Dear Santa

How are you, my dear fellow? In good heft, I trust? Splendid!

I know you’re rather busy this time of year, so I wanted to get my letter in early. I’ve been an extremely good boy this twelvemonth - No, no! No need to check with Mrs. Paco; just take my word for it, no point in troubling yourself with a background check – let’s see, now, where was I? Oh, yes. In view of my sterling behavior this year, I thought it might not go amiss if I were to put in a somewhat tall order. But it’s for a present that I think you’ll agree is entirely consistent with the idea of peace on earth toward men of good will; or, perhaps, to be completely frank, my request is at least indirectly consistent with that idea, in that it pertains to the obverse side of the coin, to wit, maintaining peace among men who might tend to operate outside the bounds of any reasonable definition of good will. In short, I’m talking about one of these. And if you could throw in a box of Colt long .45’s and some .410 shells, you would be certain of securing my best behavior for the coming year, as well.

As usual, you’ll find a bottle of 20-year-old, single-malt…er… “chocolate milk” in the cupboard. But remember: leave it alone until you get home (I’m reliably informed that the Fairfax cops will be out in force on Christmas Eve).

Ho, ho, ho, old top! Drive carefully, and my best to Mrs. Claus and your diminutive workforce.

Yours faithfully,

Paco