by O.J. Simpson
I kindly ask the warden for TV priviledges so I can watch the Super Bowl. He swats me in the clavicle with a metal baton and escorts me to the "hole"- a 5X9 cell where no light can enter. I pass the time by peeling a button off my shirt, tossing it in the air, and lurching for it in the dark.
Deprived of any sensory stimulation, I begin to hallucinate- the faces of my victims on the night of the murders. I try to close my eyes, but their faces only grow larger. The burden of guilt so is so overwhelming, I try to kill myself by banging my head against the cement wall. I succeed only in temporarily knocking myself unconscious.
I awaken with a throbbing headache. I try to sing Bruce Springsteen songs to myself, but I can't remember the words. It's been so long since I've heard music. My first cellmate used to sing church hymns while sodomizing me. For as hellish as that was, I prefer it to this endless silence.
A respite from encroaching darkness! I am dragged from solitary confinement. The warden has requested I be removed from the hole and placed into a cramped basement cell with known sodomites. Through one small window, I can hear inmates convicted of lesser crimes on the floor above, laughing at funny Super Bowl commercials. I wonder what products are being advertised. I wonder how the revamped Bud Bowl is playing. I try to occupy my mind with this question as I am repeatedly violated.
I am running past the 40 yard line, pigskin clutched under my arm. Opponents try to tackle me from every angle, but I am weightless, flying like a bird. I flick off attackers as if they are ants. Moving at lightning speed, I cross into the end zone dropping to my knees. As the wind carries me over all encumbrance, I do a victory dance with the most gorgeous cheerleaders I've ever seen. I am handed a Super Bowl ring. As I place it on my finger, a white light emanates from it's center and I am pulled from this euphoric high and back to reality where I lay bleeding on the stone floor of a prison, vicious sodomites standing over me, sharpening their shivs to create a new hole to penetrate. Why, oh, why did I kill?
Hall of Fame