As the sun set and the ghostly shadows darkened, the mirror caught the little girl’s eye.
“I have nothing left to live for” she thought as she began to softly speak the words. “OJ, OJ, OJ, OJ…”
“Stop!” screamed her mother, grabbing her daughter just in time before the girl could say “OJ” for the fifth and final time.
The mirror shattered, the wolves howled, and the moon grew dark—the mother knew the time had come, and so she began to recount to her daughter the legend of OJ.
In the time before time, in a small British Columbian Alpine ski resort, Lana Newishy was admiring the rising dawn when a skier whooshed by throwing up clouds of powder.
“Hey watch it, jerk!” Lana was said to have shouted.
The skier took off his mask and began to apologize, and his tall, dark, handsome features caught Lana’s eye. She began to introduce herself. But when she mentioned she was with the OJ skiing party, the skier’s expression changed, and he fled, apparently shouting in tongues.
“Did he really speak in tongues, mummy?” asked the little girl.
“No”, replied mother, “but what is a legend if you can’t taint it a little, put your own signature on it, make it your own, so you feel a bit of ownership and empower yourself, eh? So lets get back to the story.”
Lana, un-fased by this event, stopped a foreign-looking ski policeman to enquire about the weather. But as soon as Lana stated her affiliation, the policeman fled, screaming some unknown Ukrainian dialect.
“Just as I figured, a Ukrainian national,” is what Lana is rumored to have thought.
Later that night, she recounted her story to her sectionmates in the bar. Laurent Ameil was the first to put two and two together.
“Four!” he exclaimed, and continued with his wine.
Astrid Malval interpreted the events in a different way. She suggested that hearing the word “OJ” had caused people to flee. But not everyone was amenable to the notion that this combination of a consonant and a vowel, admittedly in capital letters, could turn a person wild.
Jonathan Mendelson and Maria Lee proposed the experiment, and without consensus or vote, but with all the love of OJ, carried it out. They spotted a man nearby reading a paper. Slowly they crept up behind him and Maria whispered “OJ” into his ear. They scampered back and waited, but nothing happened. Excitement waned, tires deflated, and Jonathan felt cheated.
But then a bartender screamed in shock. He had discovered a man, still sitting, but paralyzed in some sort of comatose state, paper in hand, his face frozen with a strange but faint smile—the smile of insanity.
As the crowd mulled over this, back at the bar the truth dawned upon OJ. The burden had to fall on someone, and tonight it fell on Ashley Cockrill. She, and all of OJ, knew what had to be done. It was out of their hands. “Oh, dear,” were Ashley’s famous last words.
OJ lined up against the bar, swigged one for the road, and began singing the OJ anthem, which involved repeating the word “OJ” to a common tune.
Like rats fleeing a sewer when they realize that the baddies have detonated a thermonuclear device and the fire ball is sweeping through the tunnels and they know they’ll never make it but they have to try anyway because that’s what rats are supposed to do, the people fled. Covering their ears, they got their mad little butts out of the bar.
OJ then did the unthinkable. Glass in one hand, sins of all their forefathers in the other, they marched out onto the streets and began to sing. Within minutes, the air was filled with the hysteria of an entire town. Showers were left running, fries were left frying—people had heard the words, dropped everything, and simply run. An entire town abandoned within minutes, like a maddening crowd fleeing from some terrifying power that turns out to be nothing more than an electro-magnetic inter-stellar cloud with a cloaked Klingon cruiser in the left corner.
But OJ kept going. They marched right through town singing “OJ” and leaving behind a trail of macabre insanity. Their singing grew fainter as the section went off into the valley below where the nightly mists were rolling in and the snow slowly began to fall.
And OJ were never seen or heard from again. An entire section has just disappeared into the mists of space and time. But to this day many people say that when the moon is dark and the night is black, you can hear OJ still singing without a care in the world, together forever in the ether of our eternal cosmos.
