I’ve dedicated just a little bit of content this week to refreshing the internet on the most terrifying, downright evil moments from Chris Rock’s past. I use the word “past” lightly because we’re not ‘digging up’ dirt on someone’s pre-fame childhood, in fact, we’re not digging up anything at all. We’re simply re-sharing well-documented reporting of the dangerous behavior of a then middle aged man wellllllll beyond any cover his “formative years” might’ve provided him.
My decision to cover Chris, the rape allegations against him, and the attempts to use a mob-connected fixer to ruin an accuser’s life, didn’t just appear out of thin air.
It wasn’t him popping up at Burning Man and it wasn’t this fantastic series, “The Downfall of Diplo” , by Bekah Day. A series where she re-re-reports, re-re-reintroduces, and re-re-refreshes the internet on the alleged predator DJ, who joined Chris Rock in a mud-covered ‘escape’ from the festival.
Chris has actually been on my mind for the last few weeks. His brand, his comedy, his fame identity, and his general relevance was all but erased from my cultural radar until I met his ‘best friend’ in Vegas last month.
If you caught this bit in my Vegas-themed “Leisurely Thing” from August, then you have a little idea of who I’m talking about…