Trigger Warning: This article talks about themes of sexual abuse that may be upsetting to some readers.
Several big-name celebrities are rumored to have attended Sean “Diddy” Combs’ notorious “freak off” parties, which were popular in the early 2000s. Diddy has shared some unsettling details about these parties, mentioning “beautiful women” and “locks on the doors.” In a viral video posted on X, Diddy is seen boasting about making a man “go to sleep” at one of his parties. He says, “This is what happens to the White man when they come to a P Diddy party. I put them to sleep.” In the video, Diddy is also seen encouraging others to pour drinks on a man who had passed out.
“This is what happens to the White man when they come to a P Diddy party. I put them to sleep.” — P Diddy
What a vile and disgusting anti-White piece of shit. He deserves everything that’s coming his way.
— iamyesyouareno (@iamyesyouareno) September 27, 2024
In a video, Diddy is seen talking about what happens to a white man at one of his parties. He says, “For those in London who don’t know, this is what happens to the white man at a P. Diddy party.” Diddy points to a man named Craig, saying, “You’re still alive,” and then shows a drink being poured on his head. He adds, “And that’s James from Simian Mobile Disco, an actual DJ.” Diddy goes on to say that when people come to his parties, he puts them to sleep, and they pour drinks on their heads.
People online had mixed reactions to the controversial clip of Diddy saying, “I put ’em to sleep.” One user joked, “How is he ‘anti-white’ if he’s partying with them? That’s not how being against something works, lol.” Another person was much harsher, saying, “I hope he rots in prison forever. The real problem is that everyone involved will probably get away with it. Disgusting.” Someone else added, “P Diddy is a horrible person, no doubt. But in this case, it seems like he was just joking around because the guy passed out drunk.”
Man I hope he rots in prison for the rest of time itself.
The only issue with this entire ordeal is everyone who participated will likely get off.
Disgusting vile sick beasts that must all be held accountable
One person said, “He’s lucky. It’s better to just sleep through what Diddy has planned.” Another user joked, “That’s actually funny. I kind of like him again.” However, one commenter was critical, saying, “It’s shocking how everyone just went along with what he said. No one seems to have the courage or morals to stand up to him. What kind of society are we creating?”
He’s lucky. It’s better to just sleep through what Diddy has planned.
In 2002, Diddy talked about what makes his parties special on Late Night with Conan O’Brien. He said, “This is what you need: beautiful women, of course.” He also mentioned that there should be “beautiful men for the ladies.” Conan asked if it would be better to just have lots of beautiful women and one guy, but Diddy replied, “Nah, there’s enough ladies to go around.”
Diddy went on to say that it’s important to take care of the women at his parties. He mentioned, “You can’t force things to happen.” Then he talked about having “alcohol” and water at the parties, saying, “A lot of ladies drink water, so if you don’t have what they want, they’ll leave. You need to keep them there. You also need locks on the doors.”
Entitled Customer Threw Fresh Juice at Me – I’m Not a Doormat, So I Taught Her a Lesson She Won’t Forget…
When an entitled customer threw her drink in my face, humiliating me in front of everyone, she assumed I’d just take it quietly. Little did she know, she was in for a surprise—and a lesson she wouldn’t forget.
That morning, I stepped into the health food store, the familiar scent of fresh produce and herbal teas greeting me. It was the start of another day at work, where I’d been earning a living for the past year. As I tied my apron, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different today.
“Hey, Grace! Ready for another thrilling day of juice-making?” my coworker Ally joked from behind the counter.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Yep, gotta keep those entitled customers happy, right?”
But the knot in my stomach told me otherwise. There was one customer who made our jobs miserable every time she came in.
We had dubbed her “Miss Pompous,” and it was a fitting name. She walked in like she owned the place, treating us like we were beneath her.
As I began my shift, I tried to put her out of my mind. I needed this job. It wasn’t just about me—it was about my family. My mom’s medical bills were piling up, and my younger sister was counting on me to help with college expenses. Quitting wasn’t an option.
A few minutes later, Ally leaned in close. “Heads up,” she whispered. “Miss Pompous just pulled into the parking lot.”
My stomach dropped. “Great,” I muttered. “Just what I needed to start my day.”
The bell above the door chimed, and in she walked, her designer heels clicking like a countdown to disaster. Without even acknowledging me, she strutted up to the counter and barked her order.
“Carrot juice. Now.”
I forced a smile. “Of course, ma’am. Coming right up.”
As I worked, I could feel her eyes on me, scrutinizing my every move. My hands began to shake under the pressure. Finally, I handed her the juice.
She took one sip and her face twisted in disgust. “What is this watered-down garbage?” she screeched. Before I could react, she hurled the entire drink at my face.
The cold juice splashed across my cheeks, dripping down my chin. I stood there, stunned, as she continued to rant. “Are you trying to poison me?” she demanded.
I blinked, wiping juice from my eyes. “It’s the same recipe we always use,” I stammered.
“Make it again,” she snapped. “And this time, use your brain.”
My face burned with humiliation as everyone in the store turned to watch. Tears threatened to spill, but I refused to let her see me cry.
Just then, my manager, Mr. Weatherbee, appeared. “Is there a problem here?” he asked, though his concern seemed more for the loss of a customer than for me.
Miss Pompous turned on him. “Your employee can’t even make a simple juice! I demand a refund and a replacement.”
To my disbelief, Mr. Weatherbee began apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. We’ll remake your juice immediately, free of charge.” Then he turned to me. “Grace, be more careful next time.”
I stood there, dumbfounded. My jaw dropped. “But sir, I—”
“Just get the carrots, Grace,” he interrupted, “and remake the juice.”
Miss Pompous smirked at me, clearly enjoying my humiliation. I felt a surge of anger. For a split second, I wanted to throw my apron down and walk out. But then I thought of my mom and sister—I couldn’t afford to lose this job.
So, I took a deep breath and made a decision. I wasn’t going to let her win.
I met Miss Pompous’s gaze, refusing to be intimidated. She thought she could buy respect with her money, that she could trample over people without consequences. Well, not this time.
As Mr. Weatherbee walked away, I reached into the fridge, bypassing the usual carrots. Instead, I grabbed the biggest, gnarliest one I could find. It was tough and unwieldy, perfect for what I had in mind.
“Just a moment,” I said, sweetly, as I fed the oversized carrot into the juicer. The machine groaned in protest before spraying juice everywhere—across the counter, the floor, and best of all, onto Miss Pompous’s designer handbag.
She shrieked, snatching her bag and frantically trying to wipe off the bright orange juice. “My bag!” she cried. “You stupid girl! Look what you’ve done!”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry, ma’am,” I said, struggling to keep a straight face. “It was an accident, I swear.”
Her face turned beet red. “You ruined my three-thousand-dollar purse! I want your manager!”
Trying not to laugh, I gestured vaguely toward the store. “I think he’s helping a customer over there.”
As she stomped off in search of Mr. Weatherbee, I ducked into the stockroom to hide my smile. From my hiding spot, I watched as she stormed out, still clutching her dripping bag, leaving a trail of carrot juice in her wake.
I thought it was over, but I knew Miss Pompous wasn’t the type to let things go.
Sure enough, the next morning, she burst into the store, demanding to see the owner. When Mr. Larson, the kind, older man who owned the store, came out, she launched into a tirade, insisting I be fired and demanding compensation for her ruined purse.
Calmly, Mr. Larson replied, “Let’s check the security footage.”
My heart skipped a beat. I had completely forgotten about the cameras.
We gathered around the monitor as the footage played, showing Miss Pompous throwing juice in my face and the “accident” with her purse. The room fell silent.
Mr. Larson turned to her. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you any compensation. What I see here is an assault on my employee. If anyone should be considering legal action, it’s us.”
Miss Pompous sputtered in disbelief. “But… my purse!”
“I suggest you leave,” Mr. Larson said firmly. “And don’t come back.”
With one final glare, Miss Pompous stormed out.
Once she was gone, Mr. Larson turned to me, his eyes twinkling. “That was just an accident, right, Grace?”
“Of course, sir,” I said with a grin. “Why would I intentionally ruin a customer’s belongings?”
He chuckled and walked away. Ally gave me a high five. “You stood up to her, Grace! You showed her who’s boss.”
That night, as I shared the story with my mom and sister, I realized something important: standing up for myself hadn’t just put Miss Pompous in her place—it reminded me of my own worth.
Have you ever had to deal with someone like Miss Pompous? Share your stories in the comments. Together, we can take on the “Karens” of the world!
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