Last week squatter-musician Azealia Banks made an alarming announcement on her Instagram story: that she had been in Elon Musk’s home for days while waiting for Grimes. She wrote, in ominous courier-on-black:
Literally been sitting at Elon Musks house alone for days waiting for @grimes to show up and start these sessions.
I have no idea when she is coming back.
I’m going to wait one more day then I’m going to go home.
Or, in blackmail:
I am inside the house.
Deliver Grimes in one day or I will finish the Dippin’ Dots.
Gram @AzealiaBanks for time and location.
It’s actually entirely possible that Banks could have spent days wandering the Musk compound which reportedly includes at least five contiguous mansions, without encountering a soul and living on the brink of starvation foraging in one of a hundred kitchen cabinets while America wondered what unscrupulous robot butler buzzed her in the first place. She wove a harrowing tale (in now-deleted Instagram posts and captured by Twitter users and news outlets), in which she was held hostage by sex-crazed masterminds; she shared an enclosure for days with a humanoid mutant caveman capable of god knows what; and she was offered a first-class flight as though she was going to go quietly (“Ha!”). If the screen grabs are authentic, she called him a pussy and a beta male, she mocked people suffering from hair loss, she made fun of the inbred, she shamed the developmentally challenged, she made light of drug addiction: basically, she was Azealia Banks on rocket fuel.