I hope this letter finds you well. All is not well, on my end. Currently, I am jogging more than ever, as I prepare myself for life without a motor vehicle. I would purchase a Tesla thingy, but inflation has made the cost to breath damn near unaffordable, so I haven’t even checked the price of an electric car.
I’m losing it, man. Just the other day, I when I was at the pump, the local homeless n*gga asked me for money, and I was like, “Shiiiit, I was about to ask you for the same thing.” He looked at me like I was the one doing drugs. It made no sense. I’m at my wits end.
Yesterday, my six year old daughter asked me when she was getting a new toy. I told her that she was out her rabbit ass mind for asking me a question like that during this arduous time. She then asked me what arduous means. I told her I didn’t know, I just sometimes like to use big words to make myself sound smart. She then asked me when could she get another toy. I told her to ask Putin. She then called Putin and apparently cussed his ass out. Before she got off the phone, she yelled, “That’s why your ground troops struggling against Ukraine, witcha b*tch ass!” Then she hung up. “When tf did she become so well versed in geopolitical conflicts,” I asked myself. But anyway, so now Russian forces or the KGB maybe headed our way, I don’t know.
But what I do know is that we couldn’t escape even if we wanted to, because we don’t have any gas money.
Gas, I’m sure you are receiving a lot of letters, emails and telephone calls, pleading that you lower your price. And I get it, you want your shit back in blood. I know the post-pandemic demand for you is at an all time high (after the demand was at an all time low during the pandemic), now that everyone is back outside and the CDC’s new policy is “You know what? Fuck it.”
I get that.
I get that Russia’s invasion of Ukraine pushed the prices even higher in recent weeks, and you can’t help that Putin and the Russian oligarchy seek to restore Russia back to it’s USSR “glory days.” I mean, all of that sounds reasonable as to why your prices are higher than McDonald’s Sprite battery acid levels. But, like, can you just do us a solid? Idk, maybe for once, just act like you are an unlimited resource we can use as a source of energy. What you say? I can’t hear you. You said that’s what we got shit like the sun and wind for?
You know what? Never mind.
Leslie McLemore writes about a lot of different shit for Black With No Chaser. He is also the Takeaway Kang, the greatest baby father to the dopest babymomma, and the father of two beautiful girls, one of which gets on every nerve he has. The other one is sweet…sometimes. So, you know, balance. Sort of.
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