KENNEDY: I'll never forget my shock encounter with OJ Simpson... and the three words I raged on behalf of women everywhere that made 'The Juice' turn stone cold

As OJ Simpson wakes up in a toasty eternal sauna, we all remember the day he got away with it.

It was also the day that wannabe killers everywhere learned that all they needed was enough dough to hire Robert Shapiro if ever caught red-handed.

I was on air at MTV, a fledgling know-it-all distracted from the day job, with one eye trained on the televised double-murder trial, assuming – like everyone – that a guilty verdict was a slam-dunk sealed deal.

It's hard to put into words how colossal of a figure OJ was. A super-star athlete, brand ambassador, actor. Like Travis Kelce, but much less hairy.

Then the verdict came down and everything flipped like Teresa Giudice's kitchen table.

Surely, a man – even such a famous one – who beat his wife for years and then killed her and her friend, leaving a terrible treasure map of blood and DNA, goes to prison for a long, long time?

I was so shocked and upset I could hardly speak to Lili Taylor, the actress I was interviewing about her upcoming film.

I fought back tears. Lili put her hand on mine and tried to comfort me. My God her palms were calloused. I knew she was a talented actress, but was she also a pipe fitter?

OJ's 'Dream Team' of lawyers had opened an unholy box, namely Pandora's, and convinced a Los Angeles jury still hot from the city's recent race riots (following the LAPD beating of African American Rodney King) that bigoted cops were at it again.

They'd also ushered in the era of the Televised Celebrity Trial – aka justice by public opinion. You're welcome, Michael Jackson and Johnny Depp.

The trial also gave America the Kardashians. Another injustice I won't soon forget.

A few years later, I came face to face with the culprit who'd upended my MTV interview.

I was shopping at a bookstore in LA International Airport, looking for a copy of Runner's World magazine, and backed into a man still on the run in plain sight.

OJ saw me recoil in horror and gave a weird 'Aw shucks, yeah it's me' look.

I was bursting with fury and ready to barf, but all I could muster was one angry barb: 'God help you!'

Simpson cocked his head, furrowed his brow and his eyes went cold – which was my cue that this squeeze would not be worth the juice.

Suddenly, I remembered those famous Hertz commercials – OJ hurdling suitcases and dodging travelers as he dashed through a crowded airport.

As it turned out, he was on crutches with what appeared to be an injured leg and could hardly chase me. But I sped up anyway. I wasn't taking any chances.

More moons passed and I happened to move down the street from OJ's Brentwood estate and the condo where his wife Nicole and Ron Goldman were brutally slain – a coincidence I only realized after the fact.

Everyone in that neighborhood knew OJ – the charmer, the coke fiend, the violent vagrant.

People whispered, but somehow he got a pass from all those who shared his prosecco and a bump of disco dust in the bathroom at Mr. Chow.

When you're famous you get everything, even acquitted. And, eventually, a visit from the Grim Reaper, too.

No cuppa for Cam 

After Britain's Lord David Cameron shlepped to Mar-a-Lago this week, powdered wig in hand, to beg Donald Trump to grease the Congress wheels on $60 billion more aid to Ukraine, he got a rude reception.

House Speaker Mike 'I only answer to The Lord (Donald not Jehovah)' Johnson snubbed Cammy and refused to meet. Not even for a cuppa.

Perhaps, D-Cam was the wrong envoy having previously trashed D-Trump as 'divisive' and 'stupid'?

Here's the thing: we all want to see more Putin-punching funding passed through Capitol Hill. 

But, having already poured out $75 billion to Kyiv, the world's policeman is going over the family budget with a fine-toothed comb – and lectures from posturing foreign dignitaries are about as appealing as half-cooked haggis.

Ricky too raucous

Ricky Martin was loving la vida loca at Madonna's Miami show this week.

Fans were startled straight as Madge's sassy, jockstrap-clad back-up boys grinded all up in Slick Rick's business, leaving the Latin crooner pitching an apparent trouser tent on stage.

You have my sympathy as you re-build from your messy recent divorce, Ricky. But can't you Express Yourself somewhere less public?

Solar meltdown

Arkansas nepo-baby turned governor Sarah Huckabee Sanders cried wolf and declared a state of emergency ahead of Monday's eclipse.

Yes, tourists flocked in their thousands to states in the 'path of totality' like hers – but what did she expect?

Most put on their dorky glasses and went 'Huh, cool. Is it done yet?' before going about their days.

The stupendous solar hysteria – with Niagara officials issuing their own emergency warning and New Jersey even shutting schools – made me nostalgic for Y2K.

Wake me up when the Martians get here and we're about to be emulsified. Ack ack!

Tragicomedy!

It's over for serial gratuitous-nudist Sacha Baron Cohen and his long-suffering wife Isla Fisher. But something fishy is afoot.

Sources say sex-pest allegations made by professional headache Rebel Wilson were the nail in the marital coffin.

In her whining memoir, newly thin Rebel claimed Baron von Cohen coerced her to visit her digits to his rectory (to use an old church expression) while filming a 2016 comedy.

But then unreleased footage seemed to contradict her side of the hickory dickory, suggesting she was in fact on board with all the silly on-set scatology.

As the going got choppy, Isla sped off into the sunset – despite having secretly divorced Sacha last year, keeping up the happy families pretense for months.

She announced the uncoupling with an Insta pic of them both in matching tennis outfits. Stay weird, kids!

Who run the world? 

Taylor Swift, Billie Eilish, Beyonce, Cardi B, Ariana Grande, Gaga, Miley and Dua have all either dropped new music this year, or promise releases in the near future.

So where the boys at?

These musical maidens have a total net worth of $2.6 billion. Harry Styles is practically an honorary dame.

Whoever said it was a man's world was tone deaf!

Billion-dollar duds  

Last year, after just 18 months of marriage, $38 billion Mackenzie Scott was dispatched like a failed science experiment by her new husband and high school chemistry teacher Dan Jewett.

Now, with divorce-paper ink still wet, the first Mrs Jeff Bezos has been humiliated once more. Jewett has found fresh chemistry with an unremarkable Mackenzie doppelganger.

Meanwhile, he-hulk Jeff is more jacked than ever, loved up with pumped-up Lauren Sanchez and due to be wed.

If I were Mackenzie I'd wash my hair of these doe-eyed duds, buy a yacht and sail away on their tears.

Enough is Ye-nough!

Kanye West continues to parade his hostage/wife Bianca Censori in XXX-rated ruffian-wear.

This forlorn full-fantasy femme may be in serious trouble – but frankly I'm bored to bare-bottomed death of these retina-roasting displays. Thank Ye, next.

Trade up after lockup

Mom-killer and Munchausen-by-proxy victim Gypsy Rose Blanchard picked the same week to tweak her beak and ditch the geek.

She uncoupled from her homely hubby and relit the lovin' with her slimmer ex-fiancé on the way to the rhinoplasty clinic.

Clearly, our gal is adjusting well to life outside the clink!