While these columns, ostensibly dedicated to tracking Champagne Papi's movements on a week-by-week basis, have been coming slower and slower as Drake seems to do less and less interesting stuff, don't worry. Any time Drake ever does any interesting shit we'll there, ready to overthink it.
Drake hasn't put out a new verse in a hot minute. There's pretty much no other way to dice those pineapples, but I will say that Champagne Papi's most recent Rap Thing was his appearance in A$AP Rocky's "Fuckin' Problems" video, which was great in one of those uniquely Drakian ways—by now, it's overwhelmingly, hilariously clear that Drake's fully embracing the "Fuck It, I'm 50 And Live In A Condo On The Beach In Boca Raton" look with stupid overgrown hair, stupid glasses and one of those weird sparkly shirts that probably has a dragon on it that you begged your mom to get you when you were twelve. Judging by his fashion choices, he's finally fired his stylist and is trying to follow his own stupid, stupid fashion id. That big pony polo in the "I'm On One" video was just the beginning of Drizzy's sartorial downfall, friends. Oh, and his dancing in the clip is so bad that it rival's 2 Chainz'z.
But where his Rap Output is lacking, Drizzy's Instagram has been more amazingly on point in the past few days than it's been since he posted that one picture of him crouching on a rock back in October. It seems that Drake spent the days leading up to Christmas at Yolo Estate, which I know because of this picture of a sign that says "Yolo Estate." Other highlights from his time at Yolo Estate include Drake standing forlornly on a balcony, wearing a bucket hat and dumb glasses while standing in front of a truck, and going for a go-kart ride with a bandaged hand.
This is where shit in Drake's neverending fantasyland got weird, presumably moreso than they'd ever gotten for him ever before. Above is the first of three Instagrams about him finding "YOLO" merchandise. The other two I already talked about here, but in case you don't want to click that link here's the basic gist. It seems that Drake just found out that people have been ripping off YOLO and putting it on shirts and hats and shotglasses and selling it wherever kitch can be found (including, weirdly enough, Macy's). While Rick Ross said it first on "Lord Knows," it's a dumb enough slogan that Drake more than probably made it up. Either way, he definitely popularized it so he probably deserves a check (or cheque, as he ever-so-Canadianly put it) for helping push shotglasses and hats and shit. Either way, just imagine waking up from a dream and suddenly finding your whole reality shattered and everyone's actually out to get you and fuck you over. That's only how I can imagine Drake must have felt when he found out people were making money off of him.
Which brings us up to presumably why Drake spent the days before Christmas at Yolo Estate: He was getting a stripper pole installed in his bedroom. Everything about this picture reeks of both opulence and total desperation. The sturdiness of the pole, its golden shimmer as the flash from Drake's Samsung Galaxy Note 2 reflects off of it. The opulent embroidery on the armchair that I can only assume he'll sit in as his chanteuse writhes with the fervor of a thousand suns. The fine wood on the circular floor—is it mahogany? Teak? Cherry? Did he spring for petrified?
The thing is, it's sort of a natural progression of Drake's public persona to get a stripper pole installed in his room. He probably likes to have sex with strippers. It's whatever. But why the hell is he Instagramming it? That's what flabbergasts me more than anything I've encountered all December. Judging by the tags of "#Areyouaperformer" and "#ThatswhereIsleep," Drake was actively trolling for a girl to read this and get in contact with him in so they could hook up in his room. I can only assume he did this because he was drunk and lonely on Christmas. But even on Christmas, how realistically difficult is it to find someone to keep you company (sexually) if you're Drake? Not that difficult probably. And yet he did it anyway.
As always, love in the time of Champagne Papi is a difficult, thorny affair, one made all the more sad because Drake gave himself a room to fuck in and then couldn't find anybody to fuck in it.
Drew Millard as of now has only lived once and is on Twitter - @drewmillard
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