When I was a kid, I would do literally anything to get good grades except study. Cheat off the kid next to me. Steal the answer key. Figure out what was going to be on the test beforehand. Create an entire fucking operation to avoid opening a textbook. My dad used to say: “If you spent half as much time studying as you do scheming, you'd be much better off.” I thought about that quote probably 20 times at an event last week. I met a bunch of young guys who are fucking brilliant. And they are wasting it. Running up V.I.P. clubs and every other scam in the book. Yes, shocking: V.I.P. clubs are a scam. But the crazy part isn't even the scam. It's the amount of intelligence, creativity, and ingenuity required to keep the scam alive. I won't explain the playbook, but some of you are working 10x harder to avoid building a legitimate business than you'd have to work to actually build one. My dad would've loved you guys. Here's the part I don't think this generation understands Silence from the government does not mean permission. I know it feels like the FTC isn't watching. I know enforcement has felt relaxed. And 99% of you have never been around long enough to see what happens when the hammer actually drops. I have. 12 years ago, the playbook was a fucking secret. The guys running the plays hid in the shadows. Today? You're holding public masterminds where people openly discuss shit that sounds like a money-laundering seminar. I wish I was exaggerating. Then you get on Instagram and document the entire fucking thing. Every win. 
Every watch. 
Every car. 
Every table. 
Every trip. 
Every ridiculous purchase. You aren't just running the play anymore. You're documenting it. You're leaving breadcrumbs to every move while simultaneously broadcasting exactly how much money the moves made you. You're building the government's PowerPoint for them. And here's what I've learned after being around this game for a very long time: Almost nobody quits while they're ahead. $100k becomes $1m $1M becomes $10m $10m becomes $100m And instead of saying, “Holy shit, I won,” you convince yourself you're smarter than everyone who eventually got caught. Until you're not. Then the FTC demand arrives. Or the accounts freeze. Or the lawsuit comes. Or, depending on what you've been doing, somebody with three letters on their jacket knocks on your door. And suddenly those few incredible years don't seem so incredible anymore. So take this advice from someone who has made enough mistakes in business to recognize one when he sees it: Run up the bag. Then get the fuck out. Take the money. Take the knowledge. Take the network. Take that insane ability you have to solve problems nobody else can solve. And build something real. Something you don't have to hide. Something you can tell your parents about. Something you can put your actual name on. Something you're genuinely fucking proud of. Because the saddest part isn't watching talented people get caught. It's realizing they were talented enough that they never needed to play the game in the first place. Trust me, my dad was right. We should've just fucking studied.