Honey Badger Financial, LLC v. Mikayla Michele Folsom aka Follisom

Let’s cut straight to the chase: a junkyard Jeep dealer—okay, fine, a financial company that buys bad car loans like they’re trading baseball cards—just sued a woman for $15,129.09 because she stopped paying for a 2017 Jeep Patriot that probably smelled like old gym socks and regret. That’s not even the wildest part. The interest rate on this rolling disaster? 16.99%. That’s not a loan—that’s a curse wrapped in paperwork.

Now, let’s talk about who’s involved, because this isn’t some high-stakes Wall Street drama. On one side, we’ve got Honey Badger Financial, LLC. Sounds tough, right? Like a company that doesn’t give a damn, much like the actual honey badger, nature’s most chaotic weasel. But in reality, they’re not clawing through termite mounds in the African savanna—they’re in Oklahoma, buying up defaulted auto loans like they’re bidding on expired eBay listings. Their whole business model is basically: “You messed up? Great. Now we own your debt, and we’re coming for your wallet with interest rates that would make a payday lender blush.”

On the other side of this legal cage match: Mikayla Michele Folsom, who, according to court records, also goes by “Follisom”—a name that sounds like a rejected Harry Potter character or a typo in a Hogwarts yearbook. We don’t know much about Mikayla, but we do know this: on November 6, 2020, she signed a contract to buy a 2017 Jeep Patriot from Seth Wadley Auto Connection. Now, the Patriot—a vehicle that was discontinued in 2017, by the way, because even Jeep gave up on it—was never the Lamborghini of compact SUVs. It was the car you bought when your budget screamed “no,” but your need for four-wheel drive in a snowstorm screamed louder. It was practical. It was… beige. And judging by the fact that it was repossessed, it was probably not even running well.

So what happened? Well, like many car-buying dreams in America, this one started with hope and ended with a repossession notice. Mikayla signed the contract, presumably drove the Jeep for a while—maybe she took it to work, hauled groceries, or finally made that spontaneous trip to the Ouachita Mountains—until one day, she stopped making payments. Why? The filing doesn’t say. Maybe she lost her job. Maybe the transmission blew. Maybe she just looked at her bank account, looked at the Jeep, and said, “Nah, I’d rather have food.” We don’t know. And the court doesn’t care. All that matters is that she defaulted.

And when you default on a car loan in Oklahoma, the dominoes start falling fast. First, the repo man comes. Then, the lender sells the car—probably at auction, likely for way less than it’s worth, especially if it’s a 2017 Jeep Patriot with questionable reliability and a personality disorder. After the sale, they tally up what’s left—the “deficiency balance,” which is legalese for “you still owe us money even though we took the car back.” And in this case, that balance is $9,317.34. That’s not the full loan amount—that’s what’s left after they sold the Jeep and subtracted the proceeds.

But wait—there’s more! Because Honey Badger Financial didn’t just buy the debt. They bought it with interest. And not just any interest. We’re talking 16.99% per year. Let that sink in. If you had a credit card charging that rate, you’d be getting passive-aggressive emails titled “Your account is important to us (but your balance is out of control).” And here’s the kicker: they’re claiming over five thousand dollars in interest—from January 2022 to October 2025. That’s $5,813.41 in pure interest on a debt that started at $9,317.34. That’s like buying a used car and being told, “Great news! You can have it for $9,000… plus another $6,000 in ‘breathing near this loan’ fees.”

Now, why are they in court? Simple: breach of contract. That’s the legal way of saying, “You promised to pay, and you didn’t.” It’s one of the oldest, most straightforward claims in the book. No fraud, no assault, no secret conspiracy—just a broken promise to pay money. But here’s where it gets juicy: Honey Badger Financial isn’t the original lender. They’re the assignee, meaning someone else—probably Seth Wadley Auto Connection or a finance arm—sold the debt to them. This is common in the auto loan world. Dealerships often sell risky loans to third-party companies that specialize in chasing down payments. It’s like passing a hot potato—except the potato is debt, and it only gets hotter the longer it’s held.

And what do they want? $15,129.09. That’s the total demand: $9,317.34 in principal, $5,813.41 in interest (they rounded up in the total), plus attorney fees and court costs. Is that a lot? For a 2017 Jeep Patriot? Absolutely. You can buy a running 2017 Patriot on Facebook Marketplace for around $8,000. You could buy a better used car—like a Camry or a Civic—for that amount. But $15,000? That’s small-house-down-payment territory. That’s “I could’ve gone to Cancun twice” money. And they’re asking for it over a car they already took back and sold. It’s like returning a rental tuxedo late and getting billed for the entire Bridgerton cast’s wardrobe.

Now, let’s talk about our take—because come on, this case is wild, not for its complexity, but for its sheer audacity. The most absurd part? The interest. Charging 16.99% on a used car loan is one thing. But demanding thousands in interest on a debt that stems from a vehicle they already repossessed and sold? That’s like a pizza place suing you for the cost of the oven, the delivery driver’s gas, and the emotional trauma of your uneaten pepperoni because you didn’t tip enough. The car is gone. They got their collateral. And yet, they want more.

We’re also side-eyeing the name “Honey Badger Financial, LLC.” That’s not a name. That’s a vibe. It’s the kind of name you pick when you want to sound tough but don’t actually want to fight anyone—just send letters and file petitions. It’s the corporate equivalent of wearing a leather jacket and quoting Sun Tzu on LinkedIn. And let’s be real: if this company were a person, it would be that guy at the bar who says, “I don’t start fights. I finish them,” while aggressively sipping a cranberry juice.

Do we think Mikayla should’ve paid her loan? Sure. Contracts matter. But do we think it’s fair to demand nearly two-thirds of the original debt in interest after already taking and selling the car? Not really. And do we find it hilarious that this whole drama hinges on a Jeep Patriot—a vehicle so forgettable it was discontinued because even Jeep forgot why it existed? Absolutely.

So where do we stand? We’re rooting for the underdog—Mikayla Folsom, the woman who just wanted a car and got a lawsuit instead. Not because she’s innocent—she defaulted, and that’s on her—but because this feels like corporate overreach dressed up as justice. Honey Badger Financial might not give a damn, but we do. And if this case teaches us anything, it’s this: next time you see a “buy here, pay here” lot with a honey badger mascot on the sign, drive. Just drive.