O.J. Simpson’s former sports agent claims the sports star confessed to killing his ex-wife, and he helped him cheat justice, in a new tell-all book.

In How I Helped O.J. Get Away With Murder, Mike Gilbert alleges he counseled Simpson during his murder trial by advising him to take arthritis medicine that would bloat his hands so they wouldn’t fit the infamous leather gloves linked to Nicole Brown Simpson and her friend Ron Goldman’s 1994 slayings.

Gilbert claims Simpson then confessed to the killing while high on marijuana, after he was acquitted.

His book quotes the ex-American footballer revealing Brown Simpson was killed with a knife she opened the door to him carrying: “If she hadn’t opened that door with a knife in her hand … she’d still be alive.”

Gilbert writes, “Nothing more needed to be said. O.J. had confessed to me. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

Simpson has dismissed the book’s claims; his lawyer Yale Galanter describing the author as, “A delusional drug addict who needs money. He’s fallen on very hard times. He is in trouble with the IRS.”

He adds, “I’ve talked to O.J. about it. This stuff not only didn’t occur but it’s not factually supported by the evidence.”

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WENN

O.J. Simpson is hitting out at reports stating that he is responsible for his girlfriend, Christy Prody’s head injuries.

Sounds like the old “I fell the down the stairs” story to me, to cover up a beating by a loved one.

O.J. has denied claims he was involved in Christie Prody’s injuries. Police and Simpson’s lawyers say the 32-year-old was hurt in a bad fall at a petrol station in Miami.

O.J. is said to be deeply upset at the accident which put his long time partner in intensive care. He’s apparently irate at tabloid reports claiming he’s to blame. “I know everyone wants to jump out and assume this had something to do with me, but it didn’t,” Simpson, 60, told the Miami Herald newspaper.

“She had an accident at a gas station, and she was hurting pretty bad, but fortunately she’s getting better. She’s sounding much better.”

After the “slip”, at Southwest Miami-Dade gas station on Monday, Prody was rushed to Baptist Hospital. Anonymous sources claimed police weren’t convinced that she fell, believed Prody may have been beaten up and were investigating.

But Simpson’s attorney, Yale Galanter, stressed his client was not under investigation and had nothing to do with Prody’s injuries. “It’s crap,” he said in an e-mail statement to the Miami Herald.

If he’s guilty of this, too, then I hope he fries.

WENN

OJ has made bail and is a free man, yet again. He has paid the required 15% of his total bail of $125,000.00. Someone please tell me where he was able to come up with $19,000.00? Isn’t all his money suppose to go to Ron Goldman’s family? Wouldn’t $19,000.00 be a large part of that? OJ is currently being charged with 10 felonies! OJ is not to contact any witness for any reason and the judge had this to say to OJ during his bail hearing:

  “There will be no direct contact, no indirect contact with anyone whatsoever.  If you see them walking, you cross the street to the other side.”

What do you think is going to happen to O.J. this time around?

Check out the official police report http://www.etonline.com/documents/ojpapers_final_et.pdf

In O.J. Simpson’s book If I Did It, Here’s How It Happened, the former murder suspect accuses a man named Charlie of killing ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson at her L.A. home in 1994.

Rights to the tome, which is being published by Beaufort Books in October, have been awarded to the family of Ron Goldman, who was murdered along with Brown Simpson.

Simpson, 60, owes the Goldmans $33.7 million in damages from a 1997 civil case brought by the family. The book, a hypothetical account of killing Brown Simpson and Goldman, was originally set to be published by Regan Books but was scrapped last year.

Usmagazine.com has obtained the first paragraph and key sections from If I Did It. A source who has read the entire book tells Us, “This book is all but proof that OJ is a murderer. It is chilling.”

See excerpts below:

CHAPTER ONE
1. The Luckiest Guy in the World

I’m going to tell you a story you’ve never heard before, because no one knows this story the way I know it. It takes place on the night of June 12, 1994, and it concerns the murder of my ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her young friend, Ronald Goldman. I want you to forget everything you think you know about that night, because I know the facts better than anyone. I know the players. I’ve seen the evidence. I’ve heard the theories. And of course I’ve read all the stories: That I did it. That I did it but I don’t know I did it. That I can no longer tell fact from fiction. That I wake up in the middle of the night, consumed by guilt, screaming.

Man, they even had me wondering, What if I did it?

Well, sit back, people. The things I know, and the things I believe, you can’t even imagine. And I’m going to share them with you. Because the story you know, or think you know — that’s not the story. Not even close. This is one story the whole world got wrong.

EXCERPT OF MURDER DESCRIPTION (HE CLAIMS A GUY NAMED “CHARLIE” DID IT):

I could hear Charlie just behind me, saying something, urging me to get the fuck out of there, and at one point he even reached for me and tried to drag me away, but I shook him off, hard, and moved toward Goldman. “Okay, motherfucker!” I said. “Show me how tough you are!”

Then something went horribly wrong, and I know what happened, but I can’t tell you exactly how. I was still standing in Nicole’s courtyard, of course, but for a few moments I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there, when I’d arrived, or even why I was there. Then it came back to me, very slowly: The recital — with little Sydney up on stage, dancing her little heart out; me, chipping balls into my neighbor’s yard; Paula, angry, not answering her phone; Charlie, stopping by the house to tell me some more ugly shit about Nicole’s behavior. Then what? The short, quick drive from Rockingham to the Bundy condo.

And now? Now I was standing in Nicole’s courtyard, in the dark, listening to the loud, rhythmic, accelerated beating of my own heart. I put my left hand to my heart and my shirt felt strangely wet. I looked down at myself. For several moments, I couldn’t get my mind around what I was seeing. The whole front of me was covered in blood, but it didn’t compute. Is this really blood? I wondered. And whose blood is it? Is it mine? Am I hurt?

I was more confused than ever. What the hell had happened here? Then I remembered that Goldman guy coming through the back gate, with Juditha’s glasses, and I remembered hollering at him, and I remembered how our shouts had brought Nicole to the door . . .

Nicole. Jesus.

I looked down and saw her on the ground in front of me, curled up in a fetal position at the base of the stairs, not moving. Goldman was only a few feet away, slumped against the bars of the fence. He wasn’t moving either. Both he and Nicole were lying in giant pools of blood. I had never seen so much blood in my life. It didn’t seem real, and none of it computed. What the fuck happened here? Who had done this? And why? And where the fuck was I when this shit went down?

EXCERPT OF A FIGHT SIMPSON HAD WITH NICOLE:
Nicole came out of the house and watched me for a few moments, still angry, glaring, and I crossed into the driveway, sat on the hood of her convertible Mercedes, and glared right back. I still had the bat in my hand, and I remember flipping it into the air and accidentally hitting one of the rims.

“You going to pay for that?” she snapped.

“Yeah,” I snapped back, then took the bat and whacked the hood. “And I guess I’ll pay for that, too, since it’s my car—and since I pay for everything around here.”

She shook her head, disgusted with me, and went into the house, and I wandered back into the yard and took a few more swings at the tether ball. It was crazy. It seemed all we did lately was argue. People say a lot of marriages get into trouble at the seven-year mark, and we weren’t married, but we’d been together seven years, and maybe that was the problem.

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