The New Fukawi

I have decided that I am an Indian. Following in the tradition of the southern California woman and her three children who call themselves a tribe, I, on behalf of my three children, am declaring myself the California Rancheria of the New Fukawi tribe. (There are actually four children, but one has disowned me, and he won't want to share in the upcoming gambling windfall.) I have been talking to Big Gambling, Inc., about the construction of my casino. I have made the "traditional" deal for 10% of the profits. I'm going to be one rich redskin.

The New Fukawi are a branch of the original Fukawi. You will remember how they got their name: The first chief, while wandering through the wilds of Michigan, climbed a hill, looked about, and pronounced, "Where (we're) the Fukawi?" and the name survives to this day. We appeared in the iconic TV show F Troop, but as the more politically correct Hekawi tribe.

My Indian roots run deep. My mother once went to a medicine man, and was prescribed "Ojibwa Indian bitters," which she took for, but which had no effect on, her headaches. In addition, on our regular Sunday family drives through the Michigan countryside (when gasoline was affordable), my father, when he espied some rustic housing nestled in the woods, would open the car window, sniff the air, and playfully declare, "Mmm, Indians." How do you suppose he knew? Finally, my high school was on Iroquois Drive, and I went fishing for the first time on Potawatomi Bayou, an arm of Lake Michigan. How much more Indian can you get?

I had considered legitimate businesses, such as electronics or shoe repair, or some other skilled occupation, but when Big Gambling mentioned the possibility of an adjoining hotel and hookers, how could I resist? Look out, ladies, here I come.