When Jodeci's Forever My Lady dropped I fell into an obsessed, mad lovesickness. That was probably the only group that I ever plastered on every inch of my bedroom walls, saving a few spots for MJB. Their sound drowned out any ugliness and amplified their sexiness. I also fell for the man behind the group, thus began my relationship with Puffy. I compare it to Clarence Worley's infatuation with Elvis in the classic flic, True Romance. You know how he sometimes hears Elvis in his mind pumpin' him up when shit has gone awry or cheering him on when he's @ the top of his game. When I'm doing my thang and on my A-game, it's Diddy in my ear shouting all kinds of euphoric applause as if I just created his next multi-platinum hit. When shit hits the fan his voice becomes low, disappointing, the kind reserved for a big brother. Sorry, but that's the closest analogy I can come up with to help you understand our relationship. He's the one artist who can do no wrong, who like a big brother will always be given a second chance. After the airing of mtv's If I Were King, I was thankful for reality tv and a another glimpse into the many sides of Sean Combs (11.04). My favorite scene is his request for a runway filled with Black Jesus'. If you haven't seen it follow the drip (click the blog title) and watch him take that, take that extra slice of his amerikkkan pie.
