Since my good friend Bubba, and his cousin Mongo, are in the process of starting a new world religion like God told Bubba to do (and since yours truely will most likely be involved in it up to my 18 inch neck), I've realized that I should be open and honest about my life, so here goes.  I was born on the French Polynesian Island of Moorea to a happy island couple.  My father was the grandson of a Scottish/Irish pirate who was shipwrecked there in the late 1800's.  My mother was a granddaughter of the last hereditary Prince of what is now French Polynesia.  (At least that's what I choose to believe.)  But my life in paradise was soon to come to an end. 

Stolen from my island home by a group of drunken sailors, I was smuggled to the United Stated in one of their sea bags.  After sobering up and realizing that a small child was a lot of trouble, they traded me to a Scot/Irish/Native American farm family for moon shine and home brew.  This poor farmer and his wife raised me as one of their own.  I ate the same foods, worked in the fields and went to the same school as those I thought of as my brothers and sister.  That's probably why I look like them instead of my Polynesian Ancestors.  Having a Scot/Irish pirate for an ancestor probably has something to do with it also. 

Now some of you may wonder how I know of my previous life in the islands, it's simple really.  When I was a teenager I read Michner's books about the South Pacific and watched the old television series, Adventures in Paradise.  That's when it hit me.  After seeing all of that blue water, white sand, and beautiful island girls in sarongs, I knew that I belonged there, not on a farm in the middle of nowhere.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the garden island of Moorea was the place I would have been born (if I had a choice). 

By the time I turned 18 I had come to the conclusion that farm work was hard, dirty, and didn't pay very well.  So as soon as I could I joined the U.S. Army to seek fame, fortune, and adventure.  But at the time the Army wasn't handing out fame and fortune, but they did have lots of adventure for those of us who didn't have the money or political connections to dodge it.  (Like George Bush, Dick Cheney, etc.)  Uncle Sam needed combat soldiers, so I soon found my self in the jungles of Vietnam.  What the jungles lacked in the fame and fortune department, they made up for in adventure.  After a couple of adventerous years I decided to seek safer employment back in the states.  

But since the war my life has been to serious, for to many years.  It's given me high blood pressure, hypertension, ulcers, etc.  So you'd think I'd retire to some tropical island just to relax and enjoy life wouldn't you?  But being the dumbass that I am, I moved to a small town in a land locked agrarian state, far from the tropics.  But you have to realize that I'm a guy who had a way out of serving in Vietnam, but was either to proud (or dumb) to take it.  

Now folks here like to talk about the natural beauty of the state, and there are some real natural beauties here.  But I'm to old, to ugly, and to married to chase 'em.  And this state is so backward that there are only 2 Hooters Restaurants in the whole damn state.  No casinos either.  Now I ask you, where's a fun lovin' guy like me supposed to go to have a good time?  But we do have God only knows how many multi-million dollar churches here.  Can you say BORING?  But spending several years here has had one positive effect on me.  I no longer fear death, as long as it's not a long, slow death from boredom. 

But I've decided that from this point forward, if it's not fun, I'm not going to do it.  I'm going to enjoy the years I have left, even if it pisses off the Pope.  I'm going to fill the last part of my life with fun and adventure.  Remember, life is a journey, and it's the journey that's important.  We all end up at the same place at the end, so enjoy the ride.      

P.S.  If you know of a family in Polynesia that would like to claim me, please give them my email address.