Here's an excerpt from the manuscript of OJ's manuscript describing the killings... IF he had done it.
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 fuck is that?" I said. "You think you can take me with your karate shit?"
He started circling me, bobbing and weaving, and if I hadn't been so fucking 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 seem like anything was registering.
Charlie walked over and planted himself in front of me blocking my view. "We are fucking 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, motherfucker?" I said. I could hear Charlie just behind me, saying something, urging me to get the fuck 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, motherfucker!" 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 shit 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?
OH that's some freaky shit! I think someone should kidnap his ass and torture and kill him just like he wrote in his manuscripts. Can you imagine being his children and hearing he was going to put out a book on if he DID kill your mom, this is how he would do it. What a complete f*cknut!
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