I woke up to the sound of pouring rain. Then it happened!

A bolt of lightning tore through the skies--through my roof--and punched me in the face. It was the most painful punch in the face I have ever felt. It was more painful than the time I was boxing a Russian giant... time for a flashback.

The date was the 164th day of 1486, before many of you were born. In fact, it even precedes my current birthdate. However, as you must already know, a true warrior like myself is reincarnated numerous times. So, on that fateful day, I stood tall, 4' 8" (back then, the average male height was 3' 11"). My name was Homres Raskalnivotor. I was quite handsome and often stared at myself in the mirror.


I had just killed a snow monster and was carrying him home to feed my village of 164. Then it happened!

A Russian giant jumped out from behind a boulder the size of the sun. I was caught by surprise and dropped the snow monster. At the instant, the Russian giant sucker punched me in the face. He then whispered into my ear, as I lay on the ground bleeding to death, "Çäðàâñòâóéòå. Ìíå íóæíî ïîãîâîðèòü ñ Åëåíîé. Çäðàâñòâóéòå. Åëåíó, ïîæàëóéñòà ãîâîðþ äîìà."

Translated into English, those words were "Killed. You will be reborn. Alive. Lightning punch, seek prophecy of äîìà." I will never forget those words, as difficult as that may be, considering they seemed like complete gibberish.

... flashback ends. In a state of agonizing pain, it all became clear to me. The time has come for me to fullfill the prophecy of äîìà.

As I'm sure you learned in school, äîìà was an ancient Russian god. He walked and lived amongst men, but no one mistook him for one, for he had green eyes and legs as long as the Euphrates River. He may have been known for acts of kindness, often producing golden roubles from the shedded hairs of wild blizzard wolves, but he is best known his prophecy.

The prophecy of äîìà reads:
Fly high, into the mighty sky, and smile down, into the eyes of a clown, and land slow, like a child who cannot grow, into the district of angels, where girls wear pearls of solid gold.

And ergo, in two days, I will be living in Los Angeles, a magical and friendly land where there is so much gold that even the clams produce gold and give it for free to the smiling girls and boys who say "Thank you Mr. Clam." Then, the magical, talking, gold-producing clam responds, "Anytime, sirs and madames."

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