Tuesday, October 11, 2005

The Juice is Loose

Nostra mentioned O.J. Simpson's resurfacing the other day. I was upset to have missed his grand return at the NecroComicCon in L.A., though you can relive the whole thing by listening to O.J.'s greeting and checking out this glamour shot from the Con:


Tom said...

True Story:

OJ's daughter played volleyball for Gulliver, my high school's big rival. To get everyone psyched for the big game, our vball team put up posters around campus featuring a photo of one of our girls mid-spike and the slogan “bump, set, kill!” The administrator, fearing that the word “kill” would trigger a PR nightmare, forced the team to take down the posters.

(Have you read about this? The posters actually featured a toned-down version of the original slogan which read “bump, set, murder-Nicole-Brown-Simpson, yes yes)

In conclusion I think we can all agree that That Girl should post more celebrity high school stories.

Lester said...
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Lester said...

Fake Story:

The other night, a sexy blonde girl was brutally murdered in a porta-potty at Comic-con.

I may not be David Caruso, but I'm also no slouch when it comes to analyzing evidence and being obsessed with myself. With that in mind, I think this picture of O.J. is more suggestive than some might think.

When I first looked at the picture, I noticed a small stain of a greenish hue toward the bottom of O.J.'s polo. Using Photoshop, I zoomed in so closely that I could see the green substance penetrating individual cotton fibers.

I then took my computer to Albertus Magnus' biology lab and connected it to a state of the art electron-beam microscope. I saw that there was a family of unicellular organisms of the macroanociphalae variety living in the greenish substance. Dr. Wong, a venerable Albertus Magnus biologist, explained that macroanociphalae can only live in environments containing exactly 39.6 % water and trace amounts of lycopene.

I racked my brain for some connection between it all. I drank and drank and treated every woman I met like the fucking shit that they are and then...just as the muses of epiphany visited Kekule's mind that dreamy evening, so revelation enraptured me. What, other than paint, is green? Snot? Maybe, but everyone knows O.J. was not phlegmatic at Comic-Con. Paint? No lycopene. Guacamole?

Wait a minute. I remembered that last night, while dining at the Bulldog, Jason Congdon told me that the key to his beef is that he cuts it with the tiniest fragments of catsup packets to make the meat seem more substantive than it actually is. The meat could easily contaminate the guacamole. This would explain the lycopene.

I went to Bulldog with Dr. Wong the second I woke up this morning and surreptitiously ordered a side of guac. Guac, Dr. Wong explained, is like the fingerprint of a Mexican restaurant. No two guacamoles in the world have the exact same water content. Even a Taco Bell in West Hollywood is going to have a slightly different water/avocado ratio than a Taco Bell in Santa Monica.

Dr. Wong proceeded to measure the water in the guac sample using a tin-plated graduated aqua-scope. The reading? 39.6% !

I'll never forget the look on Congdon's face when I asked him if he could help us with our case. He smiled, and then stared at me like a fucking werewolf before running out of the place. What he probably hoped is that I didn't see the black shoe-polish like substance on the back of his arm.

Dr. Wong and I entered the kitchen. We found a can of Black Face and six small hairs that could only have fallen from the head of a black person. Dr. Wong also noticed that the hair's DNA was very heterosexual. This is when it all clicked. Have you ever seen a black kid in Bulldog? No. Better yet, have you ever seen a black kid eating anywhere that isn't a dining hall? No, and if you do, it's usually a gay black kid who doesn't act all blacky and poor, right? Hence, the hair had to have been from Simpson. Simpson must have eaten at Bulldog, met Congdon, and agreed to swap identities. Congdon put on the blackface, went to Comic-Con, signed some autographs, and savagely murdered that young blonde girl. O.J., seeking the solace of anonymity, has been living as Congdon for days.

Wait a minute. Phone's ringing. It's the chief. He says the blonde's last words, as recorded on an iPod accidentally left in the bathroom, were "Oh, my assumption that you were the proprietor of a fresh mex establishment was wrongheaded, as the size of your penis clearly indicates that you are O.J. Simpson."

It was then we knew it. We knew it all too well. There is no Jason Congdon. Never has been. The man working at Bulldog all this time? O.J. The contents of the Black Face can? White Face. The charade that has been fooling us all? Barbarous. There has only been O.J. always and O.J. forevermore. Lego is a codeword for Hertz. Congdon is a codeword for free at last.

"Dr Wong, Dr Wong. I think we should run after him. The black stuff on his arm, the black stuff was his actual skin. It was the white stuff that was fake. He's killed again! He'll kill again!"

So we're running and we're running, Dr Wong and I, and the day turns to night and the night to midnight, and we are blanketed by a universe of blackness.

Nostradamus said...

That was beautiful, worthy of Dr. Kinbote himself.

the actual rod said...

lester, you are a genius. Dan/Tom, maybe not so much.

Dan said...

Actual Rod-- normally my fragile ego would cause me to forcefully disagree with you on this, but truly you are right.
Lester's masterpiece has far surpassed anything Dan/Tom has written in awhile. I offer the keys of the blog to Lester, if this shining prince will show his face and if his foot fits into the glass slipper...