"Now some believe that there is an authentic film of an autopsy on one of the Roswell aliens. I saw the film on FOX. I believe it was sandwiched between a very special "Martin" and a special "Party of Five." And, ahh, I thought the autopsy was as authentic as a piece of total bullshit can be. Ahh, by the way, you know what they found at the autopsy? Traces of OJ's blood.
Jan. 31, 1997

Here's a few non-election related quotes from Dennis on HBO's "Not Necessarily The Elections" in October 1996

Also this week long-time friend of OJ Simpson, Robert Kardashian, let it slip that he thinks Simpson may be guilty. On ABC's 20/20 Barbara Walters asked Kardashian if OJ would go to heaven. Kardashian told Walters "Only if God wants to whack somebody". {laughter and applause} He then said "You're a scum bag Kardashian!"

A USA Today poll taken immediately after Wednesday night's vice-presidential debate revealed that 56% said Gore won, 27% said Kemp won, and 100% said that OJ Did It.

Following Mark Fuhrman's mea culpa on "Prime Time Live" last week Richard Pryor now admits he used the 'n-word' quite often in the past and also can't remember having done so.
. 

On his HBO show on May 11, 1996 (where the great Chris Darden was a guest). The rant.

OJ Simpson - on his way to England to speak. He said "England is very similar to America except they have their low-speed chases on the other side of the road" Things are a little bit different over there: Trucks are 'Lorreys' , elevators are 'Lifts', and OJ Simpson....'is a double murderer'.

Now I don't want to get off on a rant here but it's about time to put the bronco in reverse and take a long slow look back at the trial of the century. Since October 3rd, 1995 the verdict in the OJ Simpson trial has reverberated in America's consciousness like the last cord of "A day in the life" played on a perpetual tape loop inside a squash court. No amount of psychic sorbet seems to be able to be able to cleanse our collective palate of the nasty taste left by L'affair Simpson. It lingers as stubbornly and unpleasantly as a drunken party guest, passed out on the couch, with an open bottle of Hi-Karate in his pocket. The questions that it's raised nag at us like Norman Bates' mom on a rainy Sunday. The Simpson jury didn't really hand down their decision, more like it pulled its pin and lobbed it at us. When the verdict was read people did more double-takes than professor Irwin Corey at a Hawaiian Tropic competition.

And what have we learned from the trial? Now that we've chewed it over like Bob Dole gumming a wad of month-old salt water taffy? Well, we've learned that the only way you'll ever get at trial by a jury of your peers in this country is if you happen to be ill-informed and pre-disposed. I think some of these people made their minds up before the murder even happened!

We also learned that if you're a black lawyer and you take a case prosecuting a black man for a crime that you know in your heart that he committed, well that automatically makes you a sellout to your race. And we learned that if you're convicted wife-beater it's OK to disgrace your dead spouse's memory by giving sworn testimony in a deposition where you say (use whining tone of voice) "She hit me first".

We also learned that empirical evidence doesn't seem to matter anymore. The sea of blood on the killer's hands and bronco was so deep that it had its own undertow. The evidence was more overwhelming that a New York City taxi in August with all the windows shut. And how did 'team OJ' combat this K2 sized mountain of proof ? Well, the defense's strategy involved more smoke and mirrors than a tire fire in a brothel.

Well, you know something - they DIDN'T convince me because even if you martinize away all the blood, you're still left with a womanizing, wife-beating, egotistical, drug-using, possessive bully and just for that I think he should be locked away tighter than Gordon Elliot's cumberbund at the 37th annual daytime Emmy awards!

You know, I blame a lot of what happened at the trial on Lance Ito. A judge is supposed to control a trial, but Ito had about as much control of the room as Kathie Lee Gifford singing "You Light Up My Life" at the Apollo Theater ! Oh well, it's gone, Ito's gone, there's a new ringmaster now. The circus has died down but hasn't completely pulled out of the station. OJ Simpson is currently embroiled in a wrongful death civil suit which could eat up whatever money he's got left from the last trial that his jackals for the defense didn't make off with. The videotape he was hawking netted about as much as the Philly cheese steak concession at a K.D. Lange concert. His lame attempts at reviving his lagging career and his destroyed credibility are as transparent as a Vegas girl's nightgown. And so , what's an OJ to do? Hey, that book he wrote where he was supposed to answer people's questions did pretty well, maybe he could write an advice column called "Dear Stabby". You know, at this point it almost doesn't seem to matter to anyone anymore that OJ did it - it's become just another punch line. He plotted it, he planned it, he worked out all the timing, his escape route, his alibi, and the only unscheduled stumbling blocks he had to improvise around were Kato wanting to go talk to the big clown, and Ron Goldman wanting not to die!

But like he once did with linebackers who stood between him and the end-zone OJ got by them. In the words of the NFL films announcer: "On that warm June day a fierce warrior had a mission. That warrior was Orenthal James Simpson. A man possessed, a man who was not to be denied. He pulled a fancy stutter-step on Kato then he squared his shoulders and ran right over Ron Goldman. Penalty flags were thrown, but upon further review the referees in black & white striped shirts turned out to be referees in white shirts and referees in black shirts."

I freely admit to feeling cheated that OJ Simpson didn't get life for his crimes. That he probably will never be brought to his arthritic knees. I assuage my anger by reassuring myself that he will never again elicit the respect and admiration of reasonable people. That he'll always be whispered about like some latter-day Hester Prynne wearing an "M" instead of an "A". And that he will always be surrounded by back-slappers, sycophants, ass-kissing golfing buddies, and coke whores who are looking to thrill-fuck a murderer. Hey, you know what folks? I think he DID get life. Yeah he did. You're our "bitch" now OJ. Of course that's just my opinion, I could be wrong........

Anyway, to call the O.J. Simpson trial a circus is to insult trapeze artists everywhere. This trial has gone on so long, Robert Shapiro and Johnnie Cochran have shed three skins. The pace of the trial is beginning to make me yearn for a PBS pledge break. You remember when it began? Remember how we would gather, grape Nehi in hand around the local television showroom and watch Det. Furhman's testimony on that tiny black-and-white Philco? It was a simpler, innocent time.

I don't want to get off on a rant here... but should this trial even be televised? Hey, I don't think O.J.'s performance in the Towering Inferno should be televised, let alone his trial. But there it is on TV, bigger than Yeltsin's liver. Let's face it, television has given our legal system a skin-peel and the results ain't pretty. We're all familiar with the cast of characters-- Marcia Clark had been analyzed more intensely than Linda McCartney's vocal tracks; Chistopher Dardin is so disillusioned, he'll probably leave the legal profession and roam the earth like Qui Chang Kane from Kung Fu.

The witnesses and hangers-on? Well, let's start with that waste of space and volume Faye Resnick, who was actually encouraged to crawl out from under her rock long enough to write a tawdry, self-serving manifester in the guise of an homage to a departed friend. Hey Faye, how much silicone does thirty pieces of silver buy nowadays? After her, we were stuck with cranky cleaning ladies who couldn't get their story straight in any language, and a dishwater blonde professional roommate who only surfs other people's careers. Kato Kalien is to pull-out couches what Bruce Lee was to nunchucks. And the expert witnesses proved to be neither. Dennis Fung's testimony dragged out longer than the opera house shootout at the end of Godfather III.

This parade of experts has got to cease. You know folks, there are statisticians out there who can prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that George Bush won the Presidential election in 1992; Christ, there's an accountant right here in Hollywood who can prove to you that Forrest Gump lost money.

And then there's O.J.'s much ballyhooed Dream Team. Despite the fact that there's a mountain of evidence against O.J. that Anna Nicole Smith could hang glide off of, the defense team's big argument is that it's a frame-up --a highly sophisticated police conspiracy. The rest of us know that's impossible. The LAPD can't even thin out traffic after a Dodger game. Johnnie Cochran could sell you a plate of shit and have you asking for seconds. F. Lee Bailey spewing out scenarios more deranged than a pitch meeting at the new Paramount Network. And Robert Shapiro's the only guy who uses a stretch limo to chase ambulances. And that dememted little Tolken character Carl Douglas should just shut the fuck up and go to a spa.,

Of course, how could the case not be riviting with Judge Lance Ito at the helm? When Ito says 'jump,' people say, 'so, anyway, I was goin' to...' I wish Ito would just cut the show biz crap and turn to O.J. and say 'So what's up with this shit man? Are you guilty or what?' Even outside, the grounds around the courthouse look more like the souvenir gauntlet at the NASCAR championships. I'm fairly certain you can get a set of those 'Free O.J.' corn tongs and a 'Guilty/Not Guilty' air freshener for under twenty bucks.

And finally, at the center of it all, there's Orenthal James Simpson himself. Sitting at the defense table making more faces than Hugh Grant explaining things to Liz Hurley. You know, I honestly believe O.J. thinks he's innocent. I think he's strolling into the courtroom each day much the same way Ed Wood showed up on the set of Planet 9 From Outer Space, and he'll be utterly flabbergasted if the jury gives his little opus twelve thumbs down. And yet here's the really sad part--instead of being repulsed by all of this, everyday millions of us tune in to rubberneck this intergalatic freak show. The media claim they're just doing their job--feeding the news appetite of the American people. I guess it's really not their fault that we happen to be bulimic.

The key thing we must all remember about the O.J. trial is that it is trial by flurry. Lawyers on both sides bicker inceccantly over matters that have precious little to do with discovering the truth. This thing is going slower than Jimmy Stewart reciting the Mahabarata on the back of an arthritic tortise that's munching a quaalude on a humid Sunday afternoon in a hammock hung between two trees in the intensified gravity of the planet Jupiter. And despite the fact that our faith in the American legal system has been stretched thinner than Robert Shapiro's conscience, we are simply going to have to wait for the cheap gears of justice to grind a decision out of this fake wood peppermill. But I for one am through with it and have been for a long while. He's guilty. You know it. I know it. We all know it. So wait for sweeps weeks, schedule the jury's decision after Seinfeld, announce he's guilty and throw away the fucking key.

You're a punk, O.J.
A bad guy.
Go to hell.

Of course that's my opinion. I guess know if he gets off, I gotta worry about him crusin' me. C'mon big boy, just leave the knife at home.

June 1996 issue of Playboy Magazine.

"I hope that motherfucker calls my show so I can refuse the call."

"I think I should spend the rest of my life fighting the double jeopardy law."