You may not believe me when I tell you this, but Diplo is the father of my child.
I’ve come to this realization after listening to his and Sleepy Tom’s “Be Right There” remix EP.
Let me explain.
I, for one, have had sexual intercourse to, and therefore with, Diplo. Whist I was penetrated by my lover Archimedes, Diplo penetrated my ears with his song, and thus the various types of penetrations I received could not be distinguished. Therefore, it was unclear whose seed was implanted in my root chakra. But with bonerific butt-pumping jams like “Solid Steel Radio Show 5/12/2014 Part 1 + 2 – Diplo” I’m fairly certain my baby carries at least half of his genome.
It’s just too bad they don’t make paternity tests that can withstand the amount of bass Diplo‘s sperm bring. Otherwise you’d be as sure as I am that Diplo is the reason this kid exists.
Diplo is the father of my child.
That’s not what the birth certificate says, but since Diplo is HOT FIRE, I can assure it’s only because they don’t make a font that’s lit enough to bear his name at the hospital printer.
Look at this child. See it’s eyes? They are they eyes of Diplo, today’s hottest DJ.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. If this woman (me) can be impregnated by the mere idea of Diplo and his rave-taming dub steps, is it even possible to come into contact with Diplo and walk away without a human life growing inside of you?
The answer is yes. If you’re male. It’s not like He has the power to reverse biology … he just supercharges it like he did mine when I didn’t have sex with him but imagined that I was having sex with him. I just hope to god you’re wearing a condom either way because Diplo‘s bitchin’ beats could make you spontaneously comBUST and interface with some unsuspecting woman’s ovulation cycle like what happened to me. If you’re that woman’s male sexual friend, I’m sure you can take partial credit for that new life, but you gotta admit, Diplo is also kinda that kid’s dad if conception happened while “Be Right There” by Diplo and Sleepy Tom was playing.
I mean peep this hard-ass shit. Hope you’re on the pill.
See what I mean? Think about this. Use your head. With more than two musical projects going at once and a bevvy of #1,#2,#3, and #21 hits, it’s statistically likely that your spawn was conceived in the presence of Diplo.
Mine sure was. I know this because the hospital ultrasound was not lit enough to detect the frequency of funky island jams radiating from my uterus. When the nurse lady said, “Oh, what a beautiful baby boy, your husband Archimedes is a lucky man!” I couldn’t help but think that she was Ashton Kutcher punking me. Did she not just see that that baby’s heart rate was a PLURNT UP 120 BPM? Yeah. Archimedes is more of a 0 BPM kinda guy. This one’s Diplo’s for sure.
Name-wise, I call Diplo’s spawnbaby “Molly.” That way, when I lose him and I have to yell “HAS ANYONE SEEN MOLLY?!” and then “I FOUND MOLLY” once Molly is located. Meanwhile, while I’m losing my son in a grocery store or HARD Fest, he’ll be losing his sense of gender identity because he’s got a girls name with a boy’s body. That’s exactly what I’m going for though, because Diplo penetrated me so thoroughly that he created two people inside one body inside my body. That’s how filthy that daddy sperm is!
As a dad, Diplo is kinda “Where Are U Now,” except instead of not knowing where he is, I know exactly where he is and it’s at the TOP OF THE CHARTS.
Anyway, you have my permission to investigate this issue further. I’d be more than happy to submit samples of Molly and I’s DNA for paternity testing. I have a lot of pee in bottles.
In the meantime, I’d urge you to trace the lineage of your own family to find out whether Diplo is also the father of your child, or possibly even the father of you. Diplo is like Genghis Khan progeny-wise if Genghis Khan had produced 10/10 of my favorite songs right now. His bangers are FERTILE. I’d bet money that you and I are more related than you think. Looking forward to seeing you at the Diplo Daddy Family Reunion/ aka the Mad Decent Block Party sometime soon.