A lot of people wonder, "Just who the fuck is this Wanker Wang guy?"

If you're reading this site, you probably also read lukeford.com. And if so, you've read the musings of Wanker Wang. But still, the question remains, "Who the fuck is this guy?"

So I thought I'd provide a bit of biographical data about this jiz-biz enigma. I give you, the man, the myth, the cyber-legend, Wanker Wang.

Wang comes from humble, Eskimo, beginnings. He was born on Unimak Island, part of the greater Aleutian Islands, near the town of Otter Point. Wang's father, a fisherman and a tribal shaman, would take young Wanker out in his kayak to fish. It was there, tossing about on the Bearing Sea, that young Wang would learn the important lessons in life. Things like: Don't rock the boat, and never let the seat of your pants get wet. Wang spent his childhood chasing penguins, communing with seals, and chewing blubber. He chewed a lot of blubber, which explains why still today there's always a stick of Juicy-Fruit or Dentyne in his mouth.

One of Wang's favorite things to do was to go out with his mother and collect polar bear dung. They would spend many a fun afternoon, scurrying across the barren tundra in search of bear shit. Once back home in their comfy igloo, Wang and Momma Wang would spread out the polar bear shit to dry. Later, it would be used as fuel for their shit-burning kitchen stove. As an interesting side-note, Wang took me one evening to downtown L.A. where there's this quaint, little restaurant that specializes in Eskimo cuisine. Before ordering, Wang insisted on inspecting the kitchen to insure the authenticity of the food. Soon he returned to our table and happily reported that the restaurant was indeed using polar bear shit to fuel the stoves. You see, that's the kind of guy Wang is. He's a man obsessed with details, and a man always making sure the shit is right and true.

Wanker soon grew and left Otter Point to seek his fortune. By this time he had his own, shiny new kayak. As he dipped his seal-skin boat into the icy waters off Otter Point, he waved goodbye to his parents, his friends, the seals and penguins, the polar bears and the otters, and taking paddle in hand, he pointed his trusty craft towards Orange County, California.

For months, Wang paddled on the open sea. Everything he needed for the trip was stowed away on board the tiny boat: blubber, water, a harpoon, and enough bear shit to make little fires in the bow to keep him warm. At night, he would navigate by the stars and chant the magic songs his father, the shaman, had taught him. Here's a song Wang sang for me once. It sort of sounds like it goes to the melody of the Beatles' song, "Michelle." I'll try to get the words--the ones I remember--as close to what Wang sang to me as possible.

"Ooo-gluck. Keem-unchuck. O-tay-O-ma clook A-chut yu-Kay...Oooo-gluck, O-tay."

Well, that's all I can remember. Beautiful, isn't it?

When Wang finally dragged his kayak up onto the beach just North of Newport Island, he was taken back at what he saw. Hundreds and hundreds of people lying all over the beach wearing practically nothing. His harpoon in hand, ready for any danger, Wang pulled his kayak to a high, wooden tower where a man in red pants, cut off high on his legs, sat and watched. The whole scene reminded young Wanker of the yearly gathering of seals and walruses (walrii?) during mating season. Wang noticed that the man on the white, wooden tower seemed to be the leader of all who wallowed on the beach, for whenever he did not like something he saw, he would blow his whistle loudly, and the people would stop whatever it was they were doing that this chief man did not approve of. Wang noticed that the chief's whistle was much like the little horn Wang kept on a leather string around his neck, except Wang's was carved from whale bone, and there were writings carved in it (yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it's called scrimshaw), whereas the man in the red loin-suit had a whistle that was of a bright and shiny metal.

Wang approached the man in the red briefs and spoke respectfully for he knew the man was great and powerful, for he did not even acknowledge Wang, instead he gazed out at the sea, his head moving back and forth, as if watching for the tell-tale geyser from a whale's blow-hole.

"I am Wang of Otter Point. I am of the Umilak Aleuts. I have travelled far. Do I have your permission to hunt here? I will share with you what I kill." Wang thumped his harpoon to his chest in an act of respect towards this great, white chief.

The man looked warily at Wang. "What the fuck did you say, dude?"

END OF PART ONE





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