The pandemic has been rough. Just not for me. 

I’m simply too well-oiled of a machine for a virus to stop my grind. This is why I’ve asked my landlord to increase my rent by $100 every month until my lease ends in July. Each month, I will use my superb shut-up-and-grind capabilities to find different means of making up the extra rent. By July, I will have acquired thousands of new skills and g-g-g-g-god-like entrepreneurial savvy, the likes of which no Kellogg professor has ever encountered. Most importantly, I will have officially reached my goal of becoming an absolute unit. 

This journey hasn’t been easy, as my family and friends have been majorly hating on my grind. My parents said it was “unnecessary” and that I could “use the money to help pay for my older brother’s chemo treatments.” I don’t drink a glass of milk with two shots of Gatorade Fierce in it every morning so that I can let a couple of oafs from Wisconsin tell me how to grind. Brandon is seven years older than me. He had time to get his money up, but chose to get his funny up instead. My grind stops for no one.

Even though I don’t have their support, I am pretty tight with God. And he totally fucks with me back. Some people just can’t believe in him and I respect that, but I know there’s absolutely no way that I could be such a wise and self-aware star without the assists from Big G. 

I’m good at being my biggest supporter, and I’m excited to see myself come out on top. Some of you reading this probably think I’m an idiot, but think about it this way: If Aubrey “Drake” Graham needed a new in-home nanny for Adonis, who’s he gonna choose? The hater who has never voluntarily put themself through a near-impossible challenge of physical and mental strength or the certified absolute unit who did? I think we both know your answer.