Home > Uncategorized > It’s official – O.J. Simpson Is A “Hypothetical” Sociopath

It’s official – O.J. Simpson Is A “Hypothetical” Sociopath

As surreal as the O.J. Simpson murder case was (as well as the public’s reaction to it), things got even more odd in 2004 when Simpson produced a prank reality show called “Juice” that aired on exclusively on pay-per-view, with one of the skits involving him trying to sell the infamous white Ford Bronco to an unsuspecting buyer by saying “it’s real good, it helped me get away.”

Now there’s a book on the way titled If I Did It wherein Simpson “hypothetically” tells the story of exactly how the murders took place and why he did what he did (if he had really done it…which he did but says he didn’t). Still following?

Unfortunately for Gossip Queen (remember when we used to hate them in High School rather than read them as adults?) Jeannette Walls, she got the story wrong – partially anyway. In actuality, Simpson already wrote the book and has been shopping it around for years. Having far superior connections than the rest of you fine folks, I’ve managed to obtain a copy of the manuscript. So, without further adieu, excerpts from Why IF I Did It by O.J. Simpson.

DISCLAIMER – This is, of course, a parody. These are not actual excerpts from Simpson’s book, if it does indeed ever get published. I shouldn’t have to make this disclaimer, but I’ve found in the past that people are more gullible than I’d like to think.

CHAPTER 1: WHY I DID IT (OR RATHER WOULD HAVE DONE IT IF I DID IT BUT I DIDN’T)

MY car! The guy was driving around in MY car! Do you know how infuriating that shit is? “Calm down,” I said to myself. “It’s possible he doesn’t know that’s your car.”

The truth is, I couldn’t move on. I hadn’t been this angry since Chris Collinsworth kept interrupting me years ago during a Bills/Cowboys game. I kept having the same murderous thoughts at that time that I had towards Chris. Except this time, I was going to act on them. And maybe, if I could find the time, I’d also go to the Collinsworth residence and drop by with some “evidence” if you know what I mean.

Which you shouldn’t because I didn’t do it except in the context of this book, because this is all hypothetical. I just wanted to make that abundantly clear.

CHAPTER 4: DOING THE DEED (THAT I DIDN’T DO)

I couldn’t even think straight. I was standing over my beautiful wife and her new love. What had I done? How could I just kill a man? The poor guy never did me any wrong. He didn’t go into that relationship with the sole intention of getting under my skin. Maybe he loved her just as much as I did. He must have; he fought to the bitter end to save her.

I stared at my hands, my gloves soaked in blood, and I panicked. They say that every murderer is convinced that he’ll get away with it until the moment he commits the act, and that was certainly the case. How could this happen? I spent weeks thinking about what I would do, how I would frame it, and so on and so forth. I think enough to wear gloves so as to not leave fingerprints, but what do I do with the gloves afterwards? How could I not think of this? How could I be so sloppy?

I figured I could just leave the gloves in the back yard, and take any other clothes I have remaining and toss them out into a random garbage can. One thing I’ll never be able to toss away, however, is the pain I feel every time I look at mine and Nicole’s children and remember what I did to their beautiful mother. Their Mommy. The guilt of the crime is nothing compared to the constant fear that they’ll one day know their father took their mother away from them.

Boy, good thing I didn’t do it!

CHAPTER 6: JOHNNY COULD SELL ICE TO AN ESKIMO (BUT IN REALITY HE DIDN’T HAVE TO BECAUSE I SWEAR TO GOD I DIDN’T DO IT)

You could practically see the steam coming out of F. Lee Bailey’s ears when Johnny outlined the defense strategy. Dershowitz was the most vocal of the three, saying that Johnny had lost his mind if he was going to base his entire defense around tight gloves and a cop who may or may not have said a racial slur at some point in his life. I had my doubts too, but had learned to keep my mouth shut and let the suits I hired hammer out all the details.

What sounded ridiculous in counsel was astounding to view in court. Johnny, God rest his soul, had this strange sort of charisma that nobody living or dead could ever touch. He had a fantastic gift for taking seemingly implausible theories and making them mandatorily believable. He could take the most ridiculous defense and create hokey catchphrases that would get any other lawyer laughed out of court. With him, however, it was gold. Everything was. What else was there to say about Johnny? The man was a force of nature, and whomever had him in their services could get away with murder. Literally. Like I did.

Not that I needed to in real life because I didn’t do it but in this hypothetical situation I absolutely did because I was horribly sloppy with the murder and guilty as all get out.

CHAPTER 12: MARTHA CLARKE’S A BITCH (BUT I DON’T REALLY THINK THAT – REMEMBER, IT’S ALL HYPOTHETICAL!)

I didn’t like Darden and I particularly didn’t care much for Martha at all. They both had this air of superiority in their judgment of my character that I found infuriating. Granted, I was guilty, but how did they know? What gives that bitch the right to sit in judgment of me? And Darden…don’t get me started on that guy. He was obviously put in that situation to offset the mantra of “black vs. white” that was being repeated ad nauseum on the streets whenever this case was brought up. The poor guy probably thought he deserved to actually be there, and I can only imagine how infuriated he was when the jury read the verdict. Chris, if you’re reading this, don’t feel bad – this was never about race, it was about money and fame. I had the money to buy the best defense team ever assembled, and I had the fame to make enough people in the public skeptical of your “allegations” against me (what a laugh – I’m totally guilty) to get me off scot-free.

I should probably break the fourth wall here and remind everyone that the real killer is still out there. Yeah, playing golf! ME! In your fucking FACES America! That was me out of character again, since you all know I was found not guilty in a court of law and I did not do the crimes white America is convinced I committed. NOT! But really, yeah, I’m innocent. HA! Confused yet? Don’t be. Just remember I’m only a hypothetical murderer.

CHAPTER 15: I CAN’T BELIEVE SOME PEOPLE BOUGHT IT! (BUT THEY BOUGHT IT REALLY BECAUSE I’M TOTALLY INNOCENT)

Is there a moral to my story? Not really. Sure, people refer to what occurred as the trial of the century and cite it as an example of the cult of celebrity taking hold of the American public and/or as a token abuse of wealth and power. The talking heads can debate the merits of those arguments, but at the end of the day I’m the one who goes to sleep at night as a free man.

That being said, looking back on it I’d gladly trade a life of confinement for the supposed “freedom” I have now. The accusing looks I get on the street and awkward silences that envelope a room anytime I make an entrance pale in comparison to what I feel when I go to sleep at night. People see my picture and think of me as cocky or arrogant due to that half-grin I have on my face, but what they should realize is that it’d be a full-on toothy smile if I didn’t have to force it. When I close my eyes at the end of the day, the only thing I see is the face of my beautiful life and the dashed hopes of a man whose only crime was loving a woman who had the misfortune to love me at one time.

I keep telling myself God doesn’t exist, but my mother’s voice is constantly in my head telling me otherwise. I used to curse Him for all the personal tragedies in my life, but I know now that when the deal goes down I’m going to have Him and only Him to answer to. Part of the reason I wrote this was in the hope that I’d find some answer or justification to give. I find now, though, that no personal loss or whatever I might perceive to be an injustice can possibly excuse what I’ve done, no matter how hard I try to justify it to myself.

In actuality, I do sleep well at night because I didn’t do anything wrong. Please believe me, America! More importantly – please believe me, Jesus.

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  1. October 20, 2006 at 3:26 pm

    I think I’m gonna be sick.

    • October 20, 2006 at 4:07 pm

      And rightfully so.

      I have to wonder how the Hell this guy can function in society doing stuff like this. I mean, he must get enough accusing looks in public, but doing something like THIS?! I don’t think there’s a single person left who still believes he’s innocent.

  2. October 20, 2006 at 4:00 pm

    He lives in Florida.

    • October 20, 2006 at 4:05 pm

      That’s what I thought, but I left it blank because I at the time I couldn’t find confirmation of that online.

  3. October 20, 2006 at 6:42 pm

    MSNBC’s gossip columnist is using the National Inquirer as a resource…?

    • October 21, 2006 at 3:29 am

      Inquiring minds want to know.

      • October 21, 2006 at 4:16 am

        I thought it was the National ENquirer?

      • October 21, 2006 at 8:30 pm

        It is, Miss Typo. 😉

      • October 21, 2006 at 9:19 pm

        But in the MSN article they cite it as the Inquirer…is there another publication?

      • October 21, 2006 at 9:23 pm

        Well if they cited it as the Inquirer before, someone caught the error – either that or I’m imagining typos. Nevertheless, when did tabloids become acceptable research material?

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    About the Author

    O.J. Simpson is a former Heismann Trophy Winner, National Football League All-Star, sports commentator, actor, and hypothetical murderer. Aside from this novel, he has also penned a comic book that wasn’t hypothetical in his defense and has several projects he’s working on expanding, including a prank reality show called “Juice” where he hypothetically laughs in the faces of people who know he’s hypothetically guilty as sin. He currently resides in Florida.