Diddy Blog! Diddy Blog!
When y’all hear “Diddy Blog” ya’ll niggas need to stop what ya’ll doin and go get me some Cambodian breast milks.
Contrary to popular opinion, my agenda has never been to come out and shit on anyone’s musical taste. I only confront fuckery face-first. Errbody knows that I’ll be the first one to zone out to Resurrection in the morning. Later that night though, after I done smoked somethin/drank somethin, I’ll be the first nigga out there leanin and doin the Soulj–
Nevermind. Y’all niggas strike that from the record.
After having voraciously sucked-off Kanye West and his “Blow in the Park” tour, Poppa Diddy Pop has finally wiped all the clam chowder from his face and is back for a second bowl. This time he gives us four minutes at four in the morning to li-li-li-li-lick Weezy like a lollipop.
“For the last two years hip-hop has been, you know, real bland and… I must just admit it’s been fucked up. There’s been a lot of corny, wack-ass records that people have made with no lyrical content.” –Diddy, Diddy Blog #3
Worrrrrd, Puffy? I’m sure none of them shits came from the Bad Boy camp.
When he gets on his horse talking about taking hip-hop back “where it needs to be,” we all know he means “to 1997.” I was expecting homeboy to say as much, anyway. Actually, I was expecting him to stand up and display his shiny red leather pants and wink at us all.
Instead he says a bunch of crazy shit.I’m gonna tell y’all exactly how his night went. Puff ripped open Tha Carter III and smoked the rest of that bag of dust he took from G. Dep after homie couldn’t recoup Child of the Ghetto. After getting as far as “Dr. Carter,” he started to actually believe the misguided rant of an extremely talented, but obviously drug-addicted little gremlin.
Then, it was show time!
Puffy serving as the new figurehead for “real hip-hop” is like Al Sharpton stepping to the podium and imploring black people to eat better. When the people seek direction the nigga gon’ be like “oh… green vegetables… water… Chicken Selects… ummm… pigfeet… grandma nana‘nem chicken fried steak…”
Seriously. What the fuck would Puffy know about saving some hip-hop? How oblivious can one background dancer-turned-record label vampire be? What the hell has Diddy done to help? Doesn’t he know that Hip-Hop Is Dead is directed at him and his kind?
After not-knowing exactly how to compliment “the greatest, youngest rapper alive,” Puff lists the rest of his lyrical dream team. According to Puffy, the saviors of our cultural voice are the adlib king (Jeezy) and a sloppy bum nigga with bronchitis who rhymes “Ross” and “boss” fitty-leven times per album.
Yes. It feels like 1989 all over again. We’re totally onto something.
Mr. Cheesecake is in Montreal? It sounds like he got his hands on some of them northern lights and just started talking. I guess that’s what a v-blog is supposed to look like. I’m not sure how high Jay Smooth is when he does his jawns, but I’m pretty sure mine are gonna be done hella faded too.
With that said, bloggers (this includes Puffy) shouldn’t make fluffy pink blanket statements simply because they’re bored, inebriated and alone. They should probably just masturbate like everyone else.
“Y’all see this motherfuckin painting behind me. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but I know it’s expensive as fuck. This is how I’m livin, bitches. I’m about to go make my dookie twinkle.
Dylan. Come turn this motherfuckin camera off!” –Ron Mexico
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