In late 2006, a money grubbing O.J. Simpson published a book entitled If I Did It, a totally hypothetical discussion of how O.J. would have killed his wife and Ronald Goldman. This book caused a firestorm of bad press and was tragically recalled before it reached stores. In O.J.’s memory, I wrote a tribute to him entitled If I Did It, a discussion of how I would have killed those two people. This book was also killed before reaching the shelves, but that might have had more to do with my poor penmanship and general aversion to personal hygiene. But seeing as O.J. is about to go to prison for the next ten years, I though it an appropriate time to pimp my forgotten masterpiece.
The book begins with a description of my hypothetical football career in the NFL. I was drafted in the second round by the Oakland Raiders. I was a Wide Receiver at UCLA, but Coach Jefferson on the Raiders saw something in his lanky and handsome rookie, and tried me out at Quarterback. The first few chapters delved into my experience maturing from untested rookie to league champion in my 4th season.
It is at this point in the story that Ronald Goldman and Nicole Brown Simpson enter the picture. Goldman and I meet at a party celebrating my marriage to the former Queen of Saudi Arabia, international supermodel Nicole Brown Simpson. The scene is rife with dramatic, tragic irony, as the audience knows that these people are fated to die by my hand. In a truly inspired bit of writing, Goldman and I become friends. Goldman, by the way, is scheduled to be the first American on Mars.
The next few chapters show me at the peak of my powers in the NFL. My Raiders win four Super Bowls in a row, and I win the MVP every year. This culminates with my 7th year in the league, when I pass for 58 touchdowns, throw for 5,667 yards, and also return 4 punts for touchdowns. My face is on every magazine cover, my hip-hop album is number 1 on every chart, and my cologne “Musk of a God” is the most popular male fragrance ever. But as successful as my career is, my personal life in is shambles. My marriage to the Queen is crumbling. I am openly unfaithful to her. Once I was caught doing lines of blow off the First Lady’s ass in the Lincoln Bedroom. To top it all off, her old husband, King Hussein bin Laden of Saudi Arabia, wants her back and has been buying her very expensive gifts. He even buys the country of Luxembourg for her. The only thing that keeps me sane is my friendship to Goldman, who will be leaving for Mars next year.
Things come to a head when I spot Nicole and the King cavorting in a skybox at the season opener. In a rage, I ask my good friend Brian Urlacher to be my second and challenge King bin Laden to an Honor Duel. Brian even loans me the legendary Sword of Urlacher. It is a tense duel, reminiscent of Burr vs. Hamilton. It even gets broadcast pay-per-view on HBO. I was a 3-to-1 favorite according to Vegas, and I covered the spread. The image of me, limping slightly, blood pouring from gashes on my forehead and face, raising King bin Laden’s severed head on the end of my sword becomes the defining photograph of the decade, voted even more significant than the later picture of Jesus descending from the clouds over Jerusalem.
A fatwa is put on my head. After I personally foil several attempts on my life with my kung fu prowess (I am a 22nd level black belt, in case I forgot to mention that), Goldman cleverly executes a desperate plan to save his best friend: he sneaks me into the Kennedy Space Center, and gets me aboard the Mars rocket in his place. By the time NASA realizes the switch has been done, the rocket has already activated its engines.
The next section dealt with my amazing two and a half years spent in space. I quickly grasp astrophysics, orbital mechanics, quantum physics, and relativity theory. I become beloved by my initially skeptical crew. In the end, everyone was so impressed with me that they unanimously chose me to be the first on Mars. As I survey the bleak Martian landscape, I utter the most significant words in human history: “Let me back in the ship you assholes! I really gotta pee!”
I return to Earth a hero. The fatwa has been rescinded. My years in space have taught me to respect women, to not do drugs, and to stay in school. I resolve to be the world’s greatest husband and father. I will be a shining example for future generations of all that humanity can achieve. It is then that Nicole informs me that she and Goldman have married.
My life spirals out of control, and I acquire a serious death wish. But I am such a hero that no one will touch me. I go on a multi-state drinking and mass-murdering spree that leaves 8 dead, and receive a warning. I release weaponized Bird Flu in Boston, and I get a pardon. I steal the atomic arsenal of Pakistan and menace the nations of the free world, and I get elected Commandante of Earth. All I want is my insanely beautiful wife back. Finally, in a fit of severe depression, I activate the worldwide nuclear launch code. But I aim them at the moon. I’m not stupid. I just want to blow up the moon to make me feel a little better. Unfortunately, I forget gravity (my age-old nemesis). The various fragments rain down upon Earth, sterilizing it instantly, killing (among uncountable trillions of other lifeforms) Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman.
And that’s how I did it. If I did it. To this day I cannot believe that no one wanted to take a chance on this book. Oh well, only the best artists get to be ignored during their lifetimes. Only hacks get famous before they die.