What is Digg?136 Comments
- doctorfungi, on 10/11/2007, -3/+159OJ didn't do it. It was "some Puerto Rican guy".
- mablco, on 10/11/2007, -6/+112he was so good in the naked gun
- jaromir68, on 10/11/2007, -4/+93Ok. I already know that OJ 'did it'.
- Eldorian, on 10/11/2007, -9/+76OJ is living proof that if you have enough money in this world you can pretty much get away with anything - even murder.
And notice I said in this world... it's not just the USA that this happens. - thenativeraver, on 10/11/2007, -2/+66http://www.megaupload.com/?d=OHAC1EK7
http://rs72.rapidshare.com/files/37080089/O.J.Simpson.If.I.Did.It.eBook.PDF-3r1c.zip - hartley, on 10/11/2007, -2/+59It surprises me it took this long. Especially for a book that was already printed and ready for sales.
- SpaceMonkeyZero, on 10/11/2007, -3/+56Chapelle on Michael Jackson: Thriller. Thriller man. He made Thriller. He's innocent.
Prosecutor: Would you let Mr Jackson babysit your kids?
Chapelle: AW HELL NO! - paku, on 10/11/2007, -6/+54Nicole came at me, swinging. "Get the ***** out of here!" she
said. "This is my house and I can do what I want!"
"Not in front of my kids, you can't!"
"***** you!"
"No, ***** you. I gave you everything you could ask for, and
you ***** it all up."
She came at me like a banshee, all arms and legs, flailing, and
I ducked and she lost her balance and fell against the stoop. She fell
hard on her right side—I could hear the back of her head hitting
the ground—and lay there for a moment, not moving.
"Jesus Christ, O.J., let's get the ***** out of here!" Charlie said,
his voice cracking.
I looked over at Goldman, and I was fuming. I guess he
thought I was going to hit him, because he got into his little
karate stance. "What the ***** is that?" I said. "You think you can
take me with your karate *****?" He started circling me, bobbing
and weaving, and if I hadn't been so ***** angry I would have
laughed in his face.
"O.J., come on!" It was Charlie again, pleading.
Nicole moaned, regaining consciousness. She stirred on the
ground and opened her eyes and looked at me, but it didn't seenlike
anything was registering.
Charlie walked over and planted himself in front of me
blocking my view. "We are ***** done here, man—let's go!"
I noticed the knife in Charlie's hand, and in one deft move
I removed my right glove and snatched it up. "We're not going
anywhere," I said, turning to face Goldman. Goldman was still
circling me, bobbing and weaving, but I didn't feel like laughing
anymore.
"You think you're tough, *****?" I said.
I could hear Charlie just behind me, saying something, urging
me to get the ***** out of there, and at one point he even reached
for me and tried to drag me away, but I shook him off, hard, and
moved toward Goldman. "Okay, *****!" I said. "Show me
how tough you are!"
Then something went horribly wrong, and I know what happened,
but I can't tell you exactly how. I was still standing in
Nicole's courtyard, of course, but for a few moments I couldn't
remember how I'd gotten there, when I'd arrived, or even why I was
there. Then it came back to me, very slowly: The recital—with little
Sydney up on stage, dancing her little heart out; me, chipping
balls into my neighbor's yard; Paula, angry, not answering her
phone; Charlie, stopping by the house to tell me some more ugly
***** about Nicole's behavior. Then what? The short, quick drive
from Rockingham to the Bundy condo.
And now? Now I was standing in Nicole's courtyard, in the
dark, listening to the loud, rhythmic, accelerated beating of my
own heart. I put my left hand to my heart and my shirt felt
strangely wet. I looked down at myself. For several moments, I
couldn't get my mind around what I was seeing. The whole front of
me was covered in blood, but it didn't compute. Is this really blood?
I wondered. And whose blood is it? Is it mine? Am I hurt?
I was more confused than ever. What the hell had happened
here? Then I remembered that Goldman guy coming through the
back gate, with Juditha's glasses, and I remembered hollering at
him, and I remembered how our shouts had brought Nicole to
the door . . .
Nicole. Jesus.
I looked down and saw her on the ground in front of me,
curled up in a fetal position at the base of the stairs, not moving.
Goldman was only a few feet away, slumped against the bars of the
fence. He wasn't moving either. Both he and Nicole were lying in
giant pools of blood. I had never seen so much blood in my life. It
didn't seem real, and none of it computed. What the ***** happened
here? Who had done this? And why? And where the ***** was I when
this ***** went down?
It was like part of my life was missing—like there was some
weird gap in my existence. But how could that be? I was standing
right there. That was me, right?
I again looked down at myself, at my blood-soaked clothes,
and noticed the knife in my hand. The knife was covered in blood,
as were my hand and wrist and half of my right forearm. That didn't
compute either. I wondered how I had gotten blood all over my
knife, and I again asked myself whose blood it might be, when suddenly
it all made perfect sense: This was just a bad dream. A very
bad dream. Any moment now, I would wake up, at home, in my
own bed, and start going about my day.
Then I heard a sound behind me and turned, startled. Charlie
was standing in the shadows, a few feet away, his mouth hanging
open, his breathing short and ragged. He was looking beyond me,
at the bodies.
"Charlie?" I called out. He didn't answer. "Charlie?" Still nothing.
I went over and stood in front of him and asked him the same
question I'd just asked myself. "Charlie, what the ***** happened
here?"
He looked up and met my eyes, but for several moments it
was as if he didn't really see me. "Are you listening to me?" I said. "I
asked you what happened here."
Charlie shook his head from side to side, his mouth still hanging
open, his breathing still short, ragged, and in a voice that was
no more than a frightened whisper, said, "Jesus Christ, O.J.—what
have you done?"
"Me?'
What the hell was he talking about? I hadn't done anything.
I jumped at a sound behind me—a high-pitched, almost
human wail. It was Kato, the dog, circling Nicole's body, his big
paws leaving prints in the wet blood. He lifted his snout and let out
another wail, and it sent chills up and down my spine. "Let's get the
***** out of here," I said.
I hurried toward the rear gate, and moved through it, with
Charlie close behind, but I stopped myself before I crossed into the
alley. Charlie bumped into me and jumped back, startled. "What?"
he said.
I didn't answer. I was thinking about the shape I was in—I was
thinking of all the blood. My shirt and pants were sticking to my
skin. Even my shoes were covered in Hood.
I turned and looked behind me, beyond Charlie, and saw a
track of bloody, tell-tale prints. "I've got to get rid of these *****
clothes," I said.
Without even thinking about it, I kicked off my shoes and
began to strip. I took off my pants and shirt, dropped the knife and
shoes into the center of the pile, and wrapped the whole thing into
tight bundle. I left my socks on, though. I don't know why, but I
didn't see any blood on them, so I had no reason to remove them.
I stood, with the bundle grasped in my left hand, I realized that
left my keys and my wallet in my pants. I fell to a crouch and
dug for them and noticed that my hands were shaking.
Charlie stood there all the while, mumbling. "Jesus Christ,
J. Jesus Christ." He just kept repeating himself, like he'd lost his
goddamn mind or something.
"Will you shut the ***** up?!" I snapped. I found my keys and
my wallet, and rewrapped the bundle, then I stood and hurried
across the dark alley. Charlie followed, still mumbling. I got behind
the wheel and Charlie climbed into the passenger seat. "Jesus
Christ, O.J." he said. "Jesus Christ."
"WILL YOU SHUT THE ***** UP!"
Charlie recoiled, startled, and shut up. I started the Bronco
and pulled out, the tires squealing, and raced through the curved
alley toward Montana Avenue. When I reached the end of the alley,
made a left onto Montana and an immediate right at the corner,
onto Gretna Green. San Vicente was a block away, and I made a left
there and took it all the way to Bristol, then hung a right to Sunset
and made a left there, toward home.
I glanced at Charlie. He was hunched over, his elbows on his
knees, his face buried in his hands.
"What happened back there, Charlie?" I said.
Charlie sat up. His cheeks were wet with tears. He shook his
head from side to side and shrugged.
I thought back to that horrific scene at the courtyard, and to
all the blood. I had never seen so much blood in my life. It didn't
seem possible. It didn't seem real.
"Charlie?"
He still didn't answer, but what the hell—this wasn't really
happening. That hadn't been me back there. I'd imagined the whole
thing. I was imagining it then. In actual fact I was home in bed,
asleep, having one of those crazy crime-of-passion dreams, but I
was going to wake up any second now. Yeah—that was it!
Only I didn't wake up.
We were still on Sunset, and I passed the light on Burlingame
and made a sharp right onto Rockingham, tearing up the winding
hill, toward the house. As I approached the gate, I saw a limo moving
toward the Rockingham gate, from Ashford Street, and remembered
that I had a flight to catch.
I drove past my house, and past the moving limo, and in the
side-view mirror I saw its taillights flare as it pulled to a stop in
front of my gate. The driver had probably been waiting on Ashford,
out of sight, and I wondered if he'd already called the house. I had
no idea what time it was. I looked down at the Bronco's clock and
saw it was 10:37. *****! I was supposed to be in that limo in eight
minutes.
I pulled into Ashford and kept going, hanging a right on
Bristol, and I parked in the shadows beyond the home of Eric
Watts. There was another neighbor on Rockingham who was
closer, but his property ran parallel to mine, and I couldn't get
inside without running the risk of being spotted by the limo driver.
I was going to have to steal onto my property through the Watts
place, and I knew just how to do it.
I looked down at my lap, at the bloody bundle, then over at
Charlie. "You're going to have to help me out here, man," I said.
Charlie turned to look at me. His mouth was hanging open a
bit, and he was breathing kind of funny, and he couldn't stop shaking
his head. It looked like he was slipping into shock or something.
"Charlie, are you listening to me?"
He stopped shaking his head for a moment, and nodded once,
and I began to tell him what I needed from him. "I've got to get
into my house," I said. "You're going to have to wait here until I'm
in the limo, understand? When the limo's gone—"
Charlie looked away, into the darkness beyond his own window,
clearly not listening to me. I reached over and slammed his left
shoulder into his seat, hard, and he whipped around to face me,
more frightened than ever.
"I need you to ***** listen to me, man!" I shouted. "Are you
***** listening to me?"
Charlie nodded. He looked scared to death.
"Say it! Tell me you're listening."
"I'm listening," he mumbled.
"Let me spell it out for you, and you better ***** pay attention.
Are you paying attention?"
Charlie nodded.
"Say it, goddamn it!"
"I'm—I'm paying attention," Charlie said.
"I'm going to sneak back into my house. I'm going to take a
shower, and get dressed, and grab my bags, and I'm going to get
into that goddamn limo we just passed. Did you see the limo?"
"No," Charlie said.
"Well there's a ***** limo parked in front of the Rockingham
gate, and I'm supposed to be in it, on my way to the airport."
"A limo," Charlie repeated. His mouth was still hanging open,
and I wasn't sure any of this was really registering, but I didn't have
a choice.
"Once I'm in that limo, and it's gone, I need you to park the
***** Bronco in the driveway, then get into your car and take the
***** off. Do you understand?"
Charlie nodded.
"This here's the clicker. It'll open the gate. You can drop the
key in the mailbox, but run out before the gate closes. Okay?"
"Okay," he said.
I took the key out of the ignition and removed all the keys
except the one for the Bronco.
Then I set the bundle in his lap. "I need you to take this, and
get rid of it," I said. Charlie looked down at the bundle, afraid to
touch it. "I don't give a ***** how you get rid of it, but make sure it
disappears. You hear? It needs to disappear forever."
....
.... - rrife, on 10/11/2007, -2/+47Didn't his ex-wife's family just win a lawsuit getting the rights to the book and claimed to be renaming it "Confessions of a Murderer"???
- opes, on 10/11/2007, -4/+44Does this being leaked surprise anyone?
- PATSCRU, on 10/11/2007, -5/+42You will make me a hero in my grandmother's eyes.
She, unfortunately like most people, was completely hypnotized by the trial and everything having to do with it. Because of my abilities to get her "advanced screeners" of movies, she expected this banned manuscript for christmas, and gave me dirty looks she opened my actual gift. I will now be redeemed in grandma's eyes, which is a big deal, as u all know. - Anrkist, on 10/11/2007, -3/+38NORDBERG!
- Feety, on 10/11/2007, -8/+39Drink apple Juice, OJ will kill you.
- MikeonTV, on 10/11/2007, -1/+30OJ's next book is call "If I Wrote 'If I Did It'"
- dakboy, on 10/11/2007, -5/+30No, he was found to be liable for their deaths.
The civil suit didn't "decide" whether he was guilty of the crime, only that he bore responsibility. There's a difference. But keep in mind that the requirements for a judgment in favor of the plaintiff are much lower in a civil case than criminal. - DesuKN, on 10/11/2007, -1/+25If Chewbacca lives on Endor you must acquit.
- Alegoo92, on 10/11/2007, -1/+24@Eldorian
Sadly true, but money wasn't his secret weapon (racism was). - gummih, on 10/11/2007, -5/+24FTA: "TMZ has obtained a copy of the infamous manuscript by killer OJ Simpson"
KILLER? I rather believe that he did it but that kind of struck me as an odd introduction. - sceebacny, on 10/11/2007, -3/+22I love the poll they have on there: Is there a bigger scumbag?
- Al3x, on 10/11/2007, -3/+21That's easy to say when the death doesn't affect you...what about when somebody kills somebody in your family...are you going to say "let's move on" a few years later?
- Amoeba16, on 10/11/2007, -2/+19Read the manuscript, asshat. He did it himself. Dress it up all you like -- this thing is a CONFESSION.
- jazzviolin, on 10/11/2007, -0/+16I actually read the whole book after reading this Digg (it's an incredibly fast read due to his 6th grade writing skills).
His detail of the murder events is really disgusting. He even includes the full transcript of the police interrogation, it's amusing to see how he can't remember where he was at what time, or WHY his FINGER was bleeding (ah yesterday, today, ah, the golf clubs, the glass cup -- wow..)
What's even more amazing is this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/O._J._Simpson_murder_case (in particular, the Criminal Trial Evidence section):
"DNA analysis of the blood found in, on, and near Simpson’s Bronco revealed traces of Simpson’s, Nicole’s, and Ronald Goldman’s blood.
DNA analysis of bloody socks found in Simpson's bedroom were proven to be Nicole’s blood.
Simpson’s hair was found on Goldman’s shirt even though Simpson claims to have not been at the house and to never have met Goldman.
DNA analysis of blood on the gloves was proven to be a mixture of Simpson’s, Nicole’s, and Ronald Goldman’s.
The gloves also contained particles of Goldman’s hair and carpet fibers from Simpson’s Bronco." - michelson, on 10/11/2007, -0/+15link to the whole leaked manuscript: http://www.scribd.com/doc/121908/OJ-Simpson-If-I-Did-It
- j1a1g1, on 10/11/2007, -8/+22I knew the glove fit!
- rrife, on 10/11/2007, -8/+22Not with a killer on the loose.
- SpaceMonkeyZero, on 10/11/2007, -0/+12I stand corrected.
- kamikaze87, on 10/11/2007, -4/+15I want to see how many negative Diggs I can receive.
DIGG ME DOWN NUBLARS! - s-m-a-c-k, on 10/11/2007, -1/+12must... digg... down... facts...
arrrghh! - SpaceMonkeyZero, on 10/11/2007, -10/+20Well, he was found guilty of their deaths in a civil lawsuit.
- inactive, on 10/11/2007, -1/+11And yet the racist black jury still acquitted the Juice.
- jonessodaholic, on 10/11/2007, -7/+17Interestingly, "If I Did It" was OJ's daughter, Arnelle Simpson's idea. And then, none of the money was going to go to Simpson, but to his kids.
http://www.thebookstandard.com/bookstandard/news/author/article_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=1003600003
Way to be, kiddo. - adr4, on 10/11/2007, -5/+14Turns out white people everywhere were right. Although even Dave Chapelle knew he did it. Still though, it's surprising to remember how gruesome it was and that he walked. I bet Charlie is Kato lol.
- slapded, on 10/11/2007, -1/+10haah even in his 'fictional book' he doesnt know how it happend
- MajorD, on 10/11/2007, -1/+9@rrife - "The juice is loose!"
- roberto_deneero, on 10/11/2007, -2/+10I'm sure the KKK Department of Justice will take care of him soon. I am very surprised they haven't already.
- esotericguy, on 10/11/2007, -11/+19@doctorfungi
yea, yea, it's always gonna be "some puerta rican guy". - logjones, on 10/11/2007, -3/+11Tom Cruise is so gay
- lasombragh, on 10/11/2007, -2/+9Sociopath: (n.) "a person, as a psychopathic personality, whose behavior is antisocial and who lacks a sense of moral responsibility or social conscience." (Ex. "O.J. Simpson", pg. 86)
- rmmcclay, on 10/11/2007, -0/+6Poor OJ. It just didn't compute.
- Skatmob, on 10/11/2007, -6/+11Yes, they did. I'm not sure why you are being dugg down.
- bpmdub, on 10/11/2007, -3/+8@ HunterTV
dugg for the Idiocracy reference - caselogic, on 10/11/2007, -3/+8all i read was blah blah blah...blue h311. blah blah blah.. blue h311...blah blah blah...
and I just kept thinking why would anyone use that phrase..and twice. - I guess the same person that thinks OJ didn't kill those 2 people. - paku, on 10/11/2007, -4/+9Start on page 80 (PDF page 80).
Wow.. What ***** balls on this evil *****..
I'm from Louisville, and during the Derby this year Jeff Ruby, a restaurant owner of an upscale steak house, kicked him out:
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,270879,00.html - Nudar, on 10/11/2007, -0/+4I always loved how after you killed somebody in Postal, one thing your character said would be "OJ" (with a really badass voice)
- admadan, on 10/11/2007, -4/+8Here is a bittorrent version of it I found on the pirate bay. http://thepiratebay.org/tor/3714107/O.J._Simpson_IF_I_DID_IT_eBook_PDF_3r1c
It's good to have backups just in case - brandon215, on 10/11/2007, -0/+4How stupid can you be to have all of the information right in front of you and still come up with your own theory of the murders. He obviously didn't hire anyone to kill them, it was not premeditated.
- kylebrothert, on 10/11/2007, -0/+4I think the submitter should have put quotes around "leaked."
- Al3x, on 10/11/2007, -0/+3@SteveThePirate
Yes of course, but it is something you do on your own...not suggest to others. ESPECIALLY!!!! When it is a murder and the murderer essentially gets away and writes a book about it. - DDRSkata, on 10/11/2007, -0/+3He was found liable, not guilty. Liability takes way less jury certainty than guilt to prove.
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