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"What do you mean, there's no women here?" You look on in disbelieve as Drake dances to the beat that was supposed to ridicule him.

"Baby it ain't no mystery. Got the best BBL in history. This cake will make you show up. I know you seen this glow up.", booms through the club.

The guy you just asked is Chubbs, who, as head of security, is actually your boss. He sips on a beer and watches Drake shake his newly lifted butt. "It was his idea. He said it's too dangerous right now, to invite any ladies to a party, with the allegations and everything. Especially after those pictures got leaked, of him at that island. You know the one."

Yeah, you know the one. On the day those pics got out, Drake downed 6 cans of Onda, sparkling tequila, passion fruit flavor. You've never seen him this drunk. Of course, he didn't do anything on those pictures, but just him standing there, in front of that weird ass gold domed house, was enough.

"Yeah, but couldn't he invite some bitches in their mid 20s, or early 30s? Those are hot too, y'know?"

"What can I tell you man, that nigga is calling the shots." Chubbs nods to Drake shaking his BBL butt across the dance floor, as usual doing one of the weirdest dances you have ever witnessed. The club he rented out is very upper class, and you catch yourself thinking that this is probably the only party in the history of this joint, without any females in attendance. Fuck, even the staff is all dudes.