Write Your Own Christmas Story! PAC.com's first-ever Seasonal Competition!

The following is the exact content of a note left on the car of our (absent, generous) hosts here in Berkeley, California:

“Just in case you hit (or bump) the BMW in front of you know that I have both your VIN and plate numbers to report to police and insurance as a hit and run.”

I’m sure you feel the magic cast by its anonymous author. The paranoia. The self-righteousness. The self-involvement that precludes any rational knowledge of civic behavior, let alone the requirements of the court system. For instance, does he/she really believe that seeing one car near yours at one point in the day means that the owner of that car is responsible for any and everything that might occur to your car even if it takes places minutes or hours or days after they leave….well, you can see where this is going.

But can you see where it came from? Can you write a brief work of fiction and/or psychological analysis to describe the persons and/or situations that led up to the writing of that note? Or what happened after the note was written?

If so, write it up. Send it me at: peteramescarlin@gmail.com. The winner, chosen by pac.com’s editorial board (ahem) will win, well, something. To be negotiated, ranging from a kick in the crotch to (yes) a brand new BMW. Which assertion does not mean you, or anyone, will actually win a BMW. But it’s pretty to think so, isn’t it?

Enter now. The deadline is midnight Dec. 31. 

Holiday Wishes for You!

Drove to California for the holidays, dreams of sunshine and eucalyptus and Cali-tastic high temps in my head, and now we’re here and it’s raining and cold and there’s a broken Radio Flyer wagon just outside the window.

Life is so different in my blog filter. There it’s all endless sex and fancy watches. Gucci handbags and advanced degrees. High-salaried jobs working for Google at your own kitchen table. Last week I was introduced to Olga, my mail-order Russian bride. Now, I’m all for Russian brides, though I think I’d have mine Fed-exed in order to save on the travel wear-and-tear. But Olga? My bride is apparently 57 years old, bulbous, red-faced and muttering angrily about Stalin. As well she should, I guess. Maybe a new handbag and a watch will improve her mood.

Somewhere the sun is shining. Santa’s en route and a younger, less aggrieved Russian bride is in his sack, bearing free samples of Viagra and Cialis, Gucci bags and a Rolex just for all of us. Either that or a sparkly new Radio Flyer.

Happy holidays.