Combs Confidential: Day Two
Jury Chaos, Ghost Lawyers, and a Woman From the HBO Doc—You’re Not Ready.
The Juror Parade – Day Two’s Greatest Hits of “Absolutely Not”
If Monday’s jurors felt a little too eager, like they just wanted to be part of something historic. Tuesday’s group felt like they accidentally wandered in from a casting call for Law & Order: Delusional Intent. But honestly? It’s New York City. Everyone’s f***ing crazy here. You could point to anyone on the sidewalk and they’d have a wild backstory, two court appearances, and a cousin who’s suing Verizon.
Hand to heart like it’s a redemption tour.
But there’s no PR in federal court. Just consequences.
Let’s break down the madness:
Juror 137:
“I’m a realtor with Sotheby’s. I know a lot of lawyers. I and my brother, in the Surrogate’s Court, on our father's estate, we had to fight to get what the will said this is going to sound incredible, it took 10 years.”
Already spiraling. But then: “My father and I were on I-95, a rock was thrown down on us. I saw the clip of the defendant by a hotel elevator, in a towel, there was a woman on the ground. I can't recall it. I believe he’s in jail in NYC.”
When asked if he could be fair? “Yes.”
Yeah okay. This man just read his trauma diary out loud, confirmed he’s seen the video, and literally thinks Diddy is already in jail. But sure. Totally impartial. Makes sense.
Juror 143:
Straight-up confessed to reading an article about jury selection on his phone after leaving court.
“I read who got excluded,” he told the judge like it was no big deal.
It reminded me of when my 5-year-old sneaks into the Oreos, licks all the filling out, and puts the cookies back like she did nothing wrong. Then later, the rest of us go to have a snack and it’s just a tray of empty, violated sandwich cookies and betrayal.
He was booted. Rightfully. Like… sir, are you lost?
Juror 217:
Had two prior arrests. Said it happened after he had “an epiphany,” which is definitely something you say when you're trying to dodge the details.
When asked if he had any “yes” answers on the questionnaire: “No.”
The judge let him stay.
Honestly, at this point, all you need to qualify is a pulse and a poker face—Lady Gaga voice: can’t read my, can’t read my, no he can’t read my juror face.
Unnamed Female Juror:
“I can’t speak about sex. In school, a teacher brought up blow jobs and I fainted.”
And the judge just nodded and excused her like this was totally normal.
I’m sorry WHAT? You can’t even hear the word sex and you showed up for a sex trafficking trial? Like, what the f***. They fill out a questionnaire ahead of time. These people knew it was Diddy. They knew it was federal. And she still pulled up like this was gonna be a field trip to HR. Be serious.
Juror 240:
“I saw social media. Nothing too deep. A video at the hotel, that was about it.”
Nothing too deep???
Diddy’s out here allegedly beating the absolute hell out of Cassie while she’s curled up outside an elevator, and this man watched it like it was a mildly concerning YouTube vlog. “Nothing too deep.” Sir, what do you think deep is? Does a body have to fly through a window?
Juror 216:
When asked about a third run-in with the cops, he said: “They was shutting down a party. The officer pushed me. I pushed him back.”
The judge didn’t strike him.
Because apparently, as long as you say it real calm like “yeah, you know, it wasn’t a big deal” you’re good to go.
By the end of it, I was questioning everything. This wasn’t jury selection. It was a rotating door of New York’s finest lunatics, and I say that with love because I’ve lived it. A few months ago, I saw that comedian perform stand-up in NYC. The one whose cousin is always suing Verizon. And let me tell you, the city’s energy is unmatched. Once, my sister went completely batshit and threw a mirror out of a fifth-story window because she ran out of weed. True story. New York is wild, and somehow, all that chaos managed to assemble in one courtroom today.
Judge Subramanian – No Nonsense, No Patience, No Time for Games
While the rest of the courtroom felt like it was barely holding itself together, Judge Arun Subramanian was locked in. Calm, crisp, and completely unfazed. He wasn’t there to babysit. He wasn’t there to be impressed. He was there to move this trial forward, fast.
When defense attorney Marc Agnifilo objected to a juror who had seen the now-infamous hotel video of Diddy and Cassie, arguing that it would bias the case, Subramanian shut it down immediately. “We all know the exact video won’t be played,” Agnifilo said, “but something close to it will.” Subramanian didn’t budge. “Do the math,” he replied. “We have over 30 jurors left. We don’t need all of them.” Later, he made it even plainer: “I don’t care if we only have 10 jurors, this trial is moving forward.”
No emotion. No theatrics. Just brutal efficiency.
He handled the strike list like it was a to-do item he wanted off his desk by noon. “Excused. Not excused. She stays. He goes.” No long pauses. No performances. Just clean decisions and zero patience.
It was obvious some of the attorneys, especially on Diddy’s side, were trying to stall. Throwing objections. Looping around pointless details. Subramanian let them play themselves for about five seconds before cutting it off. He’s not here for courtroom ping-pong. He’s here to get this trial seated and started, period.
He made it clear: if they don’t finish jury selection by Thursday, they’ll push into Friday. If they need to keep working, they will. But he also said, point blank, that he expects opening statements by early next week. So unless someone keels over or Diddy magically drops a confession in the hallway, this thing is locked and loaded.
Subramanian isn’t playing the long game. He’s playing the only game that matters: move fast, get it done, and don’t waste the court’s time.
Who Invited Him, though?
Let’s be very clear: Mark Geragos is not officially part of Diddy’s legal team. He hasn’t filed a notice of appearance. He’s not listed as counsel. And yet, he’s been in court, hovering over the defense like he’s running the show from the shadows.
Early on the morning of May 6, before Diddy even showed up to court, the DOJ filed a sharp two-page letter calling it out. Their message was blunt: Who is this man, and why is he here?
“Neither Mr. Geragos nor any member of his firm has filed a notice of appearance in this case.”
But that didn’t stop him from advising during jury selection and going on his podcast—2 Angry Men—to publicly discuss the case he claims not to be involved in. In just one episode, he called the hotel video “character assassination,” accused the DOJ of “prosecuting a cause,” and even said Diddy “has a violent temper”… while defending him.
The DOJ flagged it under Local Criminal Rule 23.1, which bars attorneys and anyone associated with the defense from making public statements that could compromise the fairness of the trial. And if you’re sitting in the courtroom advising the team, like Geragos is, you’re associated.
And now let’s clear up the other piece: his daughter, Teny Geragos, is officially on Diddy’s defense team. She filed. She’s on record. She works with Agnifilo Intrater LLP, the same firm co-leading Diddy’s legal strategy. So yes, the connection is real and yes, that makes her father’s courtroom presence even messier.
And then, just hours after the DOJ called him out, Geragos referred to six white women in the jury pool as a “six-pack.”
Not filed. Not official. Still f***ing up.
So now the DOJ is asking the judge to do what the defense won’t: set boundaries. Either Geragos needs to go on record and play by the rules. Or get out of the courtroom and stay off the mic.
Because right now? He’s doing neither. And the optics are trash.
Blown Coverage
Mark Geragos, celebrity defense attorney turned courtroom liability, really tried it today. In front of Judge Subramanian. With the government watching. And with reporters in the room.
It all went downhill when Geragos referred to a group of six white women in the jury pool as, wait for it, a “six-pack.” Loud enough to be heard. Not in jest. Just... said it. Out loud. In federal court.
It was so weirdly casual and unnecessary that even the courtroom air seemed to stop. AUSA Maurene Comey clocked it. Subramanian clocked it. Everyone clocked it.
The government flagged it. Said it was inappropriate. Geragos immediately tried to play it off, but it was already out there. And in a trial like this, with sex trafficking, misogyny, race, and power dynamics all colliding? You don’t get to casually reduce a group of potential jurors to a beverage set.
It wasn’t just cringe. It was dumb. And you could see the ripple effect. The energy changed. The judge didn't snap, but his face said everything. The defense was already walking a tightrope, and Geragos stomped on it with cleats.
There’s a difference between being bold and being reckless. Today? Geragos chose wrong.
The Man in the Middle
While the lawyers scrambled, the judge shut things down left and right, and the DOJ came in swinging, Sean “Diddy” Combs just sat there. In the middle of it all. Silent. Still. Watching. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Not the mogul, but the man. The father. Sitting in a courtroom no amount of PR could control. No cameras. No performance. Just a defendant with everything on the line, surrounded by legal chaos he can’t spin his way out of. And I couldn’t stop thinking about his kids, especially that baby. She didn’t ask for this. None of them did. But they were born into it. Born into a legacy that dates back decades. Into the money, the power, the secrecy. The cabal.
Some of those kids are already caught in it. One was just dismissed from a federal case this afternoon, Justin Combs, dropped from the Rodney Jones suit because the court ruled he hadn’t been properly served. He’s out on a technicality, not innocence. And then there’s Christian Combs, the son named in a separate lawsuit alleging he sexually assaulted a female staffer during a yacht trip in 2022. A “family event” that reportedly turned into a drug-fueled nightmare.
Like father, like son?
And then there are the quiet things. The daughters wearing white nail polish. Just like Cassie said she was required to wear in her lawsuit. The little patterns. The rituals. The control. Is it just fashion? Or is it the same playbook, passed down in plain sight?
He’s already missed so much. Holidays. Birthdays. His own birthday. And now here he is dressed like a man trying to look stable, while everything around him is bleeding out. When Geragos called six women in the jury pool a “six-pack,” Diddy didn’t react. At least not in any way that got reported. But he had to know. You could feel it through the coverage. I could feel it just reading it. I couldn’t believe Geragos actually said that out loud, in federal court. Was Diddy so rattled that he didn’t even register it? Or was he too locked into the performance of calm to risk reacting? Either way, nothing. No visible blink. No objection. Just silence.
This isn’t spin. It’s pressure. And for the first time, you could feel it catching up to him.
Documentary Damage: The HBO Juror
Out of all the jurors still sitting in the pool, one stands out to me the most: the HBO employee.
She wasn’t just a juror. She was the juror. The one tied to The Fall of Diddy, a docuseries that aired on Investigation Discovery and HBO Max, dragging every allegation, whisper, and damning clip into the public eye before this trial even started.
And yet? She’s still in the jury pool.
The defense objected. Marc Agnifilo asked for her to be struck. He warned that referencing the documentary in front of the other jurors could contaminate the whole pool. And still, Judge Subramanian denied the request. No deep questioning. No strike. No concern.
Let’s be clear: I’ve said this from the beginning. Stop making Diddy documentaries before the trial even starts. You don’t need a four-part streaming event to “expose” someone who’s about to be federally prosecuted. All it does is contaminate the jury pool, rile up the public, and plant narratives that either help him walk. Or make conviction impossible.
Watch the trailer above.
And this one? The Fall of Diddy didn’t just recap headlines. It went deep. Childhood trauma. Alleged sex parties thrown by his own mother. Friends from the block talking about things they say they saw. The stampede. The violence. The women. Kim Porter. Al B. Sure. The nail polish. The obsession with control.
Even that haunting quote: “There’s a little R. Kelly in all of us.”
And now a woman tied to all of that might end up on the jury?
I’ve barely slept the last three days chasing every motion, every thread, every break in this story. And I’m telling you, something smells off. The lawyers keep missing things. The judge keeps brushing past moments that should stop the whole room cold. And this woman gets waved through like she’s just another name in the stack?
I’m not saying it outright. But I’ll say this:
It’s starting to feel like a “quid pro quo, Clarice.”
End of Day Two
I’m tired. Just plain tired. Not wired. Not spinning. Just… over it.
The jurors were unhinged. The defense team fumbled. The government filed before most people had coffee. And Diddy sat there like a man who still thinks silence can save him.
We got a “six-pack” comment. A ghost lawyer running point. And an HBO employee who worked on The Fall of Diddy sliding through jury selection like it was nothing.
It’s only Day Two.
And honestly? I don’t want to think about Day Three. I just want to sleep. But I’ll be back. Because I have to be. Because somebody has to keep track of this.
Follow me on Instagram. Aliceredpill12
Check out my stories and keep it locked in here.