Who writes the fortunes in cookies?

A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets. Most of Berkeley's restaurants had closed their doors to life's persistent questions, but on University Avenue, a Chinese restaurant called Taiwan still served dinner and Tsing Tao beer. I got green tea ice-cream. My companions ordered fish and water spinach.  The food was great, the bill was reasonable, and the perfect end to the meal was the fortune in my cookie: Work on ideas that are creative and can bring fine results.

That's exactly what I want to do. I wonder who writes these fortunes. They're nicely generic, but every so often, one hits the invisible target