November 22, 2006

Low Tidings

How I Didn't Kill My Wife

Hi I'm O.J. and welcome to my show! First of all, let me just say upfront my ex-wife Nicole was a thievin' little pig and I hated her freakin' guts and wanted to see her writhe and squirm in her own blood . . . but I loved her, that's fer shure.

I remember it like it was yesterday. Back then I was just your stereotypical dumb jock, too old to play football but still earning a living signing paraphernalia and making motivational speeches like "How I Done Graduated From Southern California University Without Learnin' to Read and Rite." The answer was, of course, to run fast on the football field.

So I gots a lot of money to turn pro after college and that's when I said to myself, now I need me a Trophy Wife, a tan, blonde, California girl. That's when I met Nicole.

Back then of course I liked her, but then I kind of soured on her when I realized she was a crack smokin' ho. That's when I decided to slit her filthy throat.

So's I was driving around with my pal Kato and I said, "Kato, what would you say if I told you I'm gonna go over to Bundy Drive and kill that lyin' whorin' slut Nicole?" And he said, "Hey, let's get a cheeseburger!" So we did. That's when I dropped him off and went over to her apartment and seen her and that Goldman punk and cut them to shreds. Except I didn't.

Right now I'd like to bring out my pal, Robert Blake. Like me he was wrongfully accused of killing his wife, and like me he is writing a book so as, like me, he can make some quick cash because he needs money to keep partying the way he's been partying ever since that bitch got whacked because he's so happy to be rid of the ho.

ME: How you doin' there, Bobby-boy?

BLAKE: I'm really good. In fact, I'm great.

ME: So tell us about your wife?

BLAKE: Well, she was a conniving, cheating tramp, so I bought a gun and I blew her away and dat was dat.

ME: So you killed her?

BLAKE: No, not at all. But if I would have killed her, dat's how I woulda done it.

It's funny, that's exactly what happened to me. After I didn't kill Nicole, I got in a white Bronco with my friend Al Cowlings and drove around with a gun to my head. I couldn't understand why everyone thought I killed Nicole, even though I did, I mean I didn't. I was confused. Right now I'd like to bring out another friend of mine, Scott Peterson.

ME: Hey Scott, are you as happy as me and Blake?

PETERSON: No, because you two killed your wives and are walking around free and I'm in prison, and I didn't kill mine just like you didn't kill yours and Blake didn't kill his.

ME: But if you were going to kill her, how would you have done it?

PETERSON: Well, I would've taken her out in a boat, and when we were way offshore, I would've knocked her over the head with the goddamn anchor, tied it around her neck, and thrown her overboard.

ME: And why would you have done this to your wife?

PETERSON: Well, she was pregnant, and I had a real hot babe on the side, and I didn't like the idea I'd have to change the little brat's diapers and stay at home with that bloated cow when I had all the tail I wanted.

ME: So you killed your unborn baby, too?

PETERSON: Of course not. What kind of monster do you think I am? He drowned accidentally after his dopey mother jumped in the ocean with an anchor wrapped around her neck. Stupid bitch.

It seems if you live on the West Coast, you're successful and good looking, and your wife or mate gets whacked, right away the corrupt honky pigs think you did it. Let's ask my next guest, Mr. Phil Spector, what he thinks.

SPECTOR: Thanks for calling me good looking, O.J.

ME: I didn't realize how freakin' ugly you are, man. Someone should shoot you to put you out of your misery. You so ugly it hurt. My face hurts just from lookin' at your sorry ass. So who'd you kill, your wife?

SPECTOR: Naw, just some babe I picked up at the bar.

ME: And you shot her?

SPECTOR: Yeah. She was a nobody. She got on my nerves, so I shot her in the head, dragged her ass out the front door, went back to the bar, and found another bimbo.

ME: So you're guilty?

SPECTOR: Of what? I was stoned, so it doesn't count.

There you have it folks, three men who, like myself, have been victimized by sensational tabloids. We have been forced to defend ourselves for crimes we committed, er, didn't commit, although they were crimes we wanted to commit, and if we did commit them we woulda committed them just like they were committed. In layman's terms, the shit went down just like we said it went down, and we should know, because we did it, except we didn't. Does that just about sum it up fellas?

BLAKE: Dat's da name of dat tune.

PETERSON: Any ladies out there wanna go fishing on my boat?

SPECTOR: I'm buyin' everything you sellin' my main man.

On next week's show I'll discuss this topic further. My guest will be Sen. Ted Kennedy, who is writing a new book, Why I drowned Mary-Jo — Not!

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