Does Rick Ross Think Tattoos Are a Shirt?

By Lori Trigonis

When a man finds himself on top of a Maybach empire, overseeeing endless records and even possessing a signature grunt, he can get overwhelmed thinking about the larger aspects of life, and end up forgetting the simple steps of normal, civilized life. Rick Ross seems to save a lot of time in his day-to-day activities by simply going topless, and while this might be a problem for anybody else of Ross' stature, he's managed to rock his signature exposed look with a solid air of confidence. This may be as a result of his misconstrued worldly projection of social constraints, perhaps because of a mild case of hyperhydrosis, or what we've decided upon, Rick Ross must simply think his tattoos are a shirt. Let's explore these situations.

"Y'all dont even know. If I don't get that coat I'm not going on stage," Rick Ross violently closes his flip-phone between his thumb and index finger. He's due onstage any moment yet he's sitting in the middle of the rug on the floor wearing nothing but 12 chains and his sunglasses. His assistant tries to offer him other alternatives, but his last-ditch effort of "I can get you any outfit ever worn by Cher?" is met with a solemn stare.

Just before Mr. Ross is about to unleash one of his tiger cubs, an intern bursts into the room, arms outstretched, presenting the beautiful white coat Rick so vehemently requested. Rick Ross gracefully puts on the coat and looks at himself approvingly in the mirror. "This matches my shirt perfectly. It's showtime."

"But Rick," his assistant interrupts, "you aren't wearing a..."

But Rick Ross is already on stage.

Rick Ross is sitting at home refreshing his Twitter homepage when he sees that Weezus is in town, he quickly garbs and jumps into his Land Rover. "LIL WAYNE!" he yells at his GPS as he drives off. A few hours later Ross and Wayne are backstage before his set. Wayne is pulled from the couch and propped up as his clothes are straightened on him. "Perhaps you should lose the shirt, and just run onstage?" his manager consults. Rick Ross assumes the manager is talking to him and before anyone can stop it, he's centerstage baring it all.

Terry Richardson taps his foot, waiting for the rapper to focus on the shoot but he has been in a tug-of-war for the past hour. "Rick, can we just get you in a shirt for a few frames?"

The rapper lowers his shades for a moment. "Listen Terry, Don't nobody pay for a Bugatti to keep it in the garage. I've been steady investing in my ink and the world is its oyster!"

Terry realizes this is going nowhere. "Okay, Rick. Can we at least get you some boxers?"

"I'm having so much fun right now!" a shirtless Rick says to nobody while he smiles.

A waiter comes to Rick, who's sitting poolside at a Miami hotel, and offers him another beverage.

"Yes," Ross says, "another beverage would be great..."

The waiter starts to scurry off.

"...but before you go, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, sir," the waiter says.

"Is it weird if I leave my shirt on to go swimming? I'm not uncomfortable or anything, but I just read this article about skin cancer. So I want to go swimming but I'm going to leave my shirt on I think, just to be safe."

The waiter is at a loss for words. "That's fine sir, whatever you want sir."

Still shirtless Ross gets out of his seat, lies on the ground, and rolls himself into the pool.

A picture from the past surfaces, one with Rick sporting an only halfway inked tummy. No shades, no shirt, no skull tat around the bellybutton—Ross' eyes reveal a rare vulnerability. "At least I've got my beard," he thinks to himself as he mean mugs the camera.

Rick Ross sits in the makeup chair as he's being prepped for a photo shoot that morning.

"Yo can we like, move this along?" Rick mutters at nobody in particular. "I'm just saying lets look at the facts. This is a photo shoot where you're going to take pictures of me. I'm here and ready, and you have a camera, so that means we can start."

"Ok, let's get started then. Which shirt would you like to wear?" the photographer politely asks.

"This one, bitch," Ross asserts as he points to his bare stomach. "Take my picture."

"Like, I want to get dressed, but all my shirts are so far away, on the other side of the closet. UUGH"

The doorbell of Rick's south Florida home rings off and he immediately hops on his segway to rush to the door, opening it to find Rockie Fresh on his stoop, "What a surprise. I haven't even gotten dressed yet!" Rick exclaims.

A look of confusion spreads over Rockie's face, "Surprise? Rick, you just told me to come by."

Rick ignores this comment completely. "Let's get an Insta together!" he insists.

Rockie complies. "Aight. But you gotta stop putting your arm around me when you ain't got no shirt on though, bruh."

"Okay, fair," Rick agrees as he casually folds his hands at his waist.

When Rick Ross posted this photo on his Instagram he captioned it "Pissing Diamonds" and we believe him. With an expression somewhere between intense pain and proud satisfaction, this is exactly what we would guess pissing diamonds would look like. And when you're busy pissing diamonds there are so many other things you want to spend your money on besides shirts, especially if you've spent so much effort in decorating the body beneath it all.

As Rick conveniently censors himself with a bottle of Ciroc and a plastic cup, French Montana takes a serious tone. "Rick, I thought we were going to do Matching-Shirts-at-the-Club Night tonight? No? I swear ta God that was tonight."

"Yea, what happened? I thought you were gonna wear this one," Rick answers with a confused look on his face.

"This one? This one what?" The look on French's face is even more confused as he looks up and down the nude top half of Rick's round body.

"This shirt," Ross calmly explains. "I thought you were gonna wear this shirt."

French breaks out in laughter. "Maaan, I like you Ross. You crazy, but I like you."

Ross laughs too, but he doesn't get what's funny.