Thursday, March 01, 2007
No, in Diddy
I was unaware of this, but apparently Diddy was banned from going by "Diddy" in the United Kingdom, because there's already some DJ who goes by that name. He's that guy in the inset who looks like the bastard child of Chris Elliot and the construction worker from The Village People.
The existence of this old Diddy makes sense, because I have this Blondie CD where there's something called the "Diddy remix" of "Rapture", and it always puzzled me because it sounded more like gay club music than anything else, and it lacked the requisite "take that take that take that", "uh" sounds, and shout outs to Bad Boy that are a necessary part of any Sean Combs-produced song. I've now realized that version of "Rapture" must be a Eurotrash house remix engineered by the original British Diddy.
Anyway, the more famous Diddy promised to go by something else in England, but apparently decided that he could get away with reverting to using the name Diddy in his song "The Future." The British Diddy sued for breaching the agreement, and the judge handed American Diddy his ass in a London court. Not that I really care what name this asshole gets to go by (I mean, he's due to change it again anyway), but the judge's ruling is priceless:
In fairness, really, what is poor Puffy to do? "Mainline this new Sean Combs heroin" is even more ridiculous, and you'd be hard-pressed to find a song by him that ISN'T overtly self-referential. I'm amazed that there's only one song on this album that says "Diddy" or exhorts listeners to buy his crappy-ass music. Can you think of a single Diddy song not involving the Notorious BIG that's remotely worth listening to and that was produced post-1997? All I can come up with is "Pass the Courvoisier," and that's only because that song brings the word "cho-cha" to mainstream radio (although his lyrics will never be as deft as those belonging to the pioneer of "cho-cha"-containing verse, my boyfriend Robert Sylvester Kelly).
The judge is really throwing the book at him, as he wants a full trial to address his repeated use of "Diddy" on YouTube and MySpace, and if Puffy doesn't excise all Diddy references from any material of his that might make it into the UK, he won't be allowed to perform his SOLD-OUT SHOW at Wembley Arena. Diddy can sell out an arena? I know he's like an entertainment mogul, but I thought that was just due to his shameless exploitation of the late Christopher Wallace and his ability to make popular sweatsuits, not because people actually want to hear HIS music. Since when did Diddy have the ability to sell out arena shows like it's 1985 and he's the original lineup of Van Halen? Since at least a few thousand Brits are eagerly mainlining this Diddy heroin, combined with my existing suspicions about whether the popularity of Jordan is the result of a pact between Katie Price and the devil, the re-election of their prime ministerGollum Tony Blair, and the disturbing trend of uber-asshole celebrities (Madonna and Gwyneth Paltrow) moving there and talking shit about America, I'm beginning to wonder whether there are any sane people in England at all. Oh wait...there's at least two. J.K Rowling, and the guy who came up with this idea to sell tickets to Equus.
The existence of this old Diddy makes sense, because I have this Blondie CD where there's something called the "Diddy remix" of "Rapture", and it always puzzled me because it sounded more like gay club music than anything else, and it lacked the requisite "take that take that take that", "uh" sounds, and shout outs to Bad Boy that are a necessary part of any Sean Combs-produced song. I've now realized that version of "Rapture" must be a Eurotrash house remix engineered by the original British Diddy.
Anyway, the more famous Diddy promised to go by something else in England, but apparently decided that he could get away with reverting to using the name Diddy in his song "The Future." The British Diddy sued for breaching the agreement, and the judge handed American Diddy his ass in a London court. Not that I really care what name this asshole gets to go by (I mean, he's due to change it again anyway), but the judge's ruling is priceless:
“The second verse refers to Mr. Combs as ‘Diddy’ as he invites the listener to ‘mainline this new Diddy heroin’. Mr. Combs expressly refers to iTunes and asks the listener to ‘Download me in every resident’. He refers to his CD as ‘my CD’s in 3-D holograms’, and finally refers to his shows with the words, ‘the live show’s a hard act to follow man’.The phrase "mainline this new Diddy heroin" is absurd enough on its own (and I'm snickering at my computer just typing it), but imagining a British judge, complete with powdered wig, saying this out loud to room full of stiff upper-lipped barristers is fucking hilarious. Was there a single straight face in the room as the judge laid down his ruling?
“I see this as straightforward advertisement by Mr. Combs of his CD, his songs which can be downloaded from iTunes and his live shows, all under and by reference to the word ‘Diddy’.
“The listener will understand he is being encouraged to buy the Press Play CD, to download the songs, and that the live show is an event well worth attending.”
In fairness, really, what is poor Puffy to do? "Mainline this new Sean Combs heroin" is even more ridiculous, and you'd be hard-pressed to find a song by him that ISN'T overtly self-referential. I'm amazed that there's only one song on this album that says "Diddy" or exhorts listeners to buy his crappy-ass music. Can you think of a single Diddy song not involving the Notorious BIG that's remotely worth listening to and that was produced post-1997? All I can come up with is "Pass the Courvoisier," and that's only because that song brings the word "cho-cha" to mainstream radio (although his lyrics will never be as deft as those belonging to the pioneer of "cho-cha"-containing verse, my boyfriend Robert Sylvester Kelly).
The judge is really throwing the book at him, as he wants a full trial to address his repeated use of "Diddy" on YouTube and MySpace, and if Puffy doesn't excise all Diddy references from any material of his that might make it into the UK, he won't be allowed to perform his SOLD-OUT SHOW at Wembley Arena. Diddy can sell out an arena? I know he's like an entertainment mogul, but I thought that was just due to his shameless exploitation of the late Christopher Wallace and his ability to make popular sweatsuits, not because people actually want to hear HIS music. Since when did Diddy have the ability to sell out arena shows like it's 1985 and he's the original lineup of Van Halen? Since at least a few thousand Brits are eagerly mainlining this Diddy heroin, combined with my existing suspicions about whether the popularity of Jordan is the result of a pact between Katie Price and the devil, the re-election of their prime minister
Labels: boyfriends, celebrities, crime and punishment, Diddy, rap, ridiculous absurdity
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Cruella Diddy Ville
In case you haven't been paying attention to the news, Sean "Diddy" Combs had some bad press to contend with when some animal rights assholes (okay, it was actually the Humane Society) went above and beyond the call of duty to stick the collar of a Sean John hoodie into a mass spec and determine that his "faux rabbit fur" is actually from a DOG! What kind of a tacky fucktard, save for anorexic, menopausal Disney movie villains with two-toned hair, wears a damn dogskin coat?
I've never understood why dog fur would make a good coat. I'd never wear dog fur, and it's not because I'm against fur. I'm not against fur at all, and I hate animals on principle. In fact, once I make my billions, I'm going to wear minks and chinchillas all day just because I can and it's an asshole thing to do, and woe betide the dirty hippie who dares to try and throw paint on me for it. Then I'll take my 2 miles-per-gallon gas-guzzling Hummer out for a spin and run over Al Gore with it. Man, I'm going to be the awesomest rich person ever...but I digress.
My disapproval of dog fur also has nothing to do with the fact that I love dogs. I do wholeheartedly adore Caesar and begrudgingly adore Chingy!, and it is true that I only cry during dog-related movies. I fell asleep during Schindler's List, laughed when Ralph Fiennes' girlfriend died in The English Patient, applauded wildly when E.T. went back to his planet, and hated Tom Hanks so much that I was rooting for AIDS by the end of Philadelphia, but if you want to see me cry, pop in a DVD of Old Yeller, Where the Red Fern Grows, or (worst of them all) White Fang. Christ, I'm getting misty just thinking about the scene in White Fang where the puppy sleeps on his dead mother and when he wakes up she's covered with snow and he starts to whine...oh God, I can't even continue writing about this. However, not even this extreme emotional attachment to dogs forms the basis for my frowning upon dog fur. My reasons for condemning Sean John dogskin coats is much more pragmatic. I think Diddy should have to explain why he decided to try sneak collars onto the market made from such crappy fur, particularly since he's always shooting his mouth off about how his shit is the epitome of luxury. Dog fur is NOT luxurious; it's downright chintzy and cheap.
I doubt the genius who decided that using fur from the raccoon dog, a species of wild dog, ever owned a dog. If they had, they would know that you don't need to kill and skin a dog to get a dog fur coat. You can just be a bad housekeeper and let your dogs brush up against and/or sleep on your coats. Most dogs shed so fucking much that if you leave an article of clothing around them for any given amount of time, it will be completely covered in dog hair. I have a closet full of dog fur-trimmed clothes, and not only did not one of them required the death of a dog, they look like total shit. Furthermore, I can only assume that anyone who actually has such a piss-poor concept of style that they purchased a Sean John snorkel hoodie jacket will note that the fur will be falling out in chunks after one or two wearings. Dog fur is constantly falling off dogs while they're alive, so it seems that it would do the same once the dog is dead, except in that case it's not going to grow back. Congratulations, asshole; you just paid too much for a shitty, ratty-ass coat when you could have just borrowed someone's dog and let them do this on your collar:
Dogskin coats, Diddy...?! Give me a fucking break.
My disapproval of dog fur also has nothing to do with the fact that I love dogs. I do wholeheartedly adore Caesar and begrudgingly adore Chingy!, and it is true that I only cry during dog-related movies. I fell asleep during Schindler's List, laughed when Ralph Fiennes' girlfriend died in The English Patient, applauded wildly when E.T. went back to his planet, and hated Tom Hanks so much that I was rooting for AIDS by the end of Philadelphia, but if you want to see me cry, pop in a DVD of Old Yeller, Where the Red Fern Grows, or (worst of them all) White Fang. Christ, I'm getting misty just thinking about the scene in White Fang where the puppy sleeps on his dead mother and when he wakes up she's covered with snow and he starts to whine...oh God, I can't even continue writing about this. However, not even this extreme emotional attachment to dogs forms the basis for my frowning upon dog fur. My reasons for condemning Sean John dogskin coats is much more pragmatic. I think Diddy should have to explain why he decided to try sneak collars onto the market made from such crappy fur, particularly since he's always shooting his mouth off about how his shit is the epitome of luxury. Dog fur is NOT luxurious; it's downright chintzy and cheap.
I doubt the genius who decided that using fur from the raccoon dog, a species of wild dog, ever owned a dog. If they had, they would know that you don't need to kill and skin a dog to get a dog fur coat. You can just be a bad housekeeper and let your dogs brush up against and/or sleep on your coats. Most dogs shed so fucking much that if you leave an article of clothing around them for any given amount of time, it will be completely covered in dog hair. I have a closet full of dog fur-trimmed clothes, and not only did not one of them required the death of a dog, they look like total shit. Furthermore, I can only assume that anyone who actually has such a piss-poor concept of style that they purchased a Sean John snorkel hoodie jacket will note that the fur will be falling out in chunks after one or two wearings. Dog fur is constantly falling off dogs while they're alive, so it seems that it would do the same once the dog is dead, except in that case it's not going to grow back. Congratulations, asshole; you just paid too much for a shitty, ratty-ass coat when you could have just borrowed someone's dog and let them do this on your collar:
Dogskin coats, Diddy...?! Give me a fucking break.
Labels: assholes, celebrities, Diddy, doggity style, rap, ridiculous absurdity
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