Peejet is an Insta-famed photographer and artist who plants himself into the lives of rap celebrities. Yeezy, Jay, Drake–no one is safe. In Peejet & Friends, we narrate his adventures from the dumbest part of our brains.
Honestly, I don’t remember much from my weekend with Bey. 1 AM Friday night, I get a text:
“hov in japan fr weeknd, get over here NOW.” (sic)
What was I supposed to do? I get there, she opens the door in a half-open yellow bath robe, hair still wet, champagne in hand. The rest of Friday night was a blur.
I remember I kept trying to tell her the couch was wayyyy too small but she insisted we maintain this weird intertwined position as long as possible. Truthfully, I was self-conscious about my feet stank but she didn’t say anything, so I maintained. I mean, it’s Beyonce, what do you expect me to do?
Keep this between me and you – one of Bey’s biggest pet peeves with Jay is his “flabby-ass midriff” (her words). When she first proposed this new French work out routine (that would simultaneously hit her quads and hamstrings and my abs), I was hesitant. She insisted. (“Jay NEVER does this with me.”) I complied.
Kim stopped by for a quick indoor football scrimmage (full-contact). That girl cannot throw if North’s life depended on it. Luckily, Bey and I make a pretty fucking amazing team. All sweaty from our scrimmage, we decided to take a dip in the pool, to cool off before parting ways for the weekend, as Jay was scheduled to get home early Sunday morning.
So there we were, chilling on the new pool raft. I was just starting to doze off, enjoying my final few relaxing hours with this beautiful (albeit fitness-obsessed) chick. All of a sudden—and you’re not gonna believe this—Jay just pops up out of the pool! Holy fucking shit, I almost had a heart attack! Had that dude been hiding in there all weekend?! Luckily, I’m a pretty smooth motherfucker. Ignoring the obvious pain and betrayal written written all over his face, I waved him a quick wassup and went back to my nap.