Go ahead. Keep driving your SUV’s. My kids don’t need presents.

NOTE: The Czeck is currently on a sabatical from anger to pursue his lifelong dream to become a Beard of Bees Man. Filling the considerable rancorous void is Comrade in Rage, Chest Malone.

Dear Lady in Front of Me Driving the Hummer:

I just wanted to tell you that you ruined Christmas. This may come as a surprise to you, considering you’ve never committed a crime, or knowingly stolen money from someone. But the fact is, as soon as you started your late model gold colored Hummer this morning (the one with the clever license tag that says 2FINE), you started stealing money from me. And toys from the hands of my children. And food from the mouth of my pregnant girlfriend. And six packs of refreshing Old Milwaukee beer from my fridge. You are stealing from me, taking the things that make me and my family happy and healthy.

You are a gas glutton. Or a glutton of gas. Either way, you are taking more of your fair share of a precious resource all of us use and need. Rich and poor. But you don’t seem to care. You think you are entitled. You think that your needs are more important than mine. Yet, the more my family suffers and goes without, the more I disagree with you.

You see, Ms. Hummer, your vehicle is driving folks like me into the poorhouse. Actually, I already live in a poor house, where I find new and creative ways to stretch a dollar every week. Some weeks are harder than others. And, according to some economists, I will be seeing more hard weeks than easy ones this winter. That’s something that keeps me awake at night. But you don’t have to worry about that, I suppose.

Look behind you. You see what I am driving? A red Nissan Sentra. It’s not brand new like your gold Hummer, or even sort of new. It’s a 1992 model with 180,000 miles on it. Ugly. But I like it. It’s my little friend who gets me to work, and back home in time to collect my step kid from daycare. I use it to pick up generic brand groceries at the discount store on the weekend. It’s only been to the shop once in almost two years. It’s a very durable, dependable car. And it’s better than your fancy Hummer with the 22 inches aluminum alloy wheels.

My Sentra gets 30 miles to the gallon. Yours gets half. Maybe.

Sure, your operating manual says the Hummer gets about 20, but we know that’s not true. Stop kidding yourself.

OK, so you can take your Hummer off the road, and blaze a trail through the wilderness of East Memphis. Please. Stop kidding yourself.

OK, OK. You’re the stereotypical soccer mom who needs the extra space to cart around a neighborhood gang of 10 year-olds. Stop kidding yourself.

Alright. You’re higher up, and you can see the road better. Stop kidd…

Wait. Is that what its all about, Mrs. Hummer? To lord over other drivers in their little Nissan Sentras as you drive alone in your giant SUV along smooth and unobstructed I-240 to work every morning? Is that your defense for driving your gas guzzling SUV? Is it worth spending $80 a week on gas to satisfy this craving? I sure hope it is.

You see, Ms Hummer, your inferiority complex has driven up the price of gasoline to record levels. That might not put a dent in your checkbook, but it certainly does in mine, and in those of people like me. As you gleefully pump 40 gallons in your behemoth for the second time this week, wondering if you’ll have a few bucks left over for a couple of lottery tickets, you probably won’t see the worried looking man standing at the island next to you. He’s pumping gas in his own car. A broken down jalopy with the trim peeling off. He’s not whistling and smiling like you. He’s too mesmerized by the rotating reels on the gas pump, amazed by the oily speed of the dollar dial compared to the torturous lethargy of the gallon dial. He’s thinking that, if he drives slower, he might be able to get by on a quarter tank of gas this week, instead of half. His family needs this car. Perhaps they better get used to walking.

And having a crappy Christmas.

You don’t care. Christmas is only a problem for poor people. Yet you are the one causing the problem. If I could afford to spare one, I’d throw a generic brand egg at you.

I am not a radical. A communist. Or even a Democrat. But isn’t it time we use our social consciousness and start using less gasoline? Don’t you see that your ego is driving up the cost of everyone’s morning commute? That your gluttony is weakening our economy, and making some fanatics in the Middle East rich and jolly? That your self-importance is raising the price of both wants and needs faster than pay raises? Can’t you see that you are making poor people more poor? Can’t you see this?

Why can’t you see this?

Take heart, Ms Hummer. You’re not the only one that’s blindly taking Christmas away from my family. There’s a guy in a Suburban on my left. A woman in an Explorer on my right. And behind me is a kid driving a Cadillac Escalade. I am surrounded by thieves just like you. And all of you are blocking my way from the off-ramp.

Signed, Mr. Sentra


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