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Soulja Boy Denies Raping Woman, Calls Sex Assault Allegations ‘Disgusting'

Soulja Boy Denies Raping Woman, Calls Sex Assault Allegations ‘Disgusting'

Yahoo02-04-2025

Soulja Boy testified in his own defense Tuesday at a civil trial in California, telling jurors he 'never' assaulted the woman who claims he beat, raped, and held her against her will while she lived with him as a personal assistant starting in 2019.
The rapper, whose real name is DeAndre Cortez Way, vehemently denied the graphic and harrowing testimony that the woman gave March 19 when she first took the stand in the trial now underway in Santa Monica. The woman, who sued under a Jane Doe pseudonym, told jurors that Way allegedly first raped her in a bathroom during a police raid of his home in mid-February 2019. She claimed he went on to regularly beat, berate, and sexually assault her during a tortured, two-year relationship that sometimes involved consensual intimacy.
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Way, 34, admitted Tuesday that there was a sexual encounter with the woman when police showed up at the door of his $25,000-a-month rental home to serve the search warrant. But he claimed she consented. 'I asked her if she wanted to have sex, and she was engaged in it,' he said. 'She didn't push me or say stop, nothing like that.'
Defense lawyer Rickey Ivie later walked Way through the months that followed Way's release from jail on July 14, 2019. Way said that after he was locked up for three months on a weapons-related probation violation, he was happy to see Doe and invited her to live with him at a different house as his intimate partner.
'Did you ever hit the plaintiff in the mouth, bust her lip, and force her to give you oral sex?' Ivie asked on the 10th day of the trial.
'Of course not, and that's a disgusting allegation,' Way responded. 'It sounds crazy to me. I did not do that.'
Way started his testimony briefly last week when he was called by the Jane Doe as a hostile witness. He gave mostly one-word answers during that examination by Dean Aynechi, a partner at West Coast Trial Lawyers. Asked last week if he hired the woman to be his personal assistant, Way said no, she was never his employee. Aynechi then confronted Way with a video that showed him shopping on Rodeo Drive in late January 2019 and calling out for his 'assistant.'
'You started yelling, 'Where's [Doe]? Where's my assistant?' And she ran up behind you with your bag, with your shopping,' Aynechi said. Asked if that accurately described the video, Way said, 'Yes.'
On Tuesday, Ivie asked Way why he called the woman his assistant in public that day. Way claimed it was because he met her through a mutual friend that same month and had offered her free room and board in exchange for her services 'rolling weed.'
'We were in a public setting, and I didn't want to refer to her as 'blunt roller' with cameras and people around,' Way said of the Rodeo Drive video. 'I thought it more appropriate to call her 'assistant.''
During Way's first turn on the stand last week, Aynechi bombarded the rapper with text messages allegedly showing the woman regularly made purchases for Way in her capacity as his personal assistant. In one text exchange, Way berated the woman after he missed a flight. The woman responded by sending Way screen shots of an apparently new airline boarding pass.
Testifying Tuesday, Way claimed the woman was living in his home 'rent-free' and sometimes offered to do things for him, voluntarily. The Jane Doe broke down crying as Way denied ever sexually assaulting her. In her prior testimony regarding the February 2019 police raid, she told jurors that she was in the bathroom with Way when he allegedly spun her around, pulled down her pants, and 'started having sex' with her as she froze 'in shock.' She said she didn't report the incident to the Ventura County sheriff's deputies who raided the home because she was 'terrified' of Way and his possible retaliation.
'I feared for my life,' Doe told the jury on the fourth day of the civil trial. She claimed Way told her he knew where her mother lived and had threatened to 'send shooters' to the house. 'I was scared of what he would do to my family. I didn't want him to hurt anybody because of me,' she testified.
As she wiped tears, the woman claimed Way called her cruel names, withheld meals, locked her in rooms, and would spit on the floor just to watch her clean it up. Doe alleged she was so desperate for food at one point, she begged gardeners to bring her instant noodles. She dropped from 140 pounds down to 86 pounds, she testified. 'I didn't even feel human anymore. I felt like an animal,' she said. 'I wanted to die. I didn't want to be there anymore. I just wanted to go home.'
The woman reported her alleged abuse to police in December 2020. Prosecutors in the Ventura County District Attorney's Office declined to file any criminal charges. 'In April 2021, after a thorough review of the investigation conducted by Ventura County Sheriff's Office detectives, the Ventura County District Attorney's Office declined to file charges due to insufficient evidence to prove the alleged crimes true beyond a reasonable doubt,' a D.A. spokesperson told Rolling Stone.
The current trial started March 13 and is expected to reach closing arguments by Thursday. Doe, who filed her underlying lawsuit in January 2021, is suing Way with claims he subjected her to sexual battery, assault, false imprisonment, emotional distress, unpaid overtime, and a hostile work environment. She claims Way punched her in the head on at least 10 separate occasions. The woman alleges one incident was so brutal that she lost consciousness and woke up in a locked room with no food or water.
Way, who shot to worldwide fame with his 2007 viral hit 'Crank That (Soulja Boy),' has also been accused of physical and sexual assault by former girlfriends Kayla Myers and model Nia Riley, the daughter of musician Teddy Riley. Way appeared on the reality shows Love & Hip Hop: Hollywood and Marriage Boot Camp with Riley.
In 2021, Riley sat down with YouTube gossip vlogger TashaK and claimed Way threatened her with a gun and kicked her in the stomach while she was pregnant, causing her to suffer a miscarriage. A lawsuit filed by a Jane Doe in May 2021 mirrors the allegations made publicly by Riley. That case resulted in a default judgment that Way is now disputing.
In a separate lawsuit, Myers claimed she had a romantic relationship with Way that ended when the rapper allegedly held a gun to her head, threatened her life, and assaulted her at his home on Feb. 1, 2019. A civil court jury found Way liable for the assault and kidnapping of Myers at a trial.
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New Docuseries Reveals the Untold Story of the Idaho Murders
New Docuseries Reveals the Untold Story of the Idaho Murders

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  • Yahoo

New Docuseries Reveals the Untold Story of the Idaho Murders

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Two musical revolutionaries, Sly Stone and Brian Wilson, leave life's stage nearly simultaneously

time8 hours ago

Two musical revolutionaries, Sly Stone and Brian Wilson, leave life's stage nearly simultaneously

Sometimes there are strange symmetries in death, as in life. The twin passings of Sly Stone and Brian Wilson this week brought that into sharp relief. Both were musical geniuses who paid a high price for their gifts. They burned bright, with art they created at their peaks that became more moving and meaningful with time, only to see their creative lights extinguished suddenly through mental health and addiction issues. Both were 82 when they died — Stone on Monday and Wilson on Wednesday. 'It's such an unsettling coincidence,' said Anthony DeCurtis, contributing editor at Rolling Stone. 'These two figures, they were very different and massively influential, and each ran into a wall of their own problems in many ways. As much as they achieved, it's hard not to think that they could have done more.' With his late brothers Carl and Dennis, Beach Boys co-founder Wilson was the architect of the California sound that captured surfing and sun, beaches and girls. Yet for all the 'Fun, Fun, Fun,' there was something much deeper and darker in Brian's abilities as a composer. It was more than disposable music for teen-agers. He had an unparalleled melodic sense, hearing sounds in his mind that others couldn't. He could worm his way into your head and then break your heart with songs like 'In My Room' and 'God Only Knows.' The tour de force 'Good Vibrations' —- had anyone ever heard of the theremin before he employed its unearthly wail? — is a symphony both complex and easily accessible. 'He was our American Mozart,' musician Sean Ono Lennon wrote on social media. The 1966 album 'Pet Sounds' was a peak. Wilson felt a keen sense of competition with the Beatles. But they had three writers, including Sean's dad, John Lennon. Wilson was largely alone, and he heard impatience and doubt from other Beach Boys, whose music he provided. He felt the pressure in trying to follow up 'Pet Sounds,' and 'Smile' became music's most famous unfinished album. Wilson, a damaged soul to begin with because of an abusive father, never reached the heights again. He descended into a well-chronicled period of darkness. Stone's skills came in creating a musical world that others only dreamed of at the time. The Family Stone was an integrated world — Black and white, men and women — and the music they created was a potent mixture of rock, soul and funk. It made you move, it made you think. For a period of time from 1967 to 1973, their music was inescapable — 'Dance to the Music,' 'Everybody is a Star,' 'Higher,' 'Hot Fun in the Summertime,' 'Sing a s Simple Song,' 'Family Affair,' 'Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin).' Their performance at Woodstock was a milestone. 'His songs weren't just about fighting injustice, they were about transforming the self to transform the world,' musician and documentarian Questlove, who lovingly tended to Stone's legacy, wrote this week. 'He dared to be simple in the most complex ways — using childlike joy, wordless cries and nursery rhyme cadences to express adult truths. His work looked straight at the brightest and darkest parts of life and demanded we do the same.' From his peak, the fall was hard. Years of drug abuse took its toll. Periodic comeback attempts deepened a sense of bewilderment and pity. Music is littered with stories of sudden, untimely and early deaths. Yet until this week, both men lived on, somewhat improbably passing average life expectancies. Wilson, by many measures, achieved some level of peace late in life. He had a happy marriage. He was able to see how his music was revered and appreciated and spent several years performing it again with a younger band that clearly worshiped him. It was a postscript not many knew, said journalist Jason Fine, who befriended Wilson and made the 2021 documentary, 'Brian Wilson: Long Promised Road.' 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One suspects it will become easier with the passage of time, when only the work remains. That sometimes brings clarity. 'Millions of people had their lives changed by their music,' DeCurtis said. 'Not just enjoyed it, but had their lives transformed. That's quite an accomplishment.'

Two musical revolutionaries, Sly Stone and Brian Wilson, leave life's stage nearly simultaneously
Two musical revolutionaries, Sly Stone and Brian Wilson, leave life's stage nearly simultaneously

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time9 hours ago

  • Washington Post

Two musical revolutionaries, Sly Stone and Brian Wilson, leave life's stage nearly simultaneously

Sometimes there are strange symmetries in death, as in life. The twin passings of Sly Stone and Brian Wilson this week brought that into sharp relief. Both were musical geniuses who paid a high price for their gifts. They burned bright, with art they created at their peaks that became more moving and meaningful with time, only to see their creative lights extinguished suddenly through mental health and addiction issues. Both were 82 when they died — Stone on Monday and Wilson on Wednesday. 'It's such an unsettling coincidence,' said Anthony DeCurtis, contributing editor at Rolling Stone. 'These two figures, they were very different and massively influential, and each ran into a wall of their own problems in many ways. As much as they achieved, it's hard not to think that they could have done more.' With his late brothers Carl and Dennis, Beach Boys co-founder Wilson was the architect of the California sound that captured surfing and sun, beaches and girls. Yet for all the 'Fun, Fun, Fun,' there was something much deeper and darker in Brian's abilities as a composer. It was more than disposable music for teen-agers. He had an unparalleled melodic sense, hearing sounds in his mind that others couldn't. He could worm his way into your head and then break your heart with songs like 'In My Room' and 'God Only Knows.' The tour de force 'Good Vibrations' —- had anyone ever heard of the theremin before he employed its unearthly wail? — is a symphony both complex and easily accessible. 'He was our American Mozart,' musician Sean Ono Lennon wrote on social media. The 1966 album 'Pet Sounds' was a peak. Wilson felt a keen sense of competition with the Beatles. But they had three writers, including Sean's dad, John Lennon. Wilson was largely alone, and he heard impatience and doubt from other Beach Boys, whose music he provided. He felt the pressure in trying to follow up 'Pet Sounds,' and 'Smile' became music's most famous unfinished album. Wilson, a damaged soul to begin with because of an abusive father, never reached the heights again. He descended into a well-chronicled period of darkness. Stone's skills came in creating a musical world that others only dreamed of at the time. The Family Stone was an integrated world — Black and white, men and women — and the music they created was a potent mixture of rock, soul and funk. It made you move, it made you think. For a period of time from 1967 to 1973, their music was inescapable — 'Dance to the Music,' 'Everybody is a Star,' 'Higher,' 'Hot Fun in the Summertime,' 'Sing a s Simple Song,' 'Family Affair,' 'Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin).' Their performance at Woodstock was a milestone. 'His songs weren't just about fighting injustice, they were about transforming the self to transform the world,' musician and documentarian Questlove, who lovingly tended to Stone's legacy, wrote this week. 'He dared to be simple in the most complex ways — using childlike joy, wordless cries and nursery rhyme cadences to express adult truths. His work looked straight at the brightest and darkest parts of life and demanded we do the same.' From his peak, the fall was hard. Years of drug abuse took its toll. Periodic comeback attempts deepened a sense of bewilderment and pity. Music is littered with stories of sudden, untimely and early deaths. Yet until this week, both men lived on, somewhat improbably passing average life expectancies. Wilson, by many measures, achieved some level of peace late in life. He had a happy marriage. He was able to see how his music was revered and appreciated and spent several years performing it again with a younger band that clearly worshiped him. It was a postscript not many knew, said journalist Jason Fine, who befriended Wilson and made the 2021 documentary, 'Brian Wilson: Long Promised Road.' 'That sort of simple message he really wanted to give people through his music going back to the '60s — a sense of warmth, a sense that it's going to be OK in the same way that music lifted him up from his darkness, he'd try to do for other people,' Fine told The Associated Press in an interview then. 'I think now, more than earlier in his career, he accepts that he does that and that's a great comfort to him.' Stone emerged to write an autobiography in 2023. But less is known about his later years, whether he found peace or died without the full knowledge of what his music meant to others. 'Yes, Sly battled addiction,' Questlove wrote. 'Yes, he disappeared from the spotlight. But he lived long enough to outlast many of his disciples, to feel the ripples of his genius return through hip-hop samples, documentaries and his memoir. Still, none of that replaces the raw beauty of his original work.' Did Sly Stone and Brian Wilson live lives of tragedy or triumph? It's hard to say now. One suspects it will become easier with the passage of time, when only the work remains. That sometimes brings clarity. 'Millions of people had their lives changed by their music,' DeCurtis said. 'Not just enjoyed it, but had their lives transformed. That's quite an accomplishment.' ___ David Bauder writes about the intersection of media and entertainment for the AP. Follow him at and .

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