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My mother, a Mexican immigrant from Mexico, and my father, an African scuddle-fish salesmen, arrived in this country in the early 80's in search of gold, tic-tacs, and the American Dream. Instead, what they found was far more sinister--bad hair-styles, purple-people eaters, and a country with an inflated sense of self-worth. And thus, their mission became clear: have a son whose sole purpose in life is to bring truth to the masses, like Simon from Lord of the Flies except without all the haranguing and epilepsy.

Not to long after this epiphany did my parents commence with the ritual of child conception. I was born December 6th, 1983, to the soothing sounds of Lionel Richie and Teddy Pendergrass. (sp?) I would spend the first five years of my life in isolation, being trained in the ways of Mexicans, scuddle-fishery and the ninja. On my 6th Birthday, my parents sent me on a quest to find our native land of Blaxico, an island said only to appear in the months between Cinco De Mayo and Kwanzaa. It was here that, according to our countries astrology, I would find the secret chest of Cesar Luther King, said to contain the mystic powers of Oratory. I found that chest, and returned home only to find both of my parents had been eaten alive by a large Italian restaurant owner. I was crushed. That day I vowed to defend the poor against the forces of the wicked, to fight for justice with every ounce of my soul, and to never eat at the Olive Garden again.

The next 7 years of my life were spent in a blur of sex, meth, and Shakespearean sonnets. I awoke on August 4th, 1996 in a pool of my own vomit. Apparently I had co-authored a book about sealing envelopes, won the Tour-De-France, and fathered four hairless and illiterate children. I began a short stint in an indie rock band named The Prepositions. But, our demo got played on MTV and we were suddenly "uncool." The band broke up. I spent five years attempting to re-create our sound, which was a mix of Janis Joplin and fingerpaint, but I had no success. It was then that I vowed, which I tend to do a lot, to seek out that Alanis Morisette with her Jagged Little Pills and Lilith Fair Good looks and tell her thank you, thank you India, thank you clarity, thank you disillusionment. I never found Alanis, that instrospective whore. Nor did I find the ice cream truck driver who stole my virginity, with so much sensitivity and choco taco's.

It was then that I vowed to never vow again.

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