I totally thought Kanye West was a self-obsessed hedonist, and I really didn’t care for his disgusting “music.” That is until Kanye released “The Life of Pablo,” where he graciously took the time to shed light on an underappreciated soul: my hard-working gardener.

I mean I had no idea. Pablo never once told me he had any sort of relationship with Kanye. The man is insanely modest. He’s worked many jobs to support his family. It’s amazing that someone with the sheer caliber of star power that Kanye possesses could even find such a low-profile, simple man, let alone gift him an entire concept album.

I just wish Kanye would share the limelight a little bit. I understand that he was the mastermind behind the project, but Pablo still shows up to work everyday like nothing has changed. And Pablo really doesn’t speak English, so I frustratingly can’t congratulate him or ask him when the album will be on Spotify.

This is the crazy part though: looking back through Kanye’s discography, it’s suddenly evident to me that all seven of the albums are a detailed epic based around Pablo’s life! I mean, to name a few obvious parallels, the man was indeed a college dropout, I don’t know what 808s are, but the heartbreak must be reference to Pablo’s tragic divorce, and I can only assume that “Yeezus” is a butchered mispronunciation of Pablo’s middle name, “Jesus.”

So what I thought was an endearing addendum to a dynamic career is actually the pièce de résistance in an unapologetic run of identity theft. Pablo gets no credit for being stripped of his life story as a proxy for genius. I was right; Kanye is an asshole.