EXPOSING Boosie’s Desperate Pardon Scheme.

Boosie’s $600,000 Pardon Gamble: How a Federal Case Turned Into an Expensive Lesson.

Boosie Badazz, born Torrence Hatch Jr., has never been a stranger to controversy.

But his latest legal mess may be one of the most shocking yet—not because of the charges alone, but because of the massive amount of money he reportedly paid to chase a presidential pardon that never came through.

According to reporting, Boosie paid $600,000 to people he believed could help secure him a pardon.

Instead, the entire situation appears to have turned into a costly disaster involving false promises, political name-dropping, and a trail of controversy that now has him fighting for both freedom and a refund.

The case Boosie was trying to escape

To understand why Boosie was so desperate for help, you have to go back to the charges that put him in this position in the first place.

In May 2023, Boosie was pulled over and arrested on weapons charges, according to the *San Diego Union-Tribune*.

Then in July, after those earlier charges were dropped, federal agents arrested him again as he left the courthouse, this time for additional weapons-related accusations.

A few days later, he was charged federally with two counts of firearm possession. One charge accused him of possessing a weapon as a convicted felon in interstate commerce. The other alleged he knowingly possessed a firearm while using controlled substances.

Boosie publicly insisted the whole thing was bogus. On X, he complained that the prosecutor was coming after him even after a judge had dismissed earlier charges.

He framed the case as unfair and unconstitutional, arguing that he was being targeted because he was a successful Black man with a voice. He also accused the prosecutor of having a personal vendetta and even called him racist.

His frustration ended in a blunt plea: “Tell the president, pardon this bullshit.”

Why a pardon mattered

A presidential pardon can erase certain federal crimes and restore some rights, including voting rights. In short, it can function like a legal reset button.

Boosie clearly hoped that if he could get the right people involved, he might be able to avoid a harsher outcome.

But President Joe Biden never granted the relief he wanted. So Boosie waited for the next administration and hoped the political climate might be more favorable.

That is where the story takes a wild turn.

Enter Trump-era pardon politics

During Donald Trump’s first term, pardons had become part of the administration’s broader political theater.

In 2020, Trump announced that Alice Marie Johnson would serve as the nation’s pardon czar, a role focused on clemency and sentence commutations.

By 2025, Boosie reportedly reached out to Johnson for help, but he did not get a response.

That led him to a firm called JM Burkeman and Associates, founded by political operatives and lobbyists Jacob Wohl and Jack Burkman. Boosie was told the pair had successfully secured multiple pardons for other clients and knew how to work the system.

That sounded promising. In reality, it was something else entirely.

The $600,000 contract

Boosie later agreed to let the firm help him. On September 30, 2025, he signed a contract that included a major financial arrangement: if the firm failed to deliver a pardon by January 31, 2025, he could ask for a partial refund.

Yes, the date itself was one of the first warning signs. The contract reportedly contained typos and errors, and the deadline was apparently supposed to be January 31, 2026, not 2025.

That detail alone raised serious questions. How could a contract signed in September 2025 promise a result by January 2025? It made no sense, and that was only one of several red flags.

Legal experts later pointed out that pardons are unpredictable and can take a long time, so the timeline was unrealistic from the beginning. Still, Boosie kept believing the process was moving forward.

The promises got bigger and bigger

Between September 2025 and January 2026, Jacob and Jack repeatedly assured Boosie and his lawyer that they were working on the pardon. They claimed to have connections to far-right influencer Laura Loomer, and allegedly said they had asked Trump’s executive assistant, Natalie Harp, to personally deliver the application to the president.

They didn’t stop there.

Jacob reportedly told Boosie’s lawyer that other high-profile MAGA figures, including Erica Kirk, House Speaker Mike Johnson, and Representative Nancy Mace, supported the pardon request.

Jack allegedly texted on New Year’s Eve saying Trump already had the pardon in hand. The next day, he claimed it had been signed and that all that remained was for the White House to announce it.

But when Boosie’s lawyer checked an internal database, there was no confirmation. Then a White House aide said they had never even seen a pardon application for Boosie.

At that point, the truth was becoming hard to ignore.

No pardon, no refund

By January 2026, Boosie was sentenced to 10 days of time served and three years of supervised release. In March, he asked for a partial refund from Jacob and Jack.

Instead of returning the money, the pair allegedly asked for more time and claimed that if they refunded him, they would go bankrupt because they owed more than $6 million in debts and fines.

Boosie eventually realized the pardon was not coming. By March 31, 2026, he terminated the contract.

The long trail of controversy around the men he hired

Part of what makes this situation so frustrating is that Jacob Wohl and Jack Burkman had already built reputations for chaos and controversy.

Reports say the two were involved in a 2018 scheme to smear special counsel Robert Mueller with false claims. The following year, they were accused of trying a similar stunt against Pete Buttigieg. Then they reportedly tricked a major outlet into believing the FBI had raided Burkman’s house when no such raid occurred.

Their biggest scandal, however, may have involved voter suppression. Both men were charged in connection with robocalls targeting predominantly minority neighborhoods in an attempt to intimidate voters. They later pleaded guilty to felonious telecommunications fraud and agreed to pay $1.25 million in penalties, while the FCC fined them more than $5 million.

That matters because it means the pair were not exactly unknown operators. Their history was public, documented, and messy.

Boosie takes matters public

By July 2026, Boosie had had enough. He filed legal action and also took the dispute public on X, directly accusing Jacob and Jack of lying about who they had contacted on his behalf. He demanded to know where his money went and said they had falsely claimed to have Trump on speed dial.

The next day, he posted again and called out the names the pair had supposedly used to help sell the pardon fantasy. Laura Loomer quickly denied any involvement, saying she had no idea what Boosie was talking about and had never heard of his case.

In other words: the “connections” were looking more and more like fiction.

The lesson in all of this

Boosie may still be fighting his legal battles, but the pardon scam—or alleged pardon scam—has become its own story. It is a cautionary tale about desperation, bad judgment, and what happens when someone pays for access without doing enough research.

He believed he was buying freedom. Instead, he may have bought one of the most expensive lessons of his life.

And the biggest lesson of all? Name-dropping is not the same as influence.