Druski: This Viral Comedy Video Got Trump’s Attention, And Almost Got Him Sued!

A lot of people I came up with wound up locked up, killed, or caught in the streets, so I got pulled into illegal stuff too. Then I got robbed with a gun at my head, and that was it: if I got out, I was going all-in on comedy. No more flirting with it.

When I look at the old footage, I’m trying to understand the kid before the career. You seem tuned in to faces, moods, and what somebody is about to say; that kind of awareness often starts as a way to handle something early.

I see a little kid who was free and wanted to be everything. My mom and grandparents let me be open. She’d put the camcorder on so I could make characters and feel like the main character. I had no clue who I’d become, but I was already performing.

Comedy was a tool at home. We weren’t broke—my dad flew for United and my mom worked at the CDC—but we were broken in other ways. My dad had real lessons, but a short temper and physical, old-school reactions that could go too far. My brother and I would flinch when he lifted a hand around other adults. I’d see hard things happen, then try to be funny at dinner and lift the room back up.

My brother was diagnosed with schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. I can’t say comedy fixed me, but maybe it gave me somewhere to put trauma that he never got. It taught me to read danger, sadness, happiness—whatever is sitting in a room—and that helped my career.

That alertness can make somebody perceptive and empathetic, but it isn’t free. You’re reading my expression while answering me, which almost nobody does. Your gift and its cost seem tied together.

Moving forward meant forgiving my father, in my head and face-to-face. A grudge isn’t victory; you carry it and it can rot you out. I can appreciate that he taught me to do things fully, even if his delivery was extreme. It still affects relationships, though. I can be affectionate, then pull away when it gets too close. I didn’t grow up seeing a healthy relationship work. And success makes you ask: does she like Drew, or the version everybody knows?

College was rough. I transferred looking for that real college life, but felt excluded, stopped going to class, stayed in my dorm playing 2K, listening to music, and hiding. The guy known for warmth and jokes was alone, asking what his purpose was. Then I kept watching Steve Harvey, Kevin Hart, Will Ferrell, Chris Farley, Jim Carrey—every hero I felt connected to was a comedian. I’d been the funny kid everywhere, and finally gave it a name: damn, I’m a comedian.

My mom fed that love with movies and sketch shows, and I’d sneak around trying to watch Chappelle with my dad. Steve Harvey’s message about taking the jump stayed with me. When I told my mom I was leaving school for comedy, she cried and hung up. My grandparents thought I’d be back asking for money. I had this huge vision and nobody around me could see it yet.

I worked restaurant jobs, got caught up doing illegal things, and drifted from the goal. After the robbery, I wrote down comedy, touring, hosting—no backup route; make the first plan work. Things got worse first: my car got taken, I had no mattress, and I was on my mom’s floor with my little sister’s blanket. But I turned the house into sets, phone on a trash can, couch flipped over, acting out whatever scene I could build.

The first post was me acting foolish with one-dollar bills. Chancy told me, “Just put it up.” Local people laughed, so I kept creating. I’d tell my mom about ten thousand followers, then a hundred thousand, and she’d ask, fair enough, but did you make money? Small promos eventually paid for groceries, but it took years before it was real. Drake asking me to join “Laugh Now Cry Later” changed how brands saw me. Somebody huge saw what I was building.

Most people like saying they want greatness, but they disappear by day two or three. I want the long editing days, tours while filming a show, movies, social content—all of it. I’m happy, man, but fulfilled? Not yet. Greatness isn’t a bank number or one tour. You build the steps and take the small ones. I’ve turned down quick money that could hurt the bigger image, and rejections taught me to spend on my own work, make it myself, and let them come back wanting it.

My comedy comes from a good-hearted place. I’m not trying to make somebody smaller or act like I have answers to serious stuff. I bring forward the weird little behaviors people recognize so we can laugh. In five years, I want people to see more than the social-media version of me—movies, shows, live comedy, commercials, evolving instead of staying one thing.

To that lonely college kid: believe harder than you ever have, because you’re one of one. Keep showing up when it gets foggy. But have self-awareness too: sit alone, sober, without the phone or noise, and ask what you love and what you’re built to pursue. I’ve got the mega-church comedy show with Mike Epps, a movie with Emma Stone and Chris Pine, and more coming. Thank you for having me, man—this was an honor.