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Atwood: You must know how much it pains me to do this, but after the most recent injuries to both Elvis Andrus AND Corey Seager ( si non fortuna velim fortuna omnino! ) I have found that my team, The Bad Feminists, is in need of some help at shortstop. Thusly compromised, I have no alternative but to attempt to discuss the possibility of a trade with you.

Me: You know, I really don’t have a clue how much it pains you to open a chat window with me. Please describe.

Atwood: It feels as if am a lone tree burning on the desert.

Me: A really ancient, worn out and desiccated tree? One that’s been completely abandoned by all the other trees that used to respect her but now subtweet her because they think her work is over-rated and old fashioned? A tree that just decided to go ahead and set herself on fire because let’s be honest, nobody was even going to notice?

Atwood: No, not that tree.

Me: Sounds like that tree.

Atwood: Your ability to evaluate the world around you is very poor. It’s why your team always finishes at the bottom of the league and you’re in a constant, emasculating state of rebuilding. It’s your cycle of pointlessness, part of what feeds your rage.

Me: I can’t remember– maybe because you look so much alike– but was it you who won the Nobel prize for literature or that singer Bob Dylan?

He might have come along after your time, so here’s a little video of him to ensure you have a clear, very clear picture, of the great literary talent who bested you for the Nobel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJymBJ_5iUg

Atwood: I am interested in acquiring New York Mets infielder Asdrubel Cabrera from you, and as you obviously have no chance of winning this year, I’ll give you a couple of promising, young players who you can use next year in exchange for him.

Me: No.

Atwood: Without even hearing who those players are?

Me: I’m not out of contention yet.

Atwood: Yes you are. You’ve never been in contention.

Me: I WON’T BE BULLIED!!!

Atwood: Is that what’s been happening to you? You’ve been bullied into failure again and again and again? That daily video chat with your mother each morning, it’s not really helping you organize your life and establish your own goals, is it? No? Well ask yourself, is it your mother refusing to trade me Cabrera, or is it you, Michael?

Me: Look, I’ll give you Joe Panik for Jake Baurers and Nick Williams.

Atwood: NO! As the great Aeschylus said, “ I have learned to hate all traitors, and there is no disease that I spit on more than treachery!” You are a cheat, a blackguard! Panik just had thumb surgery and is out for the next two months! He’s worthless to me! Cabrera for Bauers and Williams, that’s it. Take it or leave it!!

Me: Can you arrange for me to meet Elisabeth Moss?

Atwood: I refuse to pimp out the wonderful actress from the award winning TV show, based on my award winning book, The Handmaid’s Tale, to you!

Me: You will if you want Asdrubel Cabrera in your lineup.

Atwood: You wouldn’t be allowed to make eye contact with her or touch her, you know.

Me: Jesus, of course I know that!

Atwood: I will think on the matter. You are dismissed.

Under the awning girls in tube tops giggle while their boyfriends watch them, imagining lifting their twisting and smiling and screaming bodies up, and carrying them out into the cooling streams of rain– the moment and everybody in it, becoming slick, beautiful and imperishable.

We’re related, although the mechanics of this familial connection remain distant and unknown, and we only met once at a huge wedding about 15 years ago in Chicago. I thought we got along entirely brilliantly, but he proved reluctant to continue any sort of correspondence or relationship with me after the fact, growing more and more biting and bitter–as many aging actors who have never won an Oscar do– as the years passed and my career took off while he played the voice of Garfield in some movies.

At any rate, as some sort of promotion associated with the Toronto International Film Festival, Friday was declared Bill Murray Day and I was asked by a local publication if I would use my “special access” to the faded star to secure an interview. This is the result:

Dear Bill:

It’s your cousin Michael here, the funny Murray. Remember me? I was the one wearing the bowtie at the wedding in Chicago in 1998. I requested I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing by Aerosmith at the party and because you were a really big ham and sang it to the wedding couple in that cheesy-we’ve-all-seen-it-a-million-times-way, it became “their song” and everybody thought you were a hero.

Nice one, Bill. Anyway, it didn’t end well for that couple. Botched murder-suicide. Not that you’d care.

I have some questions that a newspaper wants me to ask you, okay?

Here they are:

1. What was it that attracted you to the role of Garfield? Was it because you were horny for Jennifer Love Hewitt? She’s less than half your age, you know.

2. What do you think of the massive nude celebrity leak? Was it a good thing for democracy?

3. Why wouldn’t you ever enter any of my fantasy baseball leagues?

4. Are you sick of making movies with Wes Anderson yet because an awful lot of people are sick of seeing you in movies by Wes Anderson?

5. Do you know any of the details regarding Traci Murray’s alien abduction back in 1987? She didn’t have any tattoos before, but three after—very puzzling. It is a great family mystery and you should perhaps consider making a movie based on it once you’re finished with the Garfield trilogy.

6. You’re a big golf fan. Would you say that’s your greatest embarrassment? If not, please explain.

7. Are you “above” correspondence? My mother always said that your side of the Murray family always thought they were “special.”

8. Did you know that I won the New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest?

9. Have you won the New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest?

10. You made some pretty controversial remarks about Jewish people back at the wedding, would you care to take this time to elaborate upon them?