Spoiler alert: You still can’t afford one.

By Jimmy Koehler | VisionaryAim – Late Night Visionary

So… tariffs. President Trump just slapped a 25% import tax on cars, auto parts, and, judging by my wallet, my hopes and dreams. Suddenly, test-driving a Toyota feels like planning a bank heist. You want leather seats? That’ll be two kidneys and a GoFundMe campaign, thank you very much.

I walked into a dealership yesterday and asked, “What can I get for $10,000?” The salesman looked at me like I’d ordered lobster at a hot dog stand. “Sir, that covers the passenger-side mirror of a Kia now.”

Meanwhile, the word ‘TARIFF’ is looming over us like it’s the villain in a Marvel movie. It’s not a policy—it’s a final boss. And every American’s final form is broke and Googling ‘how to fix your own transmission with ramen noodles.’

Let’s not forget, these tariffs are supposed to help “the little guy.” Yeah, I’m sure the guy who just had to pawn his air fryer to fill up his Honda Civic is thrilled. “Finally,” he says, “someone’s protecting American industry by making sure I never buy a Hyundai again!”

We’re entering the era of the *budget flex*. You don’t brag about horsepower anymore. You brag that your car still has four tires and a working radio. Meanwhile, billionaires are importing Bugattis while I’m trying to keep my ‘06 Corolla from falling into emotional ruin.

“Honey, don’t slam the door too hard, it’s emotionally attached to the fender.”

In conclusion: unless this tariff wave comes with a rebate for stress, we’re all just spectators at the world’s slowest demolition derby… starring our finances.

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Catch Jimmy every week in “Late Night Visionary,” where the only inflation we enjoy is the size of our punchlines.