The Second Mrs. O. J. Simpson?Jim Goad
The brutal stabbing murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman on June 12, 1994 came during an era of unprecedented pro-black messaging in American pop culture. Whereas the Reagan Era had at least appeared to quell the racial turbulence of the 1960s and 1970s to a point where the sickeningly wholesome and pearly-toothed families on sitcoms such as Family Ties and The Cosby Show differed only in skin color, by the late 1980s Americans started being force-fed a steady diet of Spike Lee films, black-nationalist hip-hop via groups such as Public Enemy, and regular old white-boy late-night talk shows and sketch comedy programs but with an aggressively pro-black slant in the form of The Arsenio Hall Show and In Living Color.
By the time 1991 rolled around and a young buck named Rodney King had his brains bashed in by four LA cops — three white and one Mexican — who largely left his two partners-in-crime alone because they stayed on the ground and didn’t keep getting up to attack them, much of America had been conditioned into automatically assuming that “racism” was to blame and didn’t even pause to wonder whether Rodney had possibly done something that contributed to the situation. A year later, when the cops were acquitted of state charges in the beating, Los Angeles and several other cities erupted in flames.
In 1994, on the sweltering LA night of June 12 — which happens to be my birthday –, when my first wife woke me up from a sweaty nap to say, “Jimmy, O. J. Simpson just murdered his wife,” the story immediately gripped the nation and held it spellbound until Simpson’s acquittal in October 1995. White Americans gasped and black Americans cheered at the verdict. While this likely had at least something to do with the fact that the victim was white and the accused was black, the trial’s obsessively racial coverage had revolved around whether officer Mark Fuhrman, who found a bloody glove on Brown’s estate after the murder, was speaking as himself or merely playing a character when he said “nigger” on tape for a Hollywood screenwriter who was researching alleged LAPD racism and misogyny for a film project.
I don’t remember much public attention being paid to the possibility that O. J. Simpson, a hugely popular black celebrity and legendary athlete, flew into a murderous rage at the site of his ex-wife and mother of his two children when he saw her in the company of a white male. The narrative was strictly “Racist white cop framed black superstar because his ex-wife was white,” and never “Jealous black superstar kills wife and white boyfriend due to sexual humiliation after he found her with a white boy.”
To specify, Ron Goldman was Jewish. On that fateful evening in Brentwood, though, I’m not sure that O. J. Simpson was able to tell.
Saturday Night Live star Pete Davidson is also Jewish, at least on his father’s side, although to many people, including black women, he appears to be white. Davidson is currently dating billionaire cock-pillow Kim Kardashian.
For the purposes of this historical reenactment, Pete Davidson will be playing Ron Goldman, Kim Kardashian is Nicole Brown Simpson, and the role of O. J. Simpson is being portrayed by mentally unbalanced musical performer and Christian evangelist Kanye West.
Whereas O. J. and Nicole had two children before their divorce, Kim Kardashian and Kanye West had four.
No one — not you, not I, not your cousin Kate on her ostrich farm out in Topeka — would know who any of the Kardashians are if their father hadn’t defended O. J. Simpson for murdering his white ex-wife and some white guy he found her with that night.
Kim Kardashian, AKA The Ass that Roared, is the daughter of O. J. Simpson defense lawyer Robert Kardashian. She is ethnically Armenian on her father’s side and a gentle confetti of Western European ethnicities on her mother’s. Name recognition alone is what enabled her to rocket into superstardom based on an explicit sex video showing her being ruthlessly pronged by some dumb black crooner who calls himself Ray J.
After their daddy gave them name recognition by helping O. J. escape a murder beef and Kim pushed them into the spotlight by filming herself being rammed by a black guy, the Kardashians seem to have built a career on an ingeniously marketed mix of plastic surgery and the ritual sexual humiliation of white males. This pouting posse of pulchritudinous punani became reality-TV superstars in 2007. Kim’s sister Khloe famously bragged “I only like black cock.” Family matriarch Kris Jenner had birthed three daughters and a son to Robert Kardashian before tying the knot in 1991 to Bruce Jenner, an Olympic gold medalist who was known as “The World’s Greatest Athlete” in the 1970s.
I am not the first person to have wondered how much Bruce Jenner’s hideous devolution from alpha male to mangled transgender monster resulted from the slow, grinding humiliation of watching his ex-wife’s three daughters school an entire generation of young white girls about how it’s cool to be a mudshark.
Both Kim Kardashian and Kanye West are billionaires. Apparently they are both marketing geniuses who’ve figured out a way to get compensated in direct proportion to their emptiness.
For a group of people who never really invented much, black people are constantly reinventing themselves. Kanye West has entrenched himself as one of the world’s most visible celebrities over the past generation for repeatedly multiplying zero times zero and hitting a million each time. Two years ago, in the grand stupid tradition of black musicians such as Puff Daddy and Snoop Doggy Dogg, he formally truncated his legal name to a simple “Ye.” This was after a long stretch of time where he asked to be called “Yeezus.” I’m not sure if this was before or after his preferred proper pronoun was “Yeezy.”
About a decade ago, Ye’s astrological chart crossed paths with Kim Kardashian’s, and they wound up becoming the most annoying power couple in Hollywood history, plopping out four brown babies with the excruciatingly dumb names of North, Saint, Chicago, and Psalm along the way.
But trying to have two such massive egos as Kanye West and Kim Kardashian live together in peace forever is as unrealistic as expecting Godzilla and Rodan to comfortably occupy the same efficiency apartment in Tokyo. Combined with Kanye’s propensity for wandering around in public acting entirely mental, the two drifted apart to the point where Kim filed for divorce in February 2021.
Kanye has not been handling it well.
“The First Mrs. Jones” is a ghoulish country song recorded in 1968 by Porter Wagoner. The narrator tells of how his first wife left him and how he stalked her from city to city until the next thing he remembered was walking through the forest looking for a place to hide her bones and how he dug and dug for hours until he planted flowers on top of the first Mrs. Jones. Then he lets out a little sick laugh and encourages the latest woman who abandoned him to come back home peacefully because she doesn’t want to wind up as the second Mrs. Jones.
Rob Goldman died of stab wounds, including several to the neck. Shortly after Kim Kardashian began dating Pete Davidson late last year, Kanye West released a music video that shows a Claymation figurine of Kanye kidnapping, decapitating, and burying Pete Davidson alive, then planting flowers on top of his grave. The song’s lyrics explicitly state his wish to “beat Pete Davidson’s ass.” Over the past few months, West has encouraged his fans to scream at Pete Davidson if they see him on the streets.
Since Kanye and Kim are both entirely creatures of the digital age, every last stray pubic hair and puff of flatulence concerning their extremely public breakup is being played out in front of the world.
Kardashian, to her credit, has mostly kept her social-media posts confined to pictures of her children and her bookcases full of plastic-surgery-filler syringes. It’s Kanye who’s been dragging their every last little slapfight before the entire world. When Kim texted him asking why he can’t keep their conversations private, he shared that text with the world as well. This doting Christian father makes his family’s dirty laundry — real and fictitious — public to the degree that he tells the world his baby mama has kidnapped his daughter and has falsely accused him of putting a hit out on her. Just to ramp up the irony, he also used social media to publicly criticize his ex-wife for allowing their daughter to use social media. But Kim has also promised to tell the world about their failed marriage on an upcoming reality show. And she made her romance with Pete Davidson “Instagram official” last Friday.
Although West clearly interpreted this as a provocation, he’d already been very publicly dating a Kim Kardashian doppelganger named Chaney Jones. He’d made a complete romantic fool out of himself by purchasing a house across the street from Kardashian and their children. As recently as Valentine’s Day, he tried to woo Kim K. back by posting a photo of a truck full of roses with the caption, “My vision is Krystal Klear.”
Still, she didn’t bite. So when West continued to harass her, especially with allegations that she was forbidding him from seeing their children, Pete Davidson finally bit back with a text message over the weekend:
Can you please take a second and calm down. It’s 8a.m. and it don’t gotta be like this. Kim is literally the best mother I’ve ever met. What she does for those kids is amazing and you are so fucking lucky that she’s your kids’ mom. I’ve decided I’m not gonna let you treat us this way anymore and I’m done being quiet. Grow the fuck up.
“Oh you using profanity,” West responded. “Where are you right now?”
“In bed with your wife,” Davidson shot back, along with a topless picture of himself.
Before they were murdered, no one knew who Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman were.
Kim Kardashian is possibly more famous than Kanye West. Pete Davidson is not only a reasonably popular comedian, he is also famous in the Milton Berle/Tommy Lee sense: His male organ is rumored to be a writhing narwhal of mythic proportions. And now, in front of the entire world, even black comedians such as DL Hughley are taunting Kanye West for being jealous of Davidson’s giant white shlong.
So we have all the makings of an OJ/Nicole/Ron bloodbath here, with the aggravating factor being that Nicole and Ron are superstars who are openly mocking O. J.’s sexual rejection.
And this time around, O. J. is even nuttier than O. J.
* * *
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For a time, wasn’t Bruce Jenner Kanye West’s mother-in-law?
Jenner was married to Linda Thompson, a songwriter and former Elvis main squeeze for quite some time, but forgot to mention he was a woman until they were married and had two sons.
It just didn’t work out and they soon went their separate ways and he never saw or spoke to his sons again, toddlers at the time, until they were in their twenties when the PR campaign was set in motion.
Culminating in him getting named bravest person of the year in some magazine. Right? I think?
How’s Khloe Kardashian’s exclusivity toward the Negro male member going?
She had a daughter with a gentleman who cheated on her while she was pregnant and did so with her youngest step-sister.
Her “step-sister” being the product of you-know-who’s jizz! Or you-know-her’s!
Sister Chloe was married to some NBAer and living in the old money suburb of Cleveland called Bratenhal. They allegedly lived in the same house that the late Jim Backus grew up in. If that’s the case then I’m sure old man Magoo has been rolling over in his grave for a good ten years.
Does she like black phalli that aren’t attached to black millionaires?
My guess is that all that is monkey see monkey do. Pun intended. Even the whole homosexual thing is baloney. Kids getting their minds filled with crap. My niece was stuck in a sexual identity crisis, but after two days of “dating “ a girl she found herself a nice WHITE boyfriend. Nature always wins.
If we’re lucky all three will be involved in a murder-suicide.
What good ever comes from knobbing niggas??
The quantity and quality of human vermin in this country is truly astounding and then there are still the negroids on top of that. The rest of us are doomed.
Why do so many right wing americans consider armenians white? I’ve never seen anyone else refer to them as white. The Kardashians have the same skintone you see in Arabs. This whole situation is just one big “ethnic” conflict, i couldn’t care less if someone ends up dead.
That’s makeup and skin bronzer. Their real skin tones are White. You can find pics of them without makeup online.
I haven’t noticed Americans saying much about Armenians one way or another. Most Armenians are phenotypically White or off-White, but culturally they are Asian.
Why do so many people read “ethnically Armenian on her father’s side and a gentle confetti of Western European ethnicities on her mother’s” and wind up with only “Armenian”?
But the fact that the Kardsahians are a mixture of Armenian and white european genetics would further enhance the poster’s dispute of the acceptance of Armenians as fellow whites.
I agree with Mike Ricci (good hockey player, btw) that Armenians *are* white. I grew up with many Armenians and they were all whiter than me, a Greek. The K gals seem to be an exception. The afro’d Sib Hashian of Boston may be another.
I disagree with Ricci that their culture is Asian. I liken them as the Jews of Christianity, for their plucky survival skills and unmatched business acumen.
On OJ, Steve Sailer famously posited that the reason he was acquitted was that they had a jury full of black women. Marcia Clark wanted women, the defense wanted blacks, so they compromised. Of course, Clark was a fool who didn’t realize black woman jurors is the worst deal for prosecution cause they despise blondes who steal their men.
Where in the article does it say “Armenians are white” or “the Kardashians are white”?
White? No. Bootylicious? By all means!
Jim, not everyone can consider several words at a time in the way that you obviously can. Give us a break.
I’m so glad I’m a waysist and don’t ever have to get involved into this sort of insanity. This story by Goad, with his rollicking observations right along, is the most I’ve ever read about any of it. The only vivid remembrance of the whole mess was when O.J. drove 25 MPH down the freeway in L.A. with myriad cop cars following him. I was living in Seattle at the time, and was glued to the TV, shouting to my Seattlite friends — “I can’t believe he has shut down the whole Hollywood Freeway at rush-hour! OMG!” Well, long ago and well-forgotten today, the whole pile of trash.
This could get ugly.
Oh, wait a minute, this was ugly since day one.
There may come a time, when things get really bad, that we will look on with pure nostalgia for 2020s pop culture, because it will remind us of better, more hopeful days. I hope I’m wrong.
The trial is going to be a hoot.
I watched all of the O.J. trial on TV because at one time I had an interest in Law and I marveled at how incompetent the Prosecution team was.
For example, they spent endless blather trying to sell a Black jury about how O.J. had once bought some kind of toad sticker from a sporting goods store when in reality the murder weapon was just a humble pocket knife.
More interesting was the Simpson police statement. O.J. really couldn’t explain to the police how his locked Bronco ended up with blood inside it from two victims plus his own, and how he got the deep cut on his finger, which is common in fights or stabbings.
“Ize jus’ doin’ dat crazy shit dat I do,” he told the police, with the earnestness of a happy Negro not about to be lynched.
L.A. is a fun place to get your freak on. Not too long after the trial concluded, I visited the Nicole Brown Simpson bungalow on Bundy Drive and O.J.’s Rockingham mansion in Brentwood, just off of Sunset Boulevard. I drove the mile or two distance between the venues late at night to see how long it took. Depends on the traffic ─ and it was pretty light that Sunday night.
I’m not a map-of-the-stars kind of guy, but the Bundy townhouse was basically across the street from the home of the Communist actress Gloria Stewart, who latter starred in the blockbuster film Titanic. She had to move with all of the Bundy murder-house fanfare, which lasted and then some.
Gliding around the block in my beater at the Simpson estate on North Rockingham Avenue, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Brentwood billionaires trying vainly to walk their poodles in peace ─ and likewise, it had been this way in that cozy corner for over a year.
The Simpson estate on Rockingham has now been razed and some new mansion built. The gate and entrance to the Bundy townhouse has likewise been altered slightly to make it harder for gawkers to recognize. The dark corner off Bundy where O.J. crouched still had a creepy feel to it when I checked it out for myself in the Winter of 1995-96.
That hot June evening in 1994, the young Jewish waiter, Ron Goldman parked at the curb on Bundy and bopped up barefoot through the gate to the Bungalow carrying a white envelope containing the eyeglasses that Nicole Brown Simpson’s mother accidently left at the nearby Mezzaluna restaurant where they had dined earlier that evening. My kingdom for a pair of eyeglasses.
Ron and Nicole probably did a bit of air-headed flirting as they awkwardly met at her porch ─ and an enraged Simpson, wearing dark clothing like a double-naught spy, leapt out with his modest pocket knife. Then the former NFL running back took them both out.
A startled Goldman put up a struggle but had no chance whatsoever, and Nicole’s head was nearly severed from her body. Blood pooled in the courtyard. Trying to quell his rage, Simpson rushed home in his White Bronco which he had left parked in the alley behind the Bundy townhouse. The Juice still had a flight to catch.
Simpson’s attorney, the late Robert Kardashian, all but admitted to giving the Juice’s incriminating gym bag the old heave-ho.
Really, to believe that the L.A. Police Department brutally slaughtered two people just to frame a D-list Negro actor who did Hertz rental car commercials, and had won a Heisman college football trophy, requires some truly sublime reasoning.
District Attorney Gil Garcetti thought nothing of moving the trial venue to downtown Los Angeles to capitalize on better media exposure ─ and which also stacked the jury pool with an “urban” demographic. Not to defend the stupidity of the jurors, but the counsels for the State nearly bored them to death.
Where Mark Fuhrman comes in is ─ as the detective on the homicide team that was least closest to retirement ─ he sallied up the fence at Simpson’s residence and found the bloody glove by the air conditioning unit at the row of cabins on the Rockingham estate where Simpson’s house guest Kato Kaelin was staying. Kato testified that he heard a massive thud at a key time that evening.
In the dark, O.J. ran down the narrow path behind the cabins on the Simpson estate to avoid being seen entering his front door by the guy in the limo waiting at the gate to take him to the airport ─ and in doing so, Simpson crashed into the air conditioning unit sticking out of the back wall and dropped the bloody glove. Nobody in the media found all the diverse and ethically-sourced blood found in the Bronco as interesting.
In 1995, I was working for the cubicle police at a technical support center in Phoenix and the big screen TV was softly swishing about the Simpson trial on CNN. Everyone perked up to listen to the O.J. verdict. When a complete acquittal was announced, one of the African-hued engineers yelled out “DNA is Bullshit!”
Just a slice of America on life support.
That was nice. A black man said to me at the time of his acquittal, “O.J. never did anything for black people.”
“In 1977, Nicole Brown, then 18 and fresh out of high school, landed a job as a waitress at The Daisy. During her very first shift, she caught the eye of O.J., then 30, married, and one of the club’s regulars. (He, too, had a dish named after him: The “O.J. Simpson” consisted of scrambled eggs and a ‘sliced’ orange. How Eerie is THAT?”
I suspect she took the job specifically to meet & date celebrities. I also suspect, pretty as she was, that O.J. wasn’t her first choice, but she married him anyway, which says a lot. During the marriage, he abused her constantly. She realized her mistake but her own family encouraged them to reconcile because they were getting big money from an OJ/Hertz franchise tie-in. There’s a sordid metaphor for America in there somewhere. Alas, our culture has only gone blackened since then. Skinny little Nicole Brown just wouldn’t cut it in today’s celebrity worship of big butts and tattooed animals.
“Trust a snake before you trust a Jew, but never trust an Armenian.”
Old Russian proverb.
For once, it’s not me relating that old chestnut.
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