The golem constructed himself from discarded bits of puppy dog, stuffed animals, art supplies, and the counter-cultural legacies of the 1960s, 70s, 80s, and 90s, only to find himself bewildered in the maelstrom of terror, injustice, absurdity, and self-serving delusions of the new century. Of course, once confronted with his own delusions, he clung to them tenuously, and later tenaciously. He took a moment to stick one toe in water that he previously had believed was caustic acid. It did burn a little, but he found he could take it. He blinked and opened another book, burrowing further into illusionary pages.
After ingesting copious amounts of psychoactive substances during the '90s and early years of the new century, the golem blazed a tripped-out trail through the eastern philosophy section of a used bookstore, eventually taking a job planting trees and just listening to people. After a traumatic on-the-job experience during a rough stint on the River of College Graduates, he decided that he would no longer be a slave to the capricious whims of complicated and ultimately malignant social forces, and withdrew his job application. He began doodling and filling discarded notebooks with copious amounts of dream imagery, anarchic notes, and cryptic messages to himself and any who can and care to read. Flipping over a pile of useless resumes, he began to write a novel of fantasy, horror, and social protest on the backs of these scraps.
Christmas came, and snow. He stayed inside entirely too much, suddenly banished from his sunny walks among the reeds, rushes, willow trees, dandelions, and garbage by an unrelenting, soulless blizzard brought on by a mixed bag of Lawful Neutral and Chaotic Neutral Frost Giants and their elemental minions. Cursing the capricious whims of this uncaring Neutral Winter, he slowly went stir crazy inside of his hovel, turning for solace to neglected tomes of Dungeons & Dragons.
After consulting the internet oracles and tacking up 'players wanted' signs at a local gaming shop, he suddenly found himself overwhelmed with the task of updating his rusty D&D rule sets to 3.5e, coordinating adventurers, and assembling adventures. Grimly now, he fends off self-imposed deadlines, muttering to himself about the odd curse that he has brought upon himself, and wondering how this detour into the very odd and obsessive world of gaming will affect his half-finished novel, his social skills, and his general world view.