Tuesday, September 18, 2007
O.J., I Thought We Were Cool!
Over a decade ago, Hall of Fame running back, comedy actor and hairline deviant Orenthal James (the bus-driving murderer) Simpson was acquitted by a jury of his peers of the double murder his wife and the tennis instructor she was banging. Chris Rock banter aside, while I’d never condone murder, teenage Ronnie totally understood where the nigga was coming from with that ‘roid-rage-with-the-butterfly-knife shit. His trial was a beautiful catastrophe. Like a 25-car pile-up on the turnpike, you just had to peek. Just as quickly and unknowingly as Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman had become Vanilla PEZ dispensers, we as a national viewing audience were hijacked. One minute you’re watching the Knicks cough up the NBA Finals, the next you’re watching O.J. and Al Cowlings “run” from police at 20 miles per hour. --It was all over from there. A dozen years of purchased freedom later, O.J., in a world of [well-documented] financial trouble, has only one job. That job is to account for every single penny he has floating around (outside of the must-have secret Suisse account). The nigga became a street-certified accountant within about four days of the completion of his civil suit. Apparently, he’s treating it like the corner. Fuck with him if you wanna. Orenthal ass must really wanna be in the pokey! No, there’s no video to corroborate the story that O.J. ran up in there with the rest of his retired NFL player death squad, but the tone and content of the conversation tell us more than we need to know. Ain’t nobody talking to me the way Orenthal did this dude without twin .45s present and visible. He sounds like a cokedealer coming back on Papi who sold him flour. I thought I was listening to "Friend or Foe '98." “…And here I find you in this Motel 6 with all these balls and all my jerseys.” He made sure to check them out of the room and everything, huh? “I’m alert. Plus I paid the clerk.” Nigga said “Fuck it! I’m taking Joe Montana’s shit too. Tell him to come see me.” I remember being in an all-white prep school the day the double murder verdict was announced. There were only about 200 students in my entire school and the trial was being shown in the middle of the common. When the verdict was read, I was a lone chocolate chip in a cluster of about 90 white kids who looked like O.J. has stolen their trust funds. While they screamed and flipped chairs, I couldn’t help but laugh my ass off. I Bankhead Bounced my ass back to the Native Spanish class I was cutting guffawing hysterically the entire way as if my “O.J. Prize” was indeed in the mail. I acted an ass at Bel-Air Academy with my jacket inside out for what, O.J.? So you could take that little ass bit of judicial reparation and shit all over it?! You walk on a double murder of some white folks, you ain’t supposed to ever get so much as a fucking parking ticket. Y’all realize they’re gonna batter and deep-fry the Jena 6 now because of this nigga? Oh, and Mike Vick ain’t never coming home. Quick recap: -This nigga bodies his wife and her boyfriend. -He tracks the blood from her pad to his car. -He refuses to burn the duffel bag of bloody murder clothes. -His star character witness is Kato Kaelin; a man who paid his rent in 8-balls. -Johnnie Cochran raps. -Mark Fuhrman uses N-word. -No one even pretends to defend Mark Fuhrman’s character. -O.J. walks. Sheeeit. Johnnie Blaze ain't here to drop a hot 16 on the jury this time around, homie. Can’t wait to see how you pull this one out with Jacoby & Meyers on defense. He might be better off hiring that pimp he brought with him to “collect.”