My Diddy-centric loathing and resentment has been mounting for some time now. First there was that whole breaking J. Lo's heart thing. (For shame, Diddy!) Then there was the incessant name-changing PR bull-poop which was pointless and infuriating. More recently, the artist formerly known as Puff Daddy appeared as a caricature of himself in a new Burger King ad
the premise of which is that he is so important and influential that Burger King need only let people know that "Diddy says BK is open late" before droves of people start flocking to their local meat patty purveyor. I resent that. Diddy is a hack. He might've been a somewhat astute businessman at one point, but from what I can tell, for the last six years or so, he's been living off the interest from capital he accrued as Notorious B.I.G.'s wingman. He claims he's a mogul. Just because you once had a PUH
and like to hang out on yachts doesn't make you a scion, dude. Don't get it twisted.
People who work in television are challenged in many, many ways. Recently it's come to my attention that show producers are exceptionally numb to temporality, as evidenced last night
with the MTV Movie Awards crowning Iron Man
Best Summer Movie So Far. Don't even get me started on the fact that this may well be the stupidest category for an award ever. Instead, let's focus on the sheer inaccuracy of the seasonally-themed distinction. Do the awards show brass not own calendars? Summer does not officially start until June 21st. It's called the solstice
. To quote Denise Richards, do your fucking homework you cunts!