Dear Mr. Future President,
My name is Billy and I'm a fourth-grader in Mrs. Johnson's third-grade kindergarten class. My daddy says you are a "clown who couldn't find his ass with an ass-finding machine." He complains every day about "those goddamn gas prices" and says if gas costs too much he can't buy us food anymore.
Mr. Future President, I don't want my daddy to be mad at you anymore. I don't want to not have food to eat. So I know a way to make gas cheap ago. And its called Jesus.
Sincerely,
Little Billy
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