7 Things You Learn Breaking into P. Diddy's House
A few weeks back, some dude managed to pull a Goldilocks on P. Diddy's house, breaking into the rap mogul's East Hampton mansion while Diddy was out waiting for his porridge to cool. The intruder spent almost an entire day there, trying on Diddy's clothes, eating his food and even sleeping in his bed, which was where in fact he was caught the next day, and presumably mauled to death.
The Baby Bear of this particular story.
Diddy hasn't offered any comment about the incident yet, nor on the stunning revelation that this isn't the first time it's happened. The same dude has apparently been breaking into P. Diddy's house for at least the past decade. Now, on the one hand, this is legitimately kind of scary, because celebrity stalkers can sometimes be dangerous, and they're also, as a group, typically very mentally ill, which we try not to make too, too much fun of around here. But on the other hand, damn, Diddy. Maybe get yourself a dog or something? Or one of those lights that comes on every night. Or a lock for your fucking door.
Because there's nothing that Cracked readers love more than creative violations of social norms (also, itemized lists of curious facts), I saw immediate potential for a column here. So, this past weekend I broke into P. Diddy's house and itemized the hell out of all the curious facts present. And here they are, comin' at ya:
It Is Incredibly Easy to Break into P. Diddy's House
I'm not an expert break-inner -- I've broken fasts, promises, news, wind and, on occasion, hearts (typically due to the wind thing). Also, I've broken out many times. Just never in. So I was honestly a little worried that this experiment was going to sputter out before it got started. But I couldn't have been more wrong.
Although Diddy's house is surrounded by a fence, it's only about four feet high. It's the kind of thing that's really only useful for keeping out sheep, or heavy children. But as I was feeling a little lead-legged myself, I decided to try my hand at hacking the front gate controls first. This was done by hitting the "Open" button on the keypad and then waiting five or so seconds for the gate to slide open. I guess Diddy loses his clicker pretty often?
The front door was a bit better, in that it did have a deadbolt, which was locked, albeit not actually shut. Instead, I found the door hanging wide open, swinging back and forth in the breeze, the deadbolt preventing the door from closing. It was the kind of thing you'd do if you were worried about locking yourself out of your hotel room when you ran to get ice, or wanted your prostitute to get in without having to knock.
I'm guessing that Diddy didn't have any prostitutes coming, though, because the alarm went off as soon as I stepped inside. The same thing happened to Diddy's first Goldilocks case, but that guy was able to convince the responding security company that he was a member of Diddy's entourage. I considered trying the same, although privately I doubted that my improvisational skills would be sufficient. Acting black isn't really an "uninsulting" look for me.
Imagine an Eazy-E impression combined with an Urkel impression performed by Linus from Peanuts.
So I decided to play it straight, and when the alarm company did roll up, I just explained to them that I was from Cracked. That was good enough for them, I suspect because they're not a very good alarm company.
Diddy's Closet Is Actually not That Impressive
Finally inside Diddy's house, I paused to admire the surroundings. The front entry hall was crisp and modern; very Diddy. Lining the walls of the hall were pictures of Diddy meeting various peers and dignitaries. An old one of him messing around with Biggie Smalls. Posing with Aretha Franklin in a studio. Riding a tandem bicycle with Jay-Z.
As I moved further into the house, I realized what I wanted to do most: go check out Diddy's famous wardrobe. It turned out to be incredibly, impossibly disappointing. It would seem that Diddy's famous sense of style is probably the result of hard work by stylists who keep all his clothes off-site, because his actual wardrobe is way smaller than you'd imagine. Just a single chest of drawers in one of his bedrooms. No walk-in anythings, or fancy labels, or even a mirror. He had one drawer full of Wranglers ...
They were the blue kind.
... and one drawer full of Dockers khakis. Half of his shirt drawer was full of rumpled button-downs that really should have been hanging up. The other half was full of T-shirts from software conferences. I guess Diddy did some FoxPro programming in his past? Or just likes baggy, tarplike garments?
There Are Tons of Bodybuilding Magazines Everywhere
One thing that surprised me was the enormous amount of bodybuilding magazines Diddy has lying around. Everywhere I looked, I was presented with advice on the latest lat-shredding techniques offered up by pictures of wild-eyed He-Man-looking dudes.
And I mean everywhere. In the bedroom, the living room, the other bedroom, the kitchen, the other kitchen, the library. The library, in fact, consisted of nothing but bodybuilding magazines, all four walls covered in shelves full of archived back editions of Muscle, Flex, Muscleman, Ironman, Flexman and Stout.
Curiously, I couldn't find a weight room anywhere.
He Has a Gimp
In one of the rooms on the lower level of Diddy's home, I found a trunk. Because how do you not open a trunk? I opened the trunk, and found a leather-clad man wearing a ball gag, which was just stunning.
Probably the most expensive garment I saw in the house; I think it was a Versace.
He seemed a little stunned by the light at first, and it took him a few minutes to rehinge all his joints and rise up to a standing position. But once he was up, I couldn't help but notice that he was entirely unsurprised by my presence.
"MmM. Mmm MMm MmmmM MM mm mmMMmmm mm m mmFM mmf?" he asked, which I'm pretty sure meant "Hey. Are you just breaking in and hanging out for a bit?"
"Yeah, just for a bit. I'm from Cracked," I explained.
"Mm, mmm. MMM MM mm mmms." (Hey, cool. I love you guys.)
"Awesome, thanks."
"Mmm Mmmmm mmmfm mm mmm MM mm mmMM?" (Is Soren really as pretty in real life?)
"No, not really."
The gimp nodded, and after a kind of awkward moment, I helped him back into the trunk and closed the lid.
I guess you wouldn't expect P. Diddy to have anything but the coolest, most reasonable gimp, but still: I was impressed.
Diddy's a Bit of a Hoarder
Diddy clearly has at least some help cleaning the place -- to judge by the person cleaning the place who waved at me as I prowled about -- but it still felt surprisingly cluttered.
Old computer equipment, boxes of old Wranglers, unfashionable lawn ornaments, more bodybuilding magazines; all signs that Diddy was someone who had a hard time throwing things away.
In one room, I even found four of his old gimps just hanging out, playing cards. "He doesn't need us anymore," they explained. "Yet we're still here." Indeed.
Underneath His House, Diddy Has Painstakingly Recreated the Set of The Goonies
Through a trap door in the basement, I found myself in a massive, impossible cavern. Grabbing a convenient lantern, I delved farther into the caves, sidestepping waterfalls and crumbling ledges and booby traps as I went. But even to my untrained eye, it was clear that these caves weren't natural. Chisel and blasting marks scarred the walls, and the entire length of the "natural" water slide was clearly poured concrete. Diddy had made this place, hollowed it out of the earth himself, apparently so he could re-enact that beloved '80s tale of friendship and adventure, The Goonies.
I guess he re-enacts it with the gimps?
Knowing what I was dealing with, I was able to pick my way through the rest of the labyrinth and booby traps with ease, eager to see the prize at the end; recall the conclusion of the film, where the kids find a hidden pirate ship filled with treasure that they use to save their parents' crappy homes. Wanting to see how Diddy had recreated this, I clambered onto the deck of the replica ship and eagerly made my way inside. Where I found more bodybuilding magazines.
P. Diddy Is a Total Class Act
The man himself showed up a couple of hours after I arrived. I don't think anyone warned him or anything, or that he was rushing back to confront me; he had some groceries with him. But he was not in the slightest bit alarmed to see me there in his house, and even sat me down while he made some of his famous milkshakes.
Diddy is just a totally cool guy who has a lot of fun stories and is totally approachable. Apparently that's why he leaves the door unlocked. He just likes meeting people who show a little initiative. He met his various gimps the same way. Not a sex thing at all, it seems; they just wanted to hang out and contribute as best they could, and they were into gimping. He asked if I'd met the gimp, and mentioned how cool he was. I agreed that he seemed super cool, and then made some kind of subtle comments to convey how I wasn't really interested in gimping myself. Diddy picked up on that right away and didn't bring it up again. Like I said: Total. Class. Act.
Apparently Diddy doesn't even have that many gimps for the Hamptons. He said Ina Garten has like 30.
I eventually got around to the heart of the matter, which was that Diddy seemed to be a lot more accepting of people wandering through his house than a normal person might, which was to say, not at all. Diddy hummed and hawed for a while, kind of avoiding the question, but after a while I kind of figured out what the deal was: He's pretty lonely. The people you meet running multinational rap and clothing enterprises can at times be a bit off-putting. Here he was, wealthier and more popular than ever, yet somehow isolated. So yeah, why not keep the front door unlocked? See what happens.
I explained to him that I often felt that my enormous intelligence and habit of unnecessarily bringing up the same also isolated me from people, and mentioned the special Japanese hugging pillows that I'd purchased to help me with that. Diddy got very excited about this news, and over the next few hours we sketched out a whole new business plan for a company that would produce ultra-high-end companionship pillows to be marketed to the prestigious and lonely. The whole production is going to be called Esteem (Diddy's name), and he even agreed to cut me in for 3 percent of the net.
I kind of had some things to do at that point, but it was still a little awkward extracting myself -- Diddy kept inviting me to hang out and watch some Top Chef episodes he had on the PVR. I explained I had a column to write, and he kind of got what I was saying, and then we had a hug that went on only about one second too long, and then I left.
The next day, Diddy sent me one of his gimps in the mail, along with a "Thank You" card, or I guess maybe the gimp came on the train and just carried the card with him. Which was a nice gesture, I guess, although I think gifts that fancy so soon comes off as a bit stalkerish.
But the gimp is pretty good at hugging.
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For more from Bucholz, check out So You're Accidentally Stalking Helen Mirren and The 7 Most Impossible Rock Stars to Deal With.
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