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| Posted By | Discussion Topic: O&J, Why Women Love Us | ||||
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| TeenWeek what's a status? | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 12:44 PM |    | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Oct. 00  | Simpson: Why Women Love Me O.J. Simpson is living the life of a golfing playboy in Florida. The double-murder acquitee lives in Pinecrest, south of Miami, in order to take advantage of Florida state laws sheltering his dwindling assets from the $33.5 million civil judgment awarded to the Goldman and Brown families. In an interview with The New Yorker hitting stands this week, Simpson talks about his slain wife, Nicole, and other women nonstop. Driving past girls jogging in spandex shorts, Simpson remarks, "I love the way Nicole looked. If I saw her on that sidewalk right now, I'd pull over and hit on her. If she had a different head." He declares, "Women are my biggest defenders. It's that bad-boy syndrome. Now girls chase me." He laughs about reports in the tabs that he made a porn film. "The tabloids were saying I was the reigning king of porn," he chuckles. "That I had sex with two girls four times each in two-and-a-half hours. If I could do that, I'd be in a porn film! A guy 53." But, he boasts, "I ain't need no Viagra yet. Thank God, it's still there." Later on, watching a female anchor on CNN, Simpson muses, "Man, she got old quick. When you think the last time that woman got laid? Who knows. You never know in this world what rings your bell." As for girls who ring his bell, he offers, "Now, that Heather Graham girl is fine. And that Jennifer Love Hewitt - that girl got booty for days." When the CNN report moved on to news of Meg Ryan and Russell Crowe's breakup, Simpson wondered aloud, "You think if Crowe and [Ryan's husband Dennis] Quaid ever met, they'd fight? As a man, you gotta punch the guy that bleeped your wife." Simpson explains that his current squeeze, Christie Prody, "ain't my girlfriend," describing their relationship by way of a thrusting motion with his hips. But, he declares, "Find me a girl owns a golf course and will pay all my bills, and I'm pretty sure I'll marry her." Simpson says he admires his daughter, Sydney, because he never catches her doing bad things, even though her brother, Jason, rats her out. "That's one of the reasons why I love her," he enthuses. "She's smart enough not to get caught. She's her mom all over again, she's got those German genes . . . Those bitches'll wear you out." And Simpson still says he wants to find Nicole's "real" killer. "I wonder if I've run into this person who killed Nicole?" he says. "Have I talked to them? Do I see them every day?" Mirror, anyone? | ||||
| Arthur Dent | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 12:57 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Nov. 00 | That is too funny! But is it real? What's the source? "I don't read books, but I have friends who do." -Presidential Candidate George W. Bush "I get to go to lots of overseas places, like Canada." - Britney Spears | ||||
| Black Lazerus | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:02 PM | | |||
| Psychopath Registered: May. 01 | O&J saidquote:i guess they don't like bloody heads. yeah what is the source Place your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark.  | ||||
| hornygoatweed23 I've Got A Vagina With Teeth. G.O.O.F.B.A.H.G.S. Dragoon Battalion My friends call me Weed | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:02 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Jan. 01 | quote: Either that, or she's rich enough to get off if she should get caught. This man is amazing - not only has he lost any and all credibility in the eyes of the American public, but he acts as if nothing happened, and people should just "lighten up". What an amazing asshole.  Classes for Enhancing your Board Experience and Stamina are now in Session! Email me here or AIM me at Organic999 to enroll. | ||||
| IkeaBoy P.L.F. Portugese Liberation Front- Liberating Status' everywhere from the Tyranny of Portugal I will die a traitor's death | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:06 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Veteran Registered: Sep. 00 | so much OJ in the news, today's show is gonna rawk. The narrator in Fight Club is the man we will be, Patrick Bateman in American Psycho is the man we want to be Eliza Dushku- Hotter Than Britney | ||||
| skitchr4u G.O.O.F.B.A.H.G.S. Xtreme Skiing Assualt Force | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:33 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Dec. 00 | it said at the top of the post it was from the new yorker... this guy never ceases to amaze me!! "I wonder if I have seen the real killer"...damn he is crazy! AIM: SkiT4you First Member of the JWO | ||||
| Black Lazerus | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:36 PM | | |||
| Psychopath Registered: May. 01 | quote:Maybe O can't see J in the mirror to top it off he should have said were the white women at. Place your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark. | ||||
| TeenWeek what's a status? | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:37 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Oct. 00 | It was from page six of the NY Post yesterday. | ||||
| Arthur Dent | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:38 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Nov. 00 | Yes, this post is a quote of an article that quotes a New Yorker article that hasn't been published yet. What we want to know is who wrote the article that is quoting the article from the as yet unpublished New Yorker. And where's the link. ::Hands out the aspirin :):: Edit - Oops, gotta type faster. "I don't read books, but I have friends who do." -Presidential Candidate George W. Bush "I get to go to lots of overseas places, like Canada." - Britney Spears This message was edited by Arthur Dent on 7-2-01 @ 1:39 PM | ||||
| fbdlingfrg wow, my name looks odd without 5 lines of type below it in bold and purple and red G.O.O.F.B.A.H.G.S. Red Wings Captain Cecil JBA~Remove the Pick & Click NOW! | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:39 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Oct. 00 | ask, and ye shall recieve thanks to fez for the pic | ||||
| TeenWeek what's a status? | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:44 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Oct. 00 | Sorry for double posting. Did not see that other thread. I was f'd up all weekend at a bachelor party down the shore and have not been on the board in 3 days. | ||||
| fbdlingfrg wow, my name looks odd without 5 lines of type below it in bold and purple and red G.O.O.F.B.A.H.G.S. Red Wings Captain Cecil JBA~Remove the Pick & Click NOW! | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:45 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Oct. 00 | actually, i was reading, and they're two different articles...very similar, but not the same one thanks to fez for the pic | ||||
| TeenWeek what's a status? | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:47 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Oct. 00 | This article is a lot better than the Drudge report one, but I should have posted it under that topic. Bad example to the newbies. | ||||
| IkeaBoy P.L.F. Portugese Liberation Front- Liberating Status' everywhere from the Tyranny of Portugal I will die a traitor's death | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:51 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Veteran Registered: Sep. 00 | I just noticed this quote, it's hysterical! quote:Well OJ you did a lot more than punched Ron Goldman, the guy that bleeped your wife. You fucking killed him! Also Jenny Hewitt and Heather Graham, watch out and this one! quote:He wants to kill his daughters and I think he's threatening germany. "Smart enough not to get caught" but when she's caught, out comes the knife bitch! The narrator in Fight Club is the man we will be, Patrick Bateman in American Psycho is the man we want to be Eliza Dushku- Hotter Than Britney This message was edited by IkeaBoy on 7-2-01 @ 1:56 PM | ||||
| fbdlingfrg wow, my name looks odd without 5 lines of type below it in bold and purple and red G.O.O.F.B.A.H.G.S. Red Wings Captain Cecil JBA~Remove the Pick & Click NOW! | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:53 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Oct. 00 | its almost as bad an example as hotlinking, not that anybody does that here ;) ;) thanks to fez for the pic | ||||
| TeenWeek what's a status? | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:55 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Oct. 00 | Here is the entire New Yorker article. Kind of long. OJ New Yorker article | ||||
| fbdlingfrg wow, my name looks odd without 5 lines of type below it in bold and purple and red G.O.O.F.B.A.H.G.S. Red Wings Captain Cecil JBA~Remove the Pick & Click NOW! | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 1:57 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Oct. 00 | the print is too small over there, and i'm too lazy to adjust inernet explorer, so i'll do everybody a favor THE OUTCAST by PAT JORDAN Conversations with O. J. Simpson. Issue of 2001-07-09 Posted 2001-07-02 Earlier this year, on three separate occasions, I spent a total of about fifteen hours with O. J. Simpson. I met him through his current attorney, Yale Galanter, who is representing him in an assault case that is scheduled to go to trial this fall, and who has become his "official spokesperson." Simpson now lives in Pinecrest, Florida, a bedroom community fifteen miles south of Miami, on the Atlantic Coast. He moved there in June, 2000, four and a half years after he was acquitted by a Los Angeles jury for the murder of his former wife, Nicole Brown, and her friend Ron Goldman. Simpson was, of course, famous years before the trial, as a professional football player, as a corporate spokesman for the Hertz car-rental company, and as an actor in popular movies, most prominently "Naked Gun" and "Naked Gun 2 1/2." Since Simpson's acquittal in the murder case, his income as an actor and celebrity has greatly diminshed; he now lives on his N.F.L. pension and the returns from his investments. In February, 1997, he was found liable for the deaths of Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman in a civil suit brought by the victims' families, who were awarded $33.5 million in damages. Three years later, probably as a means of sheltering his remaining assets from that judgment, he moved to Florida. I first met Simpson on a sunny day in late winter. I spent most of the day as a passenger in his car, a black Lincoln Navigator S.U.V. He talked obsessively. As a running back, Simpson used to overcome tacklers with his merciless will. "I let them push me around for three quarters," he said. "They were exhausted by the fourth quarter. I wore them out." He came at me the way he used to come at tacklers, talking from the time we met for breakfast until late that afternoon. Galanter had directed me not to ask Simpson about Nicole Brown's murder, but Simpson repeatedly brought up the topic. "The press created this guy who was hurting because his wife left him," he said, still spinning his story, seven years after the chase in the white Bronco. "That's bullshit! It was Nicole who wanted to come back to me after the divorce. She stalked me! Trust me. She'd send home cookies with the kids, and once she showed up at my house with a tape of our wedding and began to cry. 'Please, O.J.! I wanna come home!'" We turned the corner and drove down a residential street. Housewives in spandex shorts were jogging on the sidewalk. Simpson glanced at them and said, "I loved the way Nicole looked. If I saw her on that sidewalk right now, I'd pull over and hit on her. If she had a different head." Simpson is used to playing the character he created over the years—the genial O.J. we saw in the broadcasting booth, in TV commercials, and in films—and he seemed ill equipped to play a man tormented by tragedy. His features rearranged themselves constantly. His brow furrowed with worry; his eyebrows rose in disbelief; his eyelashes fluttered, suggesting humility; his eyes grew wide with sincerity. All of this was punctuated by an incongruous, almost girlish giggle. It was Simpson's will, as much as his talent, that enabled him to become not only a great football player but also one of America's most beloved black athletes. ("When I was a kid growing up in San Francisco, Willie Mays was the single biggest influence on my life," Simpson told me. "I saw how he made white people happy. I wanted to be like Willie Mays.") Over the course of his life, Simpson had gotten virtually everything he has wanted—fame, wealth, adulation, Nicole Brown, and, eventually, acquittal. It was widely reported that Nicole told friends that if her husband ever killed her he'd probably "O.J. his way out of it." Today, at fifty-three, almost six years after his acquittal, Simpson seems to be free of doubt, shame, or guilt. He refers to the murders of his wife and Ron Goldman, and his subsequent trials for those murders, as "my ordeal." Now he wants vindication. Only that can erase the stigma that has transformed him from an American hero into a pariah, living out his days in a pathetic mimicry of his former life. And he appears to believe that he will get it, as he got everything—by sheer will—and with it a return to fame and wealth and adulation. "O.J. Simpson is the most misunderstood person on the planet," Yale Galanter told me some months ago. To remedy this, Galanter said, he has a "grand plan." "I want people to get to know the real O.J.," he said. "How giving he is. What a great family man, father, and neighbor he is. I envision a day when O.J. will again be a celebrity spokesman in the mainstream of commerce." Galanter is a forty-four-year-old Miami-Fort Lauderdale criminal-defense attorney who prides himself on his ability "to take either side of a case." His clients include the former W.W.F. wrestler Terry Szopinski, who was arrested on a drug charge, and Scott Campbell, a motorist whose car allegedly pushed the car of an eighty-three-year-old woman named Tillie Tooter into an Alligator Alley canal. "But there's celebrity, and then there's O.J.," Galanter said. "O.J. was an American hero. And in a blink of an eye all his champagne-and-caviar dreams were taken away from him. I would like to see him back on top. Americans are very forgiving. They forgave Marv Albert and Frank Gifford. Not that I think O.J. did anything that needs to be forgiven! Personally, I am humbled that O.J. put his trust in me. My parents are walking on cloud nine because O.J. picked me to be his spokesman." Simpson's civil lawyers recommended that he hire Galanter last December, after he was involved in a "road rage" incident in Kendall, Florida, south of Miami. Simpson was accused of cutting off another driver, confronting him, and ripping off his sunglasses. The resulting felony and misdemeanor charges are scheduled to be heard in the First Circuit Court of Dade County. Galanter asserts that Simpson is "a terrific father and family man" who drives his children—his daughter, Sydney, fifteen, and his son, Justin, twelve—to and from school each day, and who is in bed by eight o'clock. Be that as it may, Simpson has been constantly in trouble over the past year. In addition to the road-rage arrest, Simpson has been involved in three incidents that required the police's attention. All of them have been tied to Christie Prody, a female friend and companion of Simpson's. Prody, who is twenty-six, is a former "esthetician" (a giver of facials) who is now a waitress. In October, 1999, before Simpson moved from Los Angeles to Florida, he flew to Miami after a panicked long-distance call from Prody. He later called the police from Prody's home and reported that a friend was "loaded out of her mind" on drugs, and driving around. In September, 2000, Prody called the police to report that Simpson had let himself into her home. (Simpson claimed that he had entered Prody's home to do his laundry.) In another incident, the police were called to Miami's Wyndham Hotel to quell a disturbance. The management ended up asking Prody to leave the hotel, reportedly for physically assaulting "the victim," O. J. Simpson. The previous fall, Prody had sold a story to the National Enquirer for fifty thousand dollars, in which she divulged what she described as details of her five-year relationship with Simpson, including two abortions, Simpson's obsession with Nicole's murder, and numerous public brawls, which Prody told me had been fuelled by cocaine binges. All this may explain why Galanter is desperate to control what the media writes about his client, who, he insists, is a victim of his own celebrity. "Everything that happens to O.J. is news, and everything the media writes is inaccurate," Galanter said. "You'll see. You'll love him." At seven-thirty in the morning, Simpson hobbled into the Kendall branch of the Wild Oats Supermarket, an organic-health-food store and juice bar. He has bad knees, the result of arthritis and his years in the N.F.L. He wore a gray shirt and black slacks. He sat down, smiling, and ordered what he said was his morning drink, leafy green vegetables and garlic, which reminded him of the time he had to hug Leslie Uggams, who was taking garlic pills—"all that garlic on her breath," he said, grinning. "But it helps my arthritis, so I can play golf again. Although I didn't play much golf when I moved to South Florida, eight months ago, because I didn't want to leave the kids alone." Yale Galanter arrived and sat down with us. He was dressed in a blue oxford shirt, gray slacks, and black loafers. He is a good-looking man, with short brown hair and a chiselled profile. "I love L.A.," Simpson said. "L.A. is my home. It's still the best place to be—the weather, the golf, my friends. I had a nice life in L.A., even after my ordeal." His life in Los Angeles was not without incident, however. "Once someone keyed my car," Simpson said. "But when I was incarcerated I read the Koran, which said everyone goes through some ordeal, everyone's persecuted and overcomes it. I still had friends who wanted me to play golf at the Riviera Country Club, but I didn't want to bring any controversy there. One time, on another course, a helicopter followed us on the fairway and I hid under a tree. And another time this big ol' guy calls out to me, 'You're a murderer!' I said, 'You've got a right to your opinion.' He said, 'You better watch out, there are snipers on this course.' I said, 'I hope they can't shoot straight.' Then he calls me an asshole, and I threw my clubs down and came up on him fast, looking for leverage so I can fuck him up a little bit, my face real close to his, spittin' in his face while I'm sayin' to him, 'You call me a fuckin' murderer, I got to live with that, but "asshole"—come on, let's get it on.' He backs down. And now I'm a hero to all the little old ladies on the course, who thought I handled it great." After Simpson finished, we went to the checkout line and I paid for his drink. "Thanks," he said, laughing. "I ain't got any money anymore." We got in the Navigator and Simpson drove to Roasters N' Toasters, a deli in a strip mall just across the street. "I like to eat breakfast here, hanging out with judges and lawyers," he said. The deli was crowded and noisy with people talking and the clatter of dishes. As we walked to our table, they looked up, went silent, then turned away. After we ordered, Simpson sat against the wall and looked around the crowded dining room. "I never sit with my back to the room," he said. The waitress brought our food and we began eating. Simpson ate hunched over, his face low to the plate, looking up expectantly from time to time. "I didn't picture my life like this," he told me. "I thought I'd retire at fifty with enough money, on my own terms. It's hard to retire this way. But I did it for my kids." "O.J. is a devoted single parent," Galanter said. "As a father, I was just a disciplinarian before, and now I'm everything to my kids. People ask me what's the hardest thing for me, and I tell them I was always a great dad but I'm a horrible mom. I don't cook. . . . A man's natural instinct is to solve problems. Like when Jason said Sydney did a lot of things and I never caught her. I said, 'That's one of the reasons why I love her. She's smart enough not to get caught.' She's her mom all over again, she's got those German genes—her grandmother, my wife, now my daughter. Those bitches'll wear you out." Simpson said that he likes South Florida because "everyone's got a history here." He meant a history they were trying to escape: that people come to South Florida to create a new life. He added, laughing, "They got funny laws in this state." He was referring to two state laws, the bankruptcy and head-of-household laws. The former says that one's home can't be taken to pay off debts. The latter prevents creditors from garnisheeing the wages of any head of household; Simpson, as the father of two children, counts as a head of household. This is convenient for him, given the judgment levied against him in his civil trial. "It's a bonus I didn't expect. I don't have to turn over anything to the Goldmans. They have to find out and get a court order for me to send them money. It's a cat-and-mouse game." Pedro, the deli's cook, sat down with us. "I seen you come in, Juice," he said. He was a burly, unshaven man wearing a Yankees cap. "Me and Juice are good buddies," he said to me. "Juice had Christmas Eve dinner with my family." Most of Simpson's friends here are what some celebrities might call "the little people." He plays golf on public courses. It doesn't seem to bother him that he has lost his celebrity friends, like Marcus Allen, as long as he has someone to listen to his monologues and jokes. The basic structure of his life—golf, restaurants, women—hasn't changed much. A woman in her seventies stopped by our table. She had a bouffant of lacquered, pinkish-blond hair and wore heavy makeup and gaudy jewelry. "I just wanted to say I wish everyone would leave you alone," the woman said in a faint, unplaceable European accent. "Well, thank you," Simpson said, grinning. The woman held out her arms. Simpson stood up and hugged her over our table. "Can I get your autograph?" she said. "Certainly." The woman handed him her card. There was a photograph on it of a much younger woman with the name Rossette. Simpson signed her card and handed it back. Simpson sat down and said, "I never got hugs before. Now the public shows me so much love. Women are my biggest defenders. It's that bad-boy syndrome. Now girls chase me. But if a girl wants to be with me I tell them they have to be No. 3, behind my kids." "Being a father comes first with O.J.," Galanter said. "I mean, I like gorgeous girls, but I can't walk around naked around my house or jump in the pool with a friend, because of my kids." "When you say the name 'O.J.,' " Galanter said, "a lot of words come to mind, but not 'family man.' " We drove south, toward Mount Sinai Medical Center, where Simpson was scheduled to visit some patients. According to Galanter, he does this in his spare time. At Mount Sinai, we met with Pat Stauber, a registered nurse and a licensed clinical social worker. Pat is tall, slim, and attractive, with straight black hair and an earnest demeanor. She led us down the hall to a hospital room, and stopped at an open door. "This is all I could arrange on such short notice," she said to Galanter. "I wanted O.J. to visit this man coming out of a coma, but I couldn't arrange it." "When I played in Buffalo," Simpson said, "I used to visit these kids with inoperable cancer. The newspaper ran stories all the time about the kids I visited before they died. Then I had to visit another kid with cancer who was a huge O.J. fan. The minute I arrived, the kid flipped out. He said, 'If O.J.'s here, I must be dying.' That blew me outta the water." Simpson went into the room and spoke to an old man in a wheelchair with a breathing tube in his mouth. He sat on the man's bed and talked softly to him while they watched a golf match on TV. Simpson pointed to the screen and tapped the man on the shoulder. The old man just nodded as Simpson talked. When Simpson came out of the room, a half hour later, he said, "The guy was totally alert, he just couldn't talk, so I talked about sports." Pat said, "Thanks," and gave Simpson a hug. Simpson said, "Like I got anything else to do." Simpson, Galanter, and I drove to the Calusa Country Club, a public course, in Kendall. "I told ya, now I get hugs," Simpson said. "At the Holyfield fight in Vegas I got all the play." He grinned. "The tabloids were saying I was the reigning King of Porn. That I had sex with two girls four times each in two and a half hours. If I could do that I'd be in a porn film! A guy fifty-three. But I ain't need no Viagra yet. Thank God it's still there." Then, flashing his O.J. grin, he repeated an old joke. "I met this girl once and she tells me she only dates guys with ten inches. I said, 'Baby, I ain't cuttin' off two inches for no one.' " Simpson parked his Navigator in the nearly deserted parking lot of the golf course. Two men came out of the clubhouse and met us by the golf carts. Simpson introduced me to Stephen Lee, a music distributor from Jamaica, and Delvon Campbell, also from Jamaica, formerly a steward in a Miami airport lounge. "Hi, mon, how ye be doin'?" Delvon said to Simpson. Simpson laughed and shook his head. "I have no idea what Delvon is saying." "O.J., he's been a friend a mine since I met him at a golf tournament in the Bahamas seven years ago," Delvon said. We were in a golf cart following Galanter and Simpson to the first tee. Simpson lined up his drive. He hunched over, biting his lower lip, and began his backswing. His knees buckled and he lunged at the ball with his driver. The ball bounced up the fairway about a hundred and fifty yards. Galanter and Lee teed off next. The rough along the fairway was barren of trees and exposed to the afternoon sun, and the fairway itself was full of dirt and clumps of dried grass. The foursome played in silence. Although Simpson had told me that golf is his "passion," this particular round, at least, seemed joyless. At the sixth hole, Simpson's game began to improve, just as storm clouds moved in. "It looks like rain, mon," Delvon called from our cart as Simpson prepared to tee off. "We best be gettin' back to the clubhouse." "I'm weak, I'm crippled, and I'm old," Simpson said. "But I'm getting my game back now. I ain't going nowhere." Delvon turned our cart around and we motored toward the clubhouse. I looked back over my shoulder and saw Simpson bent over in the rain, lining up his next shot. A few minutes later, Simpson, Galanter, and Lee, all dripping wet, came into the clubhouse. "You should've stayed out there," Simpson said to me. "I had my best hole." The bar and dining room of the Calusa Country Club were quiet, except for a table of older women having lunch by the window, a bartender polishing glasses, and the club pro drinking a Coke at the bar. Galanter's cell phone rang and he answered it. A friend of his was in Los Angeles and needed to know about restaurants. "Here, let me put O.J. on," Galanter said. Simpson took the phone and said, "You wanna go to the Ivy at the Shore, or maybe Chinois, or Schwarzenegger's place, Schatzi." He listened, then said, "It's like Laguna Beach. That's where my wife grew up. Nicole." He hung up. "O.J., did you see Johnnie when he came to Florida the other day?" Galanter said. "No," Simpson said. Johnnie Cochran, Simpson's former lawyer, was now representing a fourteen-year-old black boy from South Florida, Lionel Tate, who is serving a life sentence for the first-degree murder of a six-year-old black girl. "I wish Johnnie would just focus on the life sentence and not make it a racial thing," Simpson said. A woman was reading the news on CNN on the overhead television when our food came. Simpson looked up at her and said, "Man, she got old quick. When you think the last time that woman got laid?" He shook his head. "Who knows? You never know in this world what rings your bell. Now, that Heather Graham girl is fine. And that Jennifer Love Hewitt—that girl got booty for days." The CNN reporter was now reading a story about the breakup of Meg Ryan and Russell Crowe. Simpson watched until the report was over. Then he said, "You think if Crowe and Quaid"—Dennis Quaid, Ryan's estranged husband—"ever met they'd fight?" He shook his head. "As a man, you gotta punch the guy that fucked your wife." It was late afternoon, and Simpson was driving again. "For the last few years, I wasn't really looking for work," he said. "I got an offer to be a TV spokesman in Europe, an 'Inside Edition'-type thing, but I'd have to be there eight days a month, and I can't leave my kids." "O.J. is a wonderful father," Galanter said from the back seat. "Now I'm gettin' active again. I got Galanter to help me.This is the first time I'm really ready to take advantage of offers. Yesterday, a guy wanted me to be the director of a youth program. A year ago, I'd have said, 'In the future.' But basically the future's here." I asked him if he ever gets depressed. "I'm not prone to get depressed," he said, "but sometimes . . . the weight on me reaches a point and I just wanna go home and—" His cell phone rang. He answered it and listened for a moment. Then he said, "I ain't no advice for the lovelorn," and hung up. "Christie," he said. "Your girlfriend?" Simpson gave me a pained look. "Aw, man, she ain't my girlfriend. She's just, you know . . ." He made a thrusting motion with his hips. "Find me a girl owns a golf course and will pay all my bills and I'm pretty sure I'll marry her." Later, I spoke to Cathy Bellmore, Christie Prody's mother, who told me, "O.J. wanted to get rid of her when she lived in L.A., so she went to Florida a year ago without him." Once she was gone, Simpson wanted her back. Apparently, Simpson was unable to give up even a girlfriend he was bored with, because he considered her his private property. A friend of Simpson's discounted any threat to Prody's life, saying, "O.J. was really in love with Nicole, but he doesn't care enough about Christie to kill her." A few weeks after my first meeting with Simpson, my wife and I had dinner with him and Prody at the Palm, a steak house in North Miami Beach. Galanter and his wife, Elyse, arrived a few minutes after we did. While we waited for Simpson, Galanter leaned over and told me that Christie liked to stay out late. "Wait'll you see her," he said. "If you or I ever walked into a restaurant with her, our stock would go up." Simpson and Christie arrived late. Christie is an attractive woman with the rounded features of a tomboy. She has lank, reddish hair that she once dyed blond because, as Simpson put it, "what woman doesn't want to be a blonde at one time?" Even as a blonde, however, Christie is not, as the tabloids would have it, a "Nicole look-alike." Simpson apologized for being late. He looked at the three women, who were talking, to make sure they weren't watching him, then he grinned and made a thrusting gesture with his hips. Christie said she and Simpson had met when she was nineteen, when she'd moved to Los Angeles after attending the University of Minnesota. This was shortly after Simpson's trial. One day, on a lark, she drove by Simpson's house, on Rockingham. "Like everybody else, I thought he did it," she said. She saw Simpson outside riding an electric bicycle and called to him, "Hi, O.J.!" He came over and they talked for hours. She gave him her telephone number, and the next day he called and invited her to the house. They have been together, on and off, ever since. "He was charming and charismatic, and kind of intriguing," she said. "I always liked older guys. I got enough problems myself, so why hang out with young people? O.J. forgets I have a typical twenty-six-year-old's problems. I have my whole life ahead of me. But I live for today and don't worry so much about five years from now." She laughed. "I might not be here." We were seated at a round table in the far corner of the dining room, barely noticed by the other diners. Simpson began to tell a story about when he was a teen-ager, and everyone fell silent. "I smoked dope with this white chick I was trying to make it with, and then after we smoked I thought, I'll never become an athlete now, so I ran all the way home to get the pot out of my system." Then he began another story. I asked Christie what attracted her to Simpson. Christie glanced nervously at Simpson. Then she turned back to me and said, "I'm mature for my age, and he's an immature older guy who likes to play golf. That's a game for retired guys who want to escape reality." She looked at Simpson, who was talking. "O.J.'s into denial. He loved L.A. I hated L.A. It corrupts your soul. I loved growing up in Minnesota." Simpson stopped talking and glared at her. "Yeah, that's why you couldn't wait to leave." He turned toward me, grinning lasciviously, and said, "You're into Christie, huh?" He raised his eyebrows. "Did you ever fool around on your wife? Everybody fools around and lies about it. Everyone lies. Look at Clinton. Deny, deny, deny." Christie didn't speak again for the rest of the evening. A few days later, on the telephone, Christie said, "I'm sorry. I was very uncomfortable. O.J. told me to watch what I say with a writer." She paused. "O.J. feels he has to construct these elaborate lies. He tells me he went to the doctor when he was really playing golf. Why bother? I don't care if he plays golf." She told me that she no longer believed that Simpson murdered his wife, but she did stand by everything she had said about him in her National Enquirer exposé. "I was angry," she said. "I had given up my life for him and had nothing to show for it. He told me there was no room in his life for a wife, or more kids. I want kids. And then someone offered me fifty thousand dollars to tell the truth. So I did it. I don't deny my drug use, or anything I said in it." On the first day I spent with Simpson, he drove me back to my car late in the afternoon. "The thing I'm most proud of," he said, "is that the girls I dated were offered two hundred and fifty thousand dollars by the tabloids and not one single one of them said anything bad about me. . . . I expected the cops to lie. They were told not to investigate the case because no one in L.A. wanted to hear it. . . . And the media. They let me down the most. They got lazy and relied on police tips instead of investigating. During my trial, the truth was known, but no one would write it. It's a much better story if I'm guilty. They didn't look at anybody but me. I was set up." Simpson stopped his Navigator at a red light across the street from the Wild Oats parking lot, where I'd left my car. He said, "I wonder if I've run into this person who killed Nicole. Have I talked to them? Do I see them every day?" thanks to fez for the pic This message was edited by fbdlingfrg on 7-2-01 @ 2:03 PM | ||||
| adolescentmasturbator | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 2:02 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Regular Registered: Jan. 01 | Hey lkjhfccl;sjc why don't you just post the entire newspaper while you are at it.  Resident Board Socialist Email me here IM me at stickysituation2 or pinkorag I am currently looking for newbies to bring into the International | ||||
| IkeaBoy P.L.F. Portugese Liberation Front- Liberating Status' everywhere from the Tyranny of Portugal I will die a traitor's death | posted on 07-02-2001 @ 2:02 PM | | |||
| O&A Board Veteran Registered: Sep. 00 | quote:That's true. What else is true? Albert and Gifford NEVER KILLED ANYONE! quote:Just the image is hysterical. OJ isn't a hero to the old ladies they just don't want him to kill them! quote:How messed up must it be for a young lawyer to go to breakfast and see OJ sitting at a table across from him waving? The narrator in Fight Club is the man we will be, Patrick Bateman in American Psycho is the man we want to be Eliza Dushku- Hotter Than Britney | ||||
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