Seen here getting a serious whiff of a lucky piece of his ego that escaped out of his butthole and slipped up to freedom through his legs, Jay-Z left Blue Ivy Carter at home with Beyonce (and a team of nannies, and a chef who specializes in gourmet-flavored tit leche, and a choreographer who specializes in teaching newborns how to kick with the beat, and a voice teacher who specializes in teaching newborns how to burp with vibrato, and a gold miner who specializes in sifting through the caca lumps of a chosen one to find D-class diamonds) to hold court at the grand re-opening of his club 40/40 in NYC last night.
Had I known that Jay-Z was coming outside, I would’ve staged a pro-bitch rally and thrown proud bitches (like my friend Jesse, my friend Dr. Jennifer, every Dlisted commenter, a couple of my neighbors and a few my relatives) at him as he walked the carpet. LONG LIVE BITCHES! But there was no need for that, because Jay-Z told reporters that he did not write the anti-bitch poem and “bitch” will still make an appearance on his tongue (insert your own Kanye’s booty hole joke here).
That whole anti-bitch poem seemed suspect to me from the very beginning and I knew it had to be as fake as the smile Beyonce makes when she congratulates Michelle Williams for having the #10 single in Uzbekistan. “Bitch” has made Jay-Z a whole lot of gold bars and if there’s something he respects above EVERYTHING it’s MONAAAY HONEY BOO-BOO CHILD.
Here’s a few pictures of all the A-listers who set 40/40 on fire with their bright shining star power last night: Jay-Z, me in drag, Ashatni, Spike Lee, the Staten Island Peg Bundy and Selita Ebanks.