Creative Writing Journal for December 12, 2006
I’ve spent the last several weeks recalling events and people in my life. I remember a russian mafia queen telling me that Buddha had been her roommate in college but he left to find himself. Years later he turned up in a settlement on Mars, reportedly under arrest for public intoxication.
Being centuries old, of course, I have experience many more strange things than simply that. I once knew a supervillain whose dog turned him into the police. We spoke on the topic for hours, sitting in some sad tavern somewhere in the cast openness of medieval Eurasia. God finally grew tired of his whining and smote the traitorous beast.
I found that to be almost as amusing as the time my Uncle Molotov took me to the Incendiary Cow Festival. It was to celebrate an old Soviet Russian tradition of exploding cows to protect from zombies.
