By shelz.

I’m not a follower of the Diddy blogs or P. Twitty episodes, but if any time ever called out for a Puff rant, it’s right now.  Maybe I missed it since I couldn’t really handle following him on Twitter after he had his assistant tweet out his 83 day tantric sex adventure, but I might just sign back up on GP. I mean is this guy not having the most eventful quarter ever?

In the last few months Diddy Bop has managed to get Bad Boy in bed with a label that is selling its rappers off two for one at garage sales.  He’s talked the nation into believing those girls in Dirty Money can actually sing even though I can’t remember hearing them in any of the Last Train to Paris leaks. He’s found yet another way to pimp the lost talent of his dead best friend via those same Dirty Money songs which have morphed into Notorious B.I.G. remixes.  And he’s going into his umpteenth season of ridiculously contrived reality show cases.  All this while he plans fashion fails for any man who is silly enough to believe chain mail jeans complete with new millennium acid washing is what’s hot in the streets. It must be the Ciroc.  If you are drunk enough, that crop top, bolero jacket and pair of tight leather pants he has designed for you might just seem wearable. In a world where money is God, this dude deserves to be sainted.

Well, maybe not.  Buried in all of this glory is a small problem.  One of his former employees is running around claiming Diddy is a picture taking, money stealing, voodoo practicing pansy with the ability to make you off yourself.

Wow.

Mr. Mark Curry wrote and rapped for Bad Boy years ago and has shared a lot of alleged inside information with the masses via his tell-all book and subsequent interviews. His most recent discussion highlighted the seamiest parts of the manuscript, including Diddy’s fondness for casting dark spells on his artists.

Yes, it’s sensational but it would explain quite a bit.  Think about it. Jadakiss, Styles P and umm… the other one are considering letting this dude back in after he charged them everything they owned to escape wearing fluorescent suits and sharing dance moves with 112. All of the fussing, fighting and name calling led them right back to Bad Boy.  A few months ago we saw Jada holding up a Ciroc bottle in one hand and a copy of his CD in the other while he claimed membership to the P. Diddy nation.  It has to be the voodoo. I guess they should still thank their lucky stars that following in the footsteps of fellow Ruff Ryder DMX didn’t work out for them or maybe they too would be donning some Speedos for their first MMA event next month. Sigh…

Then there are the claims that Diddy has some kind of “relationship” with ex-Arista head Clive Davis. It’s a bad visual, but I guess we will see what’s up if some lost BIG verse shows up on one of Whitney Houston’s remixes.  Yuck, that’s a really bad visual.

Anyway, this sordid mess really does beg the question: why hasn’t Curry been voodooed? He’s the one tossing the dirt.  Why hasn’t he awakened to a shrunken head or a dead bird on his porch? Has Harris Teeter been out of candles and chickens?  Maybe Diddy has yet to secure a lock of his hair.  I don’t know, but if he believes what he says, I would assume he should watch his back before he gets The Serpent and The Rainbow treatment. Ouch.

What does all of this mean?  Probably very little. It’s just another Hip-Hop hosted circus that always seems to eclipse the music.  I guess Diddy hasn’t quite gotten his voodoo game proper enough to make folks Push Play en masse so something has to compensate for that. That’s an idea. Maybe Diddy can cast a spell on  Last Train to Paris, shake a little chicken blood on that joint so it will actually be worth listening to. Then Mary Curry can tell us all about it.

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