an open letter to sean “p. diddy” combs
Dear Mister Combs,
I, as one of the thousands of fans in your “Bad Boy Family™,” was particularly interested to hear that you are plan to be running in the New York City Marathon. And, as a general enthusiast for your music producing, fashion and restaurant expertise I have a couple of… shall we say, passionate, comments.
- You know it’s a marathon, right? Like, 26 miles? This ain’t no video shoot where you’re all, run for twenty seconds and the directors are gonna be yellin’ “cut” and then you go in your trailer to smoke some weed typa shit. You’re gonna be sweatin’ on them Sean Johns.
- There ain’t gonna be no posse to running in the marathon with you. Sides, if they gotta register in the marathon, they gotta register, and you know them broke asses gonna make you pay for that shit, like the time you had to bail their asses for “that night” with the “disagreement” at that club, or when you bought that Roller for your ex-girlfriend. (Though between you and me, I know you were all, “Yeah, that’s right. Crazy ho.”)
- No, seriously, no posse. You’re gonna have to carry your own boombox that plays David Bowie samples instead of someone else. Besides, you know there ain’t no sports bra sturdy enough for Lil’ Kim, oh-kaay?
Thank you. I look forward to hearing from you. Or your posse. Whatever.
Sincerely, Ernie
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