrushed green to a swirling orange tinted array of concentric circles. He lay there like a stone angel and said –

“I’m a modernist Mr. Kelso. Language has begun to fail me in my need for self-expression…”