Wheelchair Jimmy, aka Ms. Drake if you’re nasty, sort-of confirmed that Rihanna is, in fact, rolling up on his drake-snake last night at his concert at the Palais Omnisports de Paris Bercy (fun fact: I was able to say that correctly, but I still have trouble pronouncing Teresa Giudice’s last name). Shortly after Drake brought RiRi up on stage to sing Take Care, the two started acting like that gross couple from high school who used to dry hump between classes at their shared locker. The way Drake and RiRi react to each other says so much about their personalities: Ovaltine’s Very Own leans in to give her some bland-ass butterfly kisses like a Duggar kid on their wedding night, and RiRi responds by pressing her Barbadian blunt-hunter butt up on his crotch like her ass has got an itchy rash and his dick is a tube of Gold Bond.
Nothing about these two make any sense to me. Half the pictures I see of Drake it looks like he’d rather be at home under a home-made afghan watching DVDs of Gilmore Girls. And RiRi always looks like she’s about two seconds away from asking someone: “Do you wanna see a magic trick? I bet I can make ya dick disappear.” Or maybe I’ve got it all wrong and Wheelchair Jimmy is a real freak in the sheets; it’s always the quiet ones, right? Aaaand I just shuddered in disgust so hard I dislocated my shoulders from imaging Drake role-playing with RiRi: “Let’s play a game called Degrassi: The Next Penetration. You can call me the guy who shoots Jimmy Brooks, cause I’m gonna blast you with my semen and paralyze you from the waist down.” Oh boy, Jesus take the wheelchair.