Freakoff Friday: Sean Diddy Special

What did Diddy do? How could Diddy do all that?

Turns out that no one has a monopoly on evil—not even Trump. If you give a bad boy too much power and too few boundaries, bad boy things happen well into manhood. The latest revelations involve accusations of revenge rape related to the murder of a cultural icon.

Even Trump has more self-control. Sure, Donny was found liable for sexual abuse and once bragged about grabbing women by the crotch, and you wouldn’t want him within 200 miles of your daughter (or his own for that matter). But he’s no Diddy—unless we find out that the ex-president was a frequent “freak-off” guest. For the sake of all our eyes once the tape surfaces, I fucking hope not. Those freak-offs can fuck all the way off.

I wish I’d never learned the word “freak-off” because shortly thereafter my (typically platonic) “Freakout Friday” installment became the salacious “Freakoff Friday.” (I wonder how many of you noticed.) I should check into whether I can get sued—but my guess is Diddy has more pressing concerns than whether some vanilla Substacker stole his intersexual (sic) property.

To be clear, I am not a yellow journalist—or a journalist at all. I do not seek to profit from the misery of others by exaggerating the sins of celebrities. The beautiful thing about the Great Diddy Downfall of 2024 is that I don’t have to exaggerate. The madness speaks for itself. What didn’t Diddy do?

You can do a lot with 1,000 bottles of baby oil. Not 100 bottles of beer but 1,000 bottles of baby oil. I’m not sure if they were on a wall, but I suspect many were taken down and passed around—just like the scores of women he allegedly trafficked and abused. More than 100 people are suing him, and he’s facing the kind of criminal charges you’d expect to see pinned on a mob boss. The head of Bad Boy Records has a bad boy record. At least he tried to tell us. We didn’t listen—not even to the music in my case.

I’m struggling because it’s almost impossible to make this shit funny. I feel like I shouldn’t try—for sensitivity reasons alone—but for me humor is a way to soften hard reality. It helps to laugh at powerful, humorless men like Diddy, who are obviously hiding a soft penis behind a hard exterior. A man who beats up his partner, commits sex crimes, or tries to take 50 Cent shopping is no man at all.

(For the record, I don’t think taking another man shopping makes a man less of a man—but it definitely makes him less of a straight man.)

As the lawsuits pour in and Diddy throws temper tantrums in jail over the lack of baby oil, I wonder whether he’ll go the way of Epstein.

I truly hope he doesn’t. He deserves far worse—especially if he killed Tupac.

And that’s just the way it is.