This OJ thing

My family has been touched by murder. I use the phrase lightly, and there is no recovery from the pain. We carry on, my mother died wondering if justice would be done. I have invaded governmental agent’s offices screaming for justice. I get routinely kicked to the curb; I’m a bad boy who doesn’t get the time of day from vacationers like Greta Van Susteren. The cops are covering something. I suspect a government snitch that does serial murder as a hobby. A PI hired back in the ‘80s got doors slammed in his face. Old colleagues told him to “mind his business”. In the 1990s, the .22 caliber killer fired shots at me, and ambushed my kitchen door, because I raised hell with the news media. I shoot back; I carry a Sig Sauer and know my range trajectories.

I have learned to live with murder.

This OJ thing is out of control. I watched this SOB get away with it in the ‘90s. He kind of faded away, as befits murderers. He owes the Goldmans $33,000,000. I don’t care what the jury said; the bastard is as guilty as the day is long.

Murderers escape justice. After 21 years, I am accustomed to the fact that my father will never be avenged. OJ is the most obvious murderer on the public radar. A question on “Mr. Bill’s” FOX website the other night didn’t include the “Hell no!” answer to the question of watching OJ.