If I Killed OJ

I want to preface this confession letter by making it clear I had nothing to do with the much-delayed passing of Orenthal James Simpson. However, if I were to have had something to do with his death, this is exactly how I would have done it and why. Most notably known for being the only player in NFL history to have over 2,000 rushing yards in a single 14-game season, I grew up being the biggest OJ fan. However, my spite against him was born in 1976 at the height of the Bills v Patriots game. I had cooked up a brilliant parlay; all 8 other legs had hit. Hell, I even placed a bet on Nippon, the Japanese professional baseball league. I just needed The Juice to work his usual magic. Instead, he kept getting stopped by the defense and gained no yards for a while. That’s okay, there was still time to turn the game around. OJ would come through like he always did, or so I thought. Apparently, he couldn’t take the heat because he ended up swinging and throwing punches, leading to him getting ejected and the Bills losing the game. I vowed in that moment, I would kill OJ, and he would rue the day he fucked up my parlay. I spent the following years devising my plan.

It had to be slow and painful like it was for me as I watched my potential $300,000 winnings disappear due to his careless behavior. I spent countless nights laying awake, brainstorming the different ways I would kill him (again, I didn’t, but if I did, these would be my ideas). Perhaps he’d take an unfortunate tumble on a secluded hiking trip, an accidental drowning, or maybe I’d lock him in a room with a coked-up Quentin Tarintino and just wait for OJ to kill himself. All these plans had to take a pause in 1994 when he murdered (allegedly) his ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and Ron Goldman. Now everyone hated him, and there was no way to get near him without drawing attention to myself. I let my hatred stew for years, until finally, in 2007, he was arrested for armed robbery and forced to serve a prison sentence. Finally, there was truly nothing I could do except know that he was rotting in jail. I spent the next ten years getting therapy and coming to terms with the parlay that never was. I had finally made peace with OJ, so when he was released in 2017, I had no desire to kill him. That was until I became aware that he was on Cameo.com charging ‘fans’ an outrageous $500 per 20-second video. The sheer audacity of it filled me with waves of rage that undid the prior decade of therapy. With that price, he should owe me at least 6,000 cameos. As though it never left me, my plotting mind took over once again, and I knew exactly what I needed to do.

Step 1: Travel to the remote regions of the Andes mountains in search of rare poisonous plants.

Step 2: Return to the United States with said rare poisonous plant.

Step 3: Break his AC unit, then pose as a repairman to gain his trust by fixing it, thus getting full access to his house. 

Step 4: Once inside, leave traces of poison all over his home, in his food, on his trophies, and even on his beloved bidet. 

Step 5: Hack into his iCloud to track any symptoms he reports in messages or his notes app.

Step 6: When he begins experiencing symptoms, break into his doctor’s office and switch out the rubber gloves with a size much too small. If the gloves don’t fit, he can’t get a prostate exam. 

Step 7: Use Kalshi.com to bet my life savings that OJ will die within the year.

Step 8: Use all my winnings to reinvest in events betting on Kalshi.com.

Step 9: Develop a gambling addiction.

Step 10: Lose a parlay when Draymond Green gets ejected for punching a ref.

Step 11: Repeat steps 1-9 but with Draymond Green.