Is Diddy the worst rapper ever? I don’t know. It’s a crowded field. Crap-crowded, if that were a word, or a hyphenate, anyway. But he shines among them.

Worst moment of my listening day: “Big Poppa,” when he chimes in, after a dramatic pause, “We can do this every weekend…” No. Maybe it’s his classic sign-off, “Keep Bangin’.” Diddy: You’re wrecking great art, every day, in hundreds of thousands of iPods everywhere. I see you in a tux in those commercials for… some vodka, or perfume, which I guess is a bad thing to mix up, but anyway, I see a thief. You knew by the time everyone figured it out, you’d be long gone. And it’s true.

If it weren’t Biggie, I wouldn’t care so much. All I want is to listen to that husky voice, that hilarious take on life that’s just so musical, like a drum solo if drums could talk. And Diddy is the girl with the big hat at the show that you can barely see around.

If I ever meet him I won’t say any of this. I’ll be like, “Hey, I drank your perfume by mistake, I misunderstood the commercial where you left your incredibly swank cocktail party to loosen your tux tie and saunter out to the pool and just think. Ponder. Like the great Dons. I wonder what you were pondering. It looks like it’s philosophy, by the way you rub your goatee, but I bet it’s about money. And you can masquerade one as the other, but they don’t square. Oh, and thanks for the self-aggrandizing lack of restraint on your recordings with Biggie. It’s like John Madden yelling ‘LEVI’S 501 BLUE JEANS’ every five minutes through Monday Night Football. Only worse. Because that’s just a stupid football game. And this is important.”

I totally wouldn’t say that, either. I’d be like, “Hi, Mr. Diddy.” Whatever.

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Mike Errico official site: http://www.errico.com
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