Have you ever hated someone so much without ever meeting them or knowing them personally, but deep inside you know that feeling is true?
If you know this sentiment then let me weave you a tale of why I hate this fat motherfucker down to my bones.
And no, his weight isn’t an issue I will harp on. I’m not fat-phobic because I could shed some lbs myself. It’s just that I finished The Diddy Doc on Netflix, and there’s this whole thing about Tupac because of the East Coast–West Coast beef, and they get to the part where the diss to Biggie drops, and that first line in “Hit ’Em Up” comes on, boyyyyyyy:
I ain’t got no motherfuckin’ friends.
That’s why I fucked yo’ bitch, you fat motherfucker.
— Tupac
YOU FEEL THAT!?!
You really want to insult someone? Just find something superficial about them, because that’s always a surefire way to hurt someone’s feelings.
For more tips, subscribe to my weekly newsletter, Rudy’s Tips for Being Bitchy, or Bitch Tips for short.
But aside from making fun of his weight, I have bigger fish, or chicken, to bread and fry in this essay, as per his liking.
My absolute hatred for this walking, talking Mister Potato turned human started all the way back in high school, class of ’03. Back then, Terror Squad was the only real Latino representation in hip hop that I knew of, and there he was, the DJ for Terror Squad, spinning the 1’s and 2’s at one of the biggest radio stations in South Florida, 99 Jamz. Yes, with a Z, so you know it’s real urban.
But before I continue, okay, I know this feels irrational and mean-spirited. And yes, it’s partly that, but it’s also something true. I have this gift. Some people call it mystical. Other people call it autism. Either way, it’s a gift nonetheless.
This gift allows me the ability to always tell when someone is a human piece of walking, talking shit. Maybe I see myself in them, I don’t know. This isn’t a therapy session with Dr. Wright.
But I can prove it. When I was in high school, I always said R. Kelly gave me freak vibes. And not in the Super Freak Rick James way, or maybe that was exactly what I meant. And Diddy. I used to say there was something not right about him. I could never put my finger on that shiny suit doubt in my mind, but I knew something was off.
Need more proof? Here is one of my oldest, dearest friend, Jarvis Pough, who I’ve known since I was 13, to explain it.
Thank you, Jarvis. That was very unnecessary, but also necessary.
But you see what I mean, I had this innate mutant like sense which has led me to hate DJ Khaled, Professor X would be proud of this student.
DJ Khaled’s first hit, “Holla at Me Baby,” had hitters like Lil Wayne, Rick Ross, Pitbull, and the ever-effervescent Paul Wall, with this memorable hook:
“Holla at me, what it do, what it is
You ain’t never seen a playa like this
(Holla at me, baby)
I’ma pimp her, I’ll show her how I live
Take her back, then I put it in her ribs.”
Truly the people’s poet of our generation, a man who rhymed “how I live” with “put it in her ribs.” Chef’s kiss.
And boy howdy was this ever a hit if I ever did see one, a smash, number one on the Billboard Hot 100. And I said to myself, wow, this Latino dude is doing cool stuff. I feel seen, represented, and heard. Finally, some dope Latino is doing something sick in rap. Not like we didn’t have Big Pun or nothing, but come on. Right behind him was Baby Bash with “Suga Suga, how you get so fly,” and that is not something I can put up against “In Da Club” by 50 Cent. You see what I’m getting at. I didn’t see myself in the genre of music I loved so intensely.
But finally I had someone to look up to, to admire, and to aspire to.
This was the start of my heartbreak, because DJ Khaled blew up. He was everywhere, in every nook and cranny, like butter on an English muffin. And he wasn’t just the DJ or the dude in the music video anymore. He started to talk in interviews.
And have you ever heard this motherfucker talk?
I was going to put down a quote of his, but I’ll let him tell you instead.
And I thought to myself… holy shit. DJ Khaled is retarded.
That was my first literal thought when I heard him speak for the first time. There was no way this dude was supposed to be Latino representation. I couldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t accept it. We barely had Latinos in the rap game, and now this is what we get?
Sure, Daddy Yankee was giving us “Gasolina,” but it just wasn’t enough. I needed more than gasolina. I craved deeper-mina. Mas gaso and lesso Lina.
And I couldn’t, in good conscience, accept him as the arbiter of Latino representation in hip hop culture.
With every new hit on the music charts, with every interview, with every music video, every new Nike shoe, with every social media post, my hatred simmered like a thick stew of pure disgust.
But the plot in this loathsome stew thickens.
Because years later I found out he wasn’t even Latino! What the hell was this all about? You couldn’t tell us that you weren’t. Hiding among the Latins so you could sneak in your dishonest beats.
My girlfriend at the time didn’t understand this hatred I had for him. Valid. She was “educated,” and she said, “Well yeah, his name is Khaled, what did you think he was?” God damn it, don’t use your Ivy League education on me.
I wasn’t upset because he wasn’t Latino. I was upset because he didn’t tell me he wasn’t in the first place. “You wouldn’t understand,” I told her.
The timeline of DJ Khaled’s rise lined up perfectly with my frontal lobe finally developing while I was in college. I started school right when he was at his maximum fame. And as a film student, I was consuming all things media. I felt like the art I wanted to seek out, to create, to change the world with, was going to be impactful, important, a reflection of the truth. Being a first-generation kid, my aspirations were higher than being a moron yelling “bring out the lobster” and making mediocre art.
And more importantly, all the Latinos making art needed to aspire to be at that level, because that’s what I expected of myself and my work.
That’s why I was so mad at him, because I expected more.
More time had passed, and DJ Khaled continued to show how much of a disappointment someone can be, even at the level he has been able to reach for himself financially, or whatever you deem success to be.
Like when he had this whole beef with Tyler the Creator, all because he couldn’t accept not having a better hit record than Tyler. A man who preaches positivity and all that dumb shit he says, just to go ahead and be a big baby, hating on someone so much younger than him instead of being uplifting and cool.
And don’t get me fucking started on him outright saying he doesn’t eat pussy, like it’s a badge of honor.
“Nahhh. Never! I don’t do that. It’s different rules for men. You gotta understand, we the king. There’s some things that y’all might not wanna do, but it got to get done. I just can’t do what you want me to do. I just can’t.” - DJ Khaled
So maybe, just maybe, my hunch was right.
But the most egregious thing about this dude, to me, has to be his stance on Palestine, or the lack of one. Especially with him being Palestinian himself.
And I think this is the crux of my whole problem with him. I didn’t know it then, but I felt it. He comes off like the type of dude who would drift with whatever benefits him, opportunistic and surface-level. The whole “I’m just a goofy harmless guy” routine feels like a costume. He’s not dumb. He plays dumb, so nobody expects anything real from him.
And the wild part is the platform he has. The resources. The visibility. The influence. And to do nothing with it for your own people, in a moment of crisis? What kind of foul shit is that?
Palestine is literally being erased in front of our eyes. Children losing limbs. Families disappearing into dust. Doctors, reporters, first responders being killed while trying to help or document the truth.
But no. Heaven forbid he risks a single dollar. Better to film himself eating a fridge full of ice cream than to open his mouth about anything happening in the Middle East.
And I guess this is just what it was, just me, a grown-ass man, holding onto a decades-long grudge against a dude who won’t eat pussy, won’t speak up, and keeps yelling “We the Best” into the void.
Well… at least I was right.