Truesday: He Already Did It, So, Whatever

But of course, the main publicly discussed reasoning behind his being abandoned by the publisher (and Fox) focuses on the pain and suffering this “fictional, hypothetical account” would likely inflict on the families of the murdered victims. Of course: a “moral compass” issue.

Shocker.

How could OJ not see this coming? How could OJ not realize that the rug would DEFINITELY be pulled out from under this whole project at some point? How could his advisors not advise him against it? How could OJ… well… man, what the fuck? How stupid is OJ?

I think: not very.

In fact, I think it’s a ploy. I think he knew all along that he was just hurling shit at a fan when he went with a mainstream publisher, and okayed Fox to develop his stupid TV spot. This way, THEY would put THEIR (questionably) reputable asses on the line, expecting to rake in the cash money, while all OJ had to do was finally tell the truth (which would likely be a HUGE weight/butcher-knife lifted from his chest/neck).

If he penned his contracts with even half the deftness shown in court by his criminal legal defense team, then he’s all kinds of protected by crafty clauses. He’d be paid whether the special aired or not. He’d keep his publishing advance whether they chose to publish it or not. And he would CERTAINLY find a way to weasel his sorry ass back into our mainstream, collective and shared consciousness whether ANY of these “projects” launched or not.

Can you imagine the conversations between him and his agent? When he started hatching this disaster?

OJ: [on cellular, standing on his personal tennis courts that have grass growing up between the cement slabs]

Agent: [driving on freeway, wincing and reluctantly answering Bluetooth hands-free after looking at caller ID]

OJ: Hey, I’ve decided to write about the killings. Write a book about how I did the murders.

Agent: The ones you DIDN’T do, right? Tell me you DIDN’T FUCKING KILL THOSE PEOPLE YOU TOTAL DICK. MY LIFE IS SHIT RIGHT NOW. SO HELP ME GOD, JUICE… I’m going to jump out of this moving car. Even though I’m driving it.

OJ: Calm down. Sure. Criminally? No. I’m clean as a fitted glove. You’re right.

Agent: Fuckin’ right I’m right. So why a fake tell-all? You may not know this, but those murders were, and remain, a pretty dicey subject. Like, “OJ the bloodthirsty slasher got off because he sold the fuck out” dicey.

OJ: Yeah, well, see, the thing is I need to make some cash. Pockets are a bit thin here recently.

Agent: Civil case tapping you dry?

OJ: Nah man, I don’t pay bills, kid. I met these crazy Japanese kids in Singapore while I was hiding out and we’ve been hanging out steady ever since. They’re living with me here in L.A. now. All we do is get lit and lidded at titty bars all day long. It’s exhausting all my resources.. Buying designer blow and busting three nuts a day is expensive my friend. Trust that.

Agent: Aren’t they a bit… leery of hanging around you in public? I mean, you’re like, legally half a killer. A civil-court killer or whatever.

OJ: Yeah, they don’t really speak the language. The first time we met, they called me Mr. T. I never corrected it.

Agent: So, you want to write a book then? What about a sweeps-week network special?

OJ: Whatever’s quickest, for serious. The crazy zips are waiting out in my Escalade, dealers are blowin’ up my cellie, and my balls are on serious swoll. Write up the contracts and let’s get this DONE.

Shit man. Once again, the only losers in this fiasco are going to be the ones who bet on OJ for the win. Dude had it pegged, and bet against his self: a guaranteed winning strategy every time.

And now? Before he would have had to parade his smug, toothy grin in front of a marbled fan base comprised solely of curious awe/furious hatred, whilst schlepping that “tell-all” brick of paper around. But no. There's been a media flury, his name's all over the damn place, and they’re pulling the plug on the whole thing. Lights, camera, and… sorry, go home.

Let’s face it, the guy’s a fucking business genius. He realized a long time ago that his relevance had a ten-year shelf-life. After his youth faded, and he was no longer the dashing, young and charismatic symbol of man-vigor, dude had to do SOMETHING to keep his name on the lips of strangers. And by total accident, the killings put his soon-to-be-forgotten ass BACK on the map! He was like, “holy shit! You don’t even have to DO anything impressive or worthy to have star power! You just need to be notorious! This shit’s easy!”

And after another ten years, he saw his relevance once again fading back into obscurity: the restaurants stopped comping his meals, the casinos stopped begging him to come hang out, he was staying home alone watching Turner Movie Classics on Friday nights, and those credit collectors started calling. So The Juice, too old to go on any cut-n-run escapades (not to mention few people being willing to get near him after dark) decided to simply rehash his previous ones. Like a highlight reel.

That’s right. OJ, in a sad and fucking obnoxious attempt to make you hate mankind for all eternity, wants you to purchase his newest “let’s just say I did kill those motherfuckers, well this is how good I would have done it” highlight reel.

But more importantly, he’s got people talking about him again. Like he still magically matters or some shit.

Damnit. Well, he got me on that front.

On a sorta-side note, I’ll be reading from a collection of stories that I’ve self-published: I Am An Idiot (but there’s nothing wrong with you). Tonight at Club Deville, 8pm. Sure, it’s a bar, but what else would make sense? If there’s anyone left in Austin for Thanksgiving, and you might enjoy getting faded with me whilst I tell/read some stories about what an idiot I really am, then feel free to drop on by.

I’ll be the asshole on the stage, trying to pretend I’m not drunk.