Couldn't think about what to write politically today, so I thought I might as well start my autobiography instead of waiting until the last minute... such as on my death bed. It will be embellished somewhat to actually make it interesting.

I was born June 4th, 1979, in Long Beach, California. I can't choose where I'm born. I was a fat baby, and I liked where I was in the womb. Poor mama.

My father decided to name me after him just to make things confusing, so I was christened Francis Joseph Wan Valdez Gerhard Musashi Fleming III. My parents just called me Frankie. Carter was president then, and everyone was sad except for me, being too young to know what "double-digit inflation" meant.

After I was brought home, my one other sibling, Joe foo', who is about 18 months older, devised a number of fiendish plots to do away with. That's just what older brothers do. None of his plans were successful though, and eventually he grew to tolerate me.

We had a nice house with a white picket fence in LBC. I used to hand out with Snoop Dog's younger brother, Stevie. I heard some of the new "music" being worked on, and, being young and naive and unaware of gang violence, I remarked, "What a bunch of crap."

They liked that term, and kept saying, "Play some more of that crap!" Eventually is broke down to people asking, "I want to hear some of that 'rap!" (word shortening was the style of the time). Eventually even the apostrophe disappeared into the annals of history, and it all became know just as "rap".

My dad worked in South Central L.A. repossessing cars. Being just a little toddler, my dad thought if I went to people and did a cute little dance, the people would be distracted enough for him to get the car. I asked why couldn’t Joe foo' do it, and my dad told me very frankly, "Because I like Joe." My dad promised that after he drove off with the car, he'd eventually come back and get me. That was good, because being in a scary neighborhood at night was a lot for a two-year-old. My dad always kept his promise to come get me, though sometimes he'd stop to eat first.

I thought I was all anyone could ever want, but apparently my parents weren't satisfied with me and my mother gave birth to another child, my Silly Sister Sarah. This put my mom in the hospital, which inconvenienced everyone as my mom wasn't home to cook and clean and we had to take time out of our day to go visit her and the shriveled little thing that was my sister. Sarah has yet to apologize for causing so much trouble.

Both Joe and I didn't like the new sister, and we'd plan to trap her and then ship her to Vietnam. The trapping was successful, but we didn't have enough postage, so we had to keep her.

Well into my third year of life, I got fed up with California and threw a huge tantrum yelling, "I hate California. People are weird here. And it's hot."

To shut me up, we all flew north and north until we were out of the country and in Canada. We then went even further north until we were in America once again and in our new home, Anchorage, Alaska.

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Yvonne's Ashes
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