I can’t take a breath without stumbling into a scammer, an oddball, or a straight-up predator. And listen, all I’ve ever wanted is to work hard, help others, and pay my bills. Sure, I did some stupid stuff back when I was a dysfunctional young adult fresh out of Marine Corps Boot Camp—adverse to authority and feeling cut off from my family—but eventually, life spanked me, and I had to mature. And these last few decades? Volcanic.
Being a media professional since the 1980s, with experience in magazine publishing, TV production, and everything internet, has turned me into a magnet for the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. Some of y’all heckle and question me about Diddy, but that connection? That was thanks to my business with Andre Harrell. And Andre? He was hip-hop royalty. Why would I avoid him or anyone he introduced me to?
“Gilmore, this is Puffy, my intern.”
Even before Andre, I was in business with Russell Simmons. How was I supposed to know he’d end up the way he did—predator and rapist and all? Then you got Puffy—graduating to Diddy: predator-in-chief, probably the most notorious in U.S. history.
But folks! I also had stalkers! So, this chic (I can’t consciously call her a woman) named Monique S. Hall… well, she marked me, she worked her way into my confidences, and then when I realized she wasn’t all that she professed, my spidy senses kicked in. I cut her off from all communication, and wow… she turned into the super-stalker, hunted me down so that she was presenting her one or two books in that legitimate book publishing setting, then assaulted me (on a crowded boat, nonetheless). I even had to file for an order of protection in front of an Atlanta judge! (Reciepts)
And don’t get me started on the dancing Dr. Boutté, the unlicensed surgeon with a passion for botched operations. Boutte’ had this big, lavish and professional operation on Lawrenceville hwy, one way or another we were connected, she needed someone to film her operations and testimonials, and to build her website. She even afforded me an huge office space at her establishment where I was the in-house media fella. But later the world would learn that “the dancing doctor” Boutté, wasn’t licensed for the type work she was doing on people’s bodies.
Then there was Grant Bae—out here catching federal charges for scamming folks during Covid with the whole “YOU GET A GRANT! YOU GET A GRANT! YOU GET A GRANT! And she was so sweet, and paid me well for my services. Her husband was always there to protect her and (awe? The photos of her children). But who knew that it was all a facade? Sure people were saying “she’s a fraud” but I was still believing her. She was just too nice to be scammin folks.
And who do they call to film and promote them? Me. Mr. Nice Guy with all the media skills. I did my job well—polished them up real good—only to find out later they were the rotting apples in the community barrel.
And folks, it’s not just being a media professional that attracts the worst of us. The bed and breakfast industry ain’t no different. You set beyond reasonable pricing for a stay and guess who you attract? The cons, the gunslingers, the gang affiliates—I’ve even had at least one peeping Tom in the past seven years. And I’ll never forget checking on a guest, only to find him sprawled across the couch, mouth half-open and drooling, pills everywhere. Yeah, he looked like he OD’d. I called his daughter, expecting the worst, and she said: “He’s fine, Relentless. He does this every so often. Please don’t call the cops and take care of my dad. I’ll send you an extra $80 for your troubles. Just keep an eye out, and trust me when I tell you he’s a good person.” Yeah, that was my response too: Wow.
And no matter how aggressively I try to maintain quality of life, making it clear to people, “You need to upgrade the way you’re living”—whether it’s cleanliness, organization, or paying on time—I feel more like a guidance counselor. Or worse, a halfway house director slash probation officer. At age 59, I’m about done with that level of living.
What am I supposed to make of all this? Yeah, yeah—I know I need to be more discerning. But part of me feels like the president who wants to shake hands with the crowd, not realizing that mixed in are venomous, opportunistic snakes.
But here’s the twist—I connect with plenty of legit people too. The biggest names, the most genuine relationships. I wouldn’t attract all this, good and bad, if I wasn’t me. So what’s a brother to do? More discernment. More discretion. More discovery. I got my work cut out for me, but hey—if you know my work ethic, you also know that’s nothing new.
