P Diddy Gets A Podcast

P Diddy coming at you. How ya’ll doing ?  I’m here at the Institute of Federal Correction at Fort Dicks. I mean Fort Dix, New Jersey. Man, what a place.

                The accommodations are not up to my usual standards. No kiddie pool filled with baby oil. Lots of concrete, steel doors, steel bars and razor wire.

                If you have to get ahold of me, I have a new number. It’s 37452-054. That’s my inmate number.

                Man, what you all getting all freaked out ‘bout my freak-offs. What you expect from a music mogul got a production company called Bad Boy Entertainment. The name says it all. Don’t it? I’m the PT Barnum of Perverts.

                When I was hosting all those freak-off parties, I used to be all about the Johnson’s Baby Oil. I had so many freak-offs I started investing in Johnson & Johnson. I figured I might as well buy stock in the company since I was spending so much on their product.

                Me and Cassie Ventura, who testi-lied, about me, we still talk. Cassie recommends I use Boudreaux’s Butt Paste when in the big house. Boudreaux’s Butt Paste. Gentle enough for an infant. Strong enough for an inmate. Maybe they let me do an endorsement for their product. Hell, I done commercials for a whole bunch of products already.

                I wonder if they have Boudreaux’s at the prison commissary. I ain’t scared to be in no prison. Hear they got lots of good rappers in prison. Ain’t everyone in prison a rapper. Guess I’m ‘bout to find out. Sign me some new talent to Bad Boy Entertainment.

                Ain’t nobody going to shiv me sir. Well except for maybe one of Tupac’s fans. They may take a stab at me. Try to make a name for themselves. Everybody thinks I orchestrated Tupac’s death in that whole East Coast vs. West Coast rap war. I didn’t orchestrate nothing. I’m a rapper. Heck, the jury even said I ain’t no racketeer.

                Well, if they do kill me, it’ll only enhance my legacy. I hear they ain’t going to allow me any more freak-offs in prison. How unfair is that? Going to have to find me another form of entertainment. I wonder if they’ll let me have some shemales and stuff. Some of them boys are real pretty. Going to put some pictures in my cell in case they allow me baby oil.

They already told me they ain’t going to allow me to do no more commercials or ads for Ciroc vodka. That’s a damn shame warden. I look so good in those ads. I’m trying to talk the Bureau of Prisons into allowing me to design a line of jump suits for the fellas. Those jumpsuits they have aren’t very stylish. A fella needs a little drip to help build his self-esteem. Like they say the clothes make the man. Look what they did for me. You know I got my own clothing line. It’s called Sean John. You should buy some Sean John. In order to do your best, you have to look your best. I hope BOP goes for my idea. It’s win-win for everybody.

                 I’m going to have to get me mo’ cashflow. Between my criminal trial and all those lawsuits and people I paid off to keep quiet, my lawyers, my legal expenses are costing me a fortune. May have to sell some of my mansions, some of my jewelry. But damn don’t make me sell my jet. It’s a Gulfstream G550. I call my jet “LoveAir.” I told ya’ll I’m smooth. Smooooth as baybeee oil.

Getting back to my cashflow situation. I’m gonna have to find me a new side hustle. And what I’m thinking is, I’m going to do a podcast. I’m going to do it right from my prison cell. Going to have them build me a little broadcast studio.

                I’m probably going to be spending 20 hours a day in my cell or some shit like that, so I might as well find something to do. I know. I know. The studio will be really small, almost like a desktop studio since the average prison cell is like six by eight feet.

                But hey, you know my podcast will be successful. I’m P Diddy. My name is a brand unto itself. One of the most successful brands ever. People all over the world will be dying to hear what I have to say. That cracker-ass Joe Rogan with his sorry-ass podcast will be nothing next to my podcast.

I’m going to call my podcast “The Diddy Project.” How’s that sound? Everybody wants to hear P Diddy pontificating on all manner of pontification. And of course, my first order of business as host of the “The Diddy Project” will be to launch a campaign to get my ass out of prison.

                Elvis had success with “Jailhouse Rock.” I’ll have success with my prison podcast.

                It’ll be the biggest of comebacks. And after they set me free, if you are a singer, a dancer, a rapper, watch out, I’m going to be all up in yo videos.

                I wonder if they’ll let me be pen pals with R. Kelly, my favorite singer, since he be in another prison and we both like to get freaky. Wonder if Donald Trump put money on my books for some ramen. Wonder, if J.LO come see me. You know we used to go out. Maybe Kanye come see me. He crazy too. Maybe we cut some tracks together. Wonder if Trump will give me a pardon. Ya’ll write The White House. I need this pardon. March in the streets if you have to like y’all did for George Floyd.

                Wonder if they’ll let me have hair dye in prison. I’m 55 now. I got grays everywhere.

                Well, that’s it for now from P Diddy. It’s time for lights out here at Fort Dicks, I mean Dix.

                Man, this place sucks. The food just isn’t up to par. Sucks. This ain’t no place for a successful business tycoon who blew it all. Let me out of here. Free Diddy. And don’t forget to tune in my podcast. Bye y’all.