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.
It’s no secret that my man Drizzy has a softer side. He was an absolute MESS when hit me up Tuesday at 3:00 am about a year ago. I could literally hear the tears streaming down his face and slapping against his imported porcelain toilet. He had just been rejected by some interviewer chick and was feeling like “the gods were pissing on his head.”
I pride myself on being a good friend, and even when my friends are acting like little sissy bitches, I help ‘em get over that shit. My father always said, “nothing cures male depression like whiskey and bicep curls.” So I hopped in the whip, grabbed Drake from his crib, and took him straight to the gym.
A few months after that, he and I happened to be in Miami together. This time he was crying about how much he missed the weather in Canada. Ever the problem-solver, I hit up my man Ross, who promptly brought over more cocaine than I have ever seen in one place in my life, carried it himself all the way to the roof of the hotel, and started just pouring it all over us. Drake was super happy and was crying cuz he said it reminded him so much of October in T-Dot.
Drake was kinda pissed when I told Nicki about that one dream he had about her.
Tune in next week, when I will regale your ass off with my story about my whirlwind weekend with Michelle Obama.