Friday, January 24, 1997
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OJ Jury Predicts Superbowl; Favre, Bledsoe Call OJ Verdict

Santa Orleans, Californiana - (Jan 24) - Though Simpson Civil Trial Judge, Alberto Fujisawa or whatever, decided to take the fucking day off, today, so he could go play golf, or something, rather than finish the fucking Simpson Civil Trial which has been boring the piss out of the general public cause nobody's smashed a folding chair across anybody's back or body-slammed anyone onto a utility table yet, the jury showed up anyway, and, in a darkened courtroom, passed campaign finance reform and did a 4-quarter, gedanken, play-by-play [IMAGE:
]   [similar to the gedanken or 'thought' experiments done by Einstein to come up with the pilot episode of "Relativity," but applied to the play by play of, say, football or baseball games, and popularized recently because, with attendance down sharply and no one giving much of a flying fuck about either sport anymore, it's just much cheaper to run games in human brains, and only have to give massive amounts of drugs to a few people who do the "thinking", rather than have to give massive amounts of drugs to 3 or 4 league's-worth of people at 10 or 12 teams per league, and 120 or 140 players, coaches, and sycophants per team] of this Sunday's Superbowl, at the Superdome, in Superville, Louisiana, resulting in predictions that utterly contradict the ones made by pundits and trendmakers and oddsmakers, namely that, rather than play the game on the boring old-fashioned drugs of yesteryear, you know, steroids and speed, the teams will opt, instead to play the first half of the game on Ecstasy, and the 2nd half of the game on crack, and that, rather than doing all that tired old shit where, ya know, one guy throws the ball and then some other guy catches it and then everybody jumps on that guy and tries to smash his fucking head open, and vice versa, that the entire game would be played, instead, by having both teams of 11 men each line up on both sides of the ball (as is currently done), and then, like, all bend down and blow real hard and have to move the ball like that, without ever touching it or each other, and they can't stop blowing till the ball crosses one goal line or the other, and, as players get totally exhausted and out of breath, they have to suck on helium to refill their lungs, and then, like, do old Alvin and the Chipmunks songs directed at the ball to try to move it, with the final score being 32-11 in favor of the team whose victory will do the most for the stock market, and once the jury had settled that, they felt so good they ordered a pizza and signed up for which is like total internet access for life (or whichever comes first) for only $60, paid up front, now, [duh], and then, as long as they were already there, in the courtroom an all, they deliberated for, like, 5 minutes and decided unanimously that OJ was not liable for the questionably wrongful deaths of those 2 or 3 people (whose names they couldn't remember) on account of the plaintiffs and their attorneys were just so fucking over-dramatic about the whole fucking thing, and, at the same time, so fucking smug and righteous about it, that maybe they should be fined instead, for being such monumental dickheads, and then, when police finally came to arrest and throw them out of the jury room, in unison they all replied, "Hey, go talk to my publicist about it, asshole," and the police backed off and got on the phone to their publicist.


Copyright (c) 1997 by C3F