I’m sorry to say it, but I stopped writing my yeti story. It just got to be too much of a hassle for me. I mean, I’ve already got a job. Who needs two jobs, you know? I realized that I never became an adventure writer because every time I tried, I’d get bored and the whole thing would fizzle out. In case you were wondering, young Creed was going to capture the yeti and put him in an airplane circus and become a millionaire. It made me kind of depressed just thinking about it because I should be a millionaire, but I’ve never been able to find any yetis to capture. I’ve still got time, though, I suppose.
The reason I wanted to write about yetis in the first place is that they fascinate me. They live exactly the life I want to lead. They rarely interact with humans, they live in the forest, and once in a while they pop up in pictures from your camping trip. The only difference is that I don’t want to have hair all over like that. My father was a hairy guy and it didn’t really do him any good. I prefer to be smooth. Other than that, sign me up for life as a yeti. Also, I could make some sweet cash off of selling photos of myself to tabloids. A self-sustaining business like that is the way to go. I’d be like a model, but more dangerous and less cheek-boney.
I thought about being a model when I was younger. I used to look a lot like Twiggy and thought I could make a name for myself as a male Twiggy with a lot of really cool birthmarks. Apparently the market wasn’t ready for me. I got a job as a model for an avant garde theatre and muffin company in New York City and when the ads came out, they were banned instantly because people were getting ill looking at the pictures of muffins strategically placed around my naked body. It was the sixties, man. We thought it was going to turn the muffin industry on its head, but instead it just turned a lot of stomachs. Live and learn. Learn and love. Love and live. Peace.