My Son Dialed 1-800-Kars-4-Kids, But They Refused To Give Him A Tesla
You guys are not going to believe this. My dear Frederick is turning 12 next month, so he called 1-800-Kars-4-Kids, and the jagweeds refused to send my pookie a Tesla! Can you believe it? Elon Musk is his hero! I tried to explain this to them, but they kept asking if I wanted to sponsor the education of some child “in need.” That’s nice and all, but what about Freddie’s needs? Did they ever think of that? Clearly not. Now they aren’t dealing with my sweet angel anymore. They’re dealing with me.
I Tried To Be Reasonable
After weeks of imploring, offering bribes, and sending in photos of Fred’s bedroom, which is plastered with Elon Musk posters, I finally gave up. I had reached the end of my rope and decided to extend a compromise. “Forget the Tesla; how about a sensible jet ski?” Again, no dice. These people will not see to reason.
Having been thwarted twice, I instead demanded two Teslas to make up for my troubles. They just asked if I wanted to make a donation for tax purposes. Oh, how helpful! I’ll consider making a donation right away! Not. The joke’s on you, Kars 4 Kids. I haven’t paid taxes in four years.
This Is Discrimination
Look, I could just buy my sun and stars that Tesla without a second thought. I’ve already got three myself. I’m just so tired of my poor baby constantly being ostracized because of his parents’ financial status. Classism is supposed to be taboo, is it not? Aren’t we supposed to treat all children the same, no matter how many zeros are appended to their mothers’ paychecks?
And yet, Kars 4 Kids thinks it’s okay to deprive my little fluffernutter a vehicle made by his role model just because I’m asking for a handout I don’t actually need. How is that supposed to be fair? I refuse to let this lie until Kars 4 Kids finally acquiesces to my demands and sends my snookums the Tesla he deserves. On principle.
I Can’t Do This Alone
I told the ladies in my hot yoga class all about this terrible situation, and they all agree it is an utter travesty. We’re planning a letter-writing campaign, not just to Kars 4 Kids but to the mayor and a few child advocates as well. People get real scared when you threaten them with a child advocate. They think we mama bears don’t know our rights and try to take advantage of that, but you can bet our advocates do, jerk-faces.
I’ve Got One Last “Hail Mary” Up My Sleeve
So, it turned out even the advocates won’t help me. They all kept saying I “seem to have a fundamental misunderstanding of what Kars 4 Kids actually does.” Fine. Whatever. I don’t need their help, but I will not just roll over and die on this one. I have myself a plan, and it’s a corker.
My French bulldog’s dietician recently bought herself a new Aston Martin and has agreed to donate her 1967 Mustang to Kars 4 Kids. When they open the gates and tow the car inside, however, I’ll be waiting in the backseat, ready to spring out and exact my revenge by giving those two-bit rip-off artists a real piece of my mind. They won’t even suspect it. They probably won’t even glance in the window. Nobody ever looks a gift horse in the mouth.