Well, I guess the best place to start would be in the city of Honolulu on the 20th day of October in the year of  our lord 1992, the 216th year of the Independence of the United States of America and the day of my birth. My mother has always told me that at the moment of my birth, a bright star fell from the sky, as if that heavenly body, waiting and gathering light for an eternity, could, at long last, pour itself into my corporeal form. After passing the usual neonatal bureaucracies: apgar tests, bronzing of the umbilical cord, inspection of my body for any imperfections, the wine bath, etc. I was placed in my mother’s arms. I have always had a preternatural sensitivity for the dark thoughts which come unbidden to men during only their most despairing or bitter hours and so before I had even opened my eyes, when I felt the rough skin of my mothers hands, wet from the exertion of her labors, I felt the terrible irony that mocks anyone who has ever known their mother, if only for this first touch. That when we first came into this world, we were alone, confined within her womb, the first thing we perceived was the inkblack slime of our prison, then, having spent months in contemplative solitude, imagining the sins we must have committed to deserve this sentence, we are wrestled out of that inscrutable envelope and given to a strange, weeping giant who is our mother, who’s face we have never seen. My mother read this all in my face and with an intuition befitting her new title gave me my name, Kekoa, Hawaiian for ‘One who will have a hard time adjusting in High School.’

As you can well imagine, growing up in Honolulu, during the shadow of the fall of the Soviet Union, was a desperate and trying time that only exacerbated the melancholic imbalance of my humors. In school, I would spin the classroom globe and thumb through the atlases wistfully, my eye would fall onto the big, orange, blob labeled, U.S.S.R. and I would think to myself, ‘When will my scholastic geographic learning materials reflect today’s reality, my reality?’ At night, I would awake to find my awesome race car bed sopping with sweat— just sweat, absolutely no other liquid excretions besides sweat— I had broken free from some Delphic fever-dream where I saw myself touching smart boards with both hands, ecstatically utilizing cutting-edge multimedia approaches to learning and I would gnash my teeth together with impotent desire, ‘One day,’ I would murmur to myself, ‘One day, I will carry in the palm of my hand a map so advanced and so detailed that I will be able to count every rose in the gardens of Versailles. Then! Then! As a final act of triumphant disdain over the  first, second, and third dimensions, completely ignore that opportunity that I might obsess over the virtual, insipid gestures of my oversexed peers.’ Of course, the fall of Communism is not just a defining moment in the geographical education of a young man, it also marks an awakening into the world of political economics. I realized at an early age that everything in life could be assigned a value in dollars (or gold) and then judged against anything else in life by this standard. It was for this reason that I became the youngest person ever in the history of the universe to understand the concept of private property and theft. I would steal one coin everyday from my mother’s coin collection and hide them underneath the rubber sheets of my race car bed. This is what is known as diversifying your portfolio against prorated long-time annuity bonds federal tax-deductible vertical integration paradigms and if you want to be rich like me, order my book, “Proactive Inheritance: How to Steal From your Mother And Still Get Into Heaven!” Call toll-free at (425)478-0116 and tell them I sent you! That’s (425)478-0116! Call today!