EXCLUSIVE: Reason First- 50 Cent’s Past Abuse Allegations Resurface After Diddy Documentary
As 50 Cent's Diddy doc goes viral, his own history of abuse allegations resurfaces, including cases still unfolding in court.
In a world where you can produce a hit documentary on Netflix and be hit with allegations similar to the ones you claim against someone else, 50 Cent is drowning.
In recent news, Daphne Joy, the mother of the rapper’s son, had been designated as a sex worker and aligned with Sean “Diddy” Combs. She also put out into the digital atmosphere the idea that Fif had put hands on her and sexually abused her. He denies these claims but they stick out like branches in a woodchipper.
50 has a distinct and serious role in popular culture and it has been elevated due to the Diddy docuseries. His past alleged transgressions, yet, seem to be haunting him.
What he tried to do with the Diddler is now biting him in the rear. Is it Karma? If only the notion of karma applies to non-mystical occurrences, then yes it is just that.
Daphne Joy and another woman named Jahaira Rodriguez have alleged these abuses going back years. With 50 in the spotlight, he is making the case that none of these allegations show merit.
With all of this turmoil, Curtis Jackson still seems ready to be the next mogul on that Summer Scam screen. His wild accusations against Puff only have refueled his past bankruptcy reality and the ideals that reflect his apparent ugly character.
But like Dame Dash said…why is one black man tearing down another black man on a white man’s platform? Dash holds that 50 should’ve handled business differently.
The street code would've been solved with a meeting, a table and words exchanged. But that didn’t happen. Instead Fifty is looking at himself in the mirror most likely and wondering if he made blood money.
For all his bravado and charisma on the mic, the rapper, sadly, has had to humble himself in regard to these latest bombshells.
He has yet to release a statement regarding the sex abuse and assault sustained by the women with whom he acquainted himself.
And it’s not just women. Guadalupe de los Santos accuses 50 Cent of being snatched off his scooter and coerced into an SUV where he was struck. Fifty and de los Santos agreed on a settlement and carried on from there.
The alleged abuses and accusations may just be the reality that Fifty was trying to keep off of his name. Everything is still attached to Jackson.
If 50 Cent wants to demonstrate that he is a street thug turned corporate maven, he will have to fight off his past demons. The men and women who just happen to be outside of the black race in his life and former life, show that they are human beings. Is it Fifty’s wish to entangle himself with people outside his race in order to control them somehow?
How has the rapper and producer been able to forge deals with largely white corporations and other businesses but not engage with blacks? Is it a money thing? The reality is that Fifty Cent is focused on making as much money as possible, probably to try to catch up with nemeses like Floyd Mayweather and Rick Ross.
Since he doesn’t seem to have their fortunes, he’s doing everything in his power to get to a plateau of riches that would ultimately be a rest haven for him. The way that Fifty can correct his errors is to be completely clear and never cower to the dictates of public opinion.
If he is in fact an abuser and an assaulter, he should pay for his crimes. The idea of him being in a position like Diddy and for the role to be reversed and to be placed on him, he would have to be embarrassed for his position as an alleged hypocrite.
50 Cent is still a staggering figure not just in hip hop genres but in the culture at large. Let’s see what he does with his position going into the future.
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Oh nahhh, now we finna take the gloves off and throw ‘em in the ditch. Lean back, crack a grin, ‘cause this one bout to sting like hot grease. See, Curtis Jackson sittin’ up there actin’ like the Patron Saint of Accountability is comedy so rich it need subtitles. Man done climbed on Netflix with a halo he bought off Temu, pointin’ down from the mountaintop like, “Behold, sinners!” whole time his own paperwork sittin’ in the courthouse lobby like, “Hey bruh, remember me?” This ain’t no reckoning. This a rebrand. This man ain’t seekin’ justice, he seekin’ angle, leverage, and long-term residuals. He ain’t exposin’ abuse; he exposin’ competition. Ain’t nothin’ holy about it. This is street beef dressed up in a blazer, chewin’ on popcorn, callin’ itself “important discourse.” And let’s talk about the nerve. The unmitigated, double-dipped, deep-fried audacity. You can’t play Judge Judy when you been settlin’ cases like parking tickets. You can’t narrate somebody else’s downfall while your own allegations sittin’ there like leftovers nobody wanna reheat. You don’t get to yell “monster!” when folks still flippin’ through your footnotes. That’s like a wolf hostin’ a seminar on bite prevention. Like a pyromaniac sellin’ fire extinguishers. Like a man who stole cable explainin’ ethics on pay-per-view. And Netflix sittin’ there rubbin’ they hands like a fly on warm cornbread. They don’t care who wrong or right, they just know mess binge-watch better than medicine. Two Black men in public combat? That’s a whole quarterly bonus, baby. Call it “culture,” slap a dramatic trailer on it, and let Twitter do the rest. What kill me is how serious he pretend to be. Chin up, voice steady, actin’ like he discovered morality yesterday afternoon between meetings. Man please. This ain’t about victims, this about victory laps. Old grudges finally got a streaming budget and a PR team. And every time he open his mouth, the internet do what the internet do best, start diggin’. Folks ain’t stupid. They Google faster than he produce episodes. Soon as he say “reckoning,” somebody whisper, “Yeah… but what about Curtis?” Now look, Diddy gotta deal with whatever Diddy gotta deal with. That’s between him, the law, and God. But Curtis? Curtis out here throwin’ rocks from a glass mansion with floor-to-ceilin’ windows and a history section. This ain’t justice. This ain’t truth. This is pettiness with a production schedule. And the wild part? He think he winnin’. But all he really doin’ is remindin’ folks that when you point the finger too hard, you end up exposin’ your own damn fingerprints. Mmm. Sticky, slow, and ugly. Just how hypocrisy like it.