You bastards disgust me.
Here I am, destitute in the realization that my Martha didn't even bother to tell me she was being released, and is there one word of comfort? Is there a single offer to slash her lawyer's tires on the way home along some secluded Connecticut byway so we can finally enjoy a private moment after so long apart?
No!
Instead all you do is harp back on that old rumor about O.J., my Martha, and the 'low speed chase'.
Well, you microencephalitic toads, I'll say it one last time- The reason you couldn't see Martha's head was because, as everyone knows, the floorboards of the Broncos of that time were unusually deep, and when OJ's lawyer suddenly leaped into the vehicle she dropped her favorite mock-amish melon baller, and it took her a good 2 1/2 hours digging around between OJ's legs to finally pull the thing out and get it back down her pants where she wanted it.
So there! Bite that you filthy minds.