it has been some time since my last west coast excursion, so i thought it best to again journey to the left to the left (all of your shit in a storage unit to the left) and seek my fame and fortune.....
.........on the oregon trail.
SPECIFICATIONS AND MEMBERS(sounds like a possible title to "this old house" porn, doesnt it?)
the members (huh-huh, theres that word again) of the party this go-round are as follows...
1.
Morgan Hughes - leader, all-around super badass, and most likely to knock-up some super fine pocahontas-looking-honey who knows how to call him "big poppa" in at least two different native languages. most unlikey to die. nice!
2.
Paige Gydosh - second in command or, in star trek speak, "number two" - an accurate nickname due to her fierce hatred of showering more than once a week. aka she smells like poops.
3.
Ian Maute - most likely to use the "in town to fool around" line at almost every fort the wagon will encounter.
4.
Carrie Mazza - most likely to die first, as she is the one person in the wagon who did not attend upper arlington public school. and as we know from years of reading team secret falcon, there is
nothing funny about people who didnt go to hastings middle school.
5.
Sean Ryan - most likely to get really excited about man-made structures. in real life, sean ryan has an uncommon obsession with the lane ave bridge on the campus of the ohio state university. no one knows why. also most likely to be a total fag!
it is officially 1848. we are officially bankers from boston (as bankers have the most money, and this wagon is all about straight cash, homie). we are officially leaving in april.
time to go to matt's general store and stock up on supplies. rumor is, matt is importing most of his supplies from china, and that pisses cory wiseman (who isnt even on the trip) off something fierce. she suggests that we go to a farmers market and pick up some fantastic produce, grab a soy latte, and go listen to some great local live music at comfest. ian shoots her in the face with a harpoon gun.
matt hooks us up fatty with some killer deals, and the wagon is loaded. so is paige. she shouts for all to hear "THIS IS MY JAM", however there is no music playing. paige begins to drool.
ian stops by 7-11 on the way out and picks up a hot dog with chilli and cheese. and a big grab of chips. WHATEVER YOU WANT.
pace - strenuous.
food rations - meager.
away we go. oregon awaits.
from independence it is 102 miles to the kansas river crossing.
on the first day, carrie tells sean that she thinks his white softball cleats are "pretty". sean says that they arent supposed to be pretty, they are supposed to be effective. carrie says "whatever" and sean sulks in the back of the wagon while secretly eating wendys.
we have reached the kansas river crossing, which is 6 feet deep in the middle. i can see no reason not to caulk that bitch and float it right the F across, so this is exactly what we do.
the caulking and floating is accomplished without incident. paige gives me a super sweet high five, and says she is glad she didnt have to get wet. rob wheaton shows up out of nowhere and screams "thats what she said" right before ian shoots him in the face with a harpoon gun. he is becoming really good at this. paige decides to wait till tomorrow to shower.
from the kansas river crossing, it is 83 miles to the big blue river crossing.
sean has a fever. sadly, cowbells will not be invented for 57 years.
one of the oxen is injured. this would cause great concern from the group if it werent just a stupid animal and had a soul. we give serious thought to killing and eating it.
we have reached the big blue river, which is 4.7 feet deep in the middle. you have to figure this is shallow enough to ford, right? all i know is there is zero chance i am hiring some drunken dirty indian to help me cross. sorry squanto, there will be no crying of the wolf to the blue corn moon tonight.
we ford the river...
...and promptly sink. we lose three sets of clothing, 2 wagon tounges (???), 3 wagon wheels, 2 wagon axles, and carrie has drowned. in 4 feet of water. because that happens all the time.
at the funeral, i ask everyone to say something nice about carrie.
paige: "she was always doing things that were good and nice."
sean: "a nice and good friend who was really nice."
ian: "just a super good person who i thought was really, really nice."
morgan: "i heard she went to thomas worthington, which, maybe, isnt as bad as hilliard davidson, i think. maybe it was kilbourne. maybe."
after quickly forgetting karen ever existed, we continue on our journey. from the big blue river, it is 119 miles to fort kearney.
sean is feeling better, though is still somewhat secluded in the back of the wagon. ian says he is probably on his period, and i comment on how funny that joke is because sean is actually a man and therefore his body does not go through the menstrual cycle. ian says that i often ruin jokes when i explain them in that fashion. i continue to laugh.
we reach fort kearney, and ian tells a young co-ed that he is "in town to fool around". she feigns interest, as paige decides against showering. probably a good idea to wait until tomorrow, she says. no use wasting water in this economy.
from fort kearney it is 250 miles to chimney rock.
during the night, thiefs come and steal 20 pounds of food. when asked for a description of the perps, paige says there were two men in their twenties. one was a white guy, and one was, ummm, a little darker. good lord paige, its not racist if you say a black guy robbed you if he actually DID rob you. your liberal white guilt is really getting in the way of this investigation.
paige decides to wait until tomorrow to shower.
wrong trail - lose 5 days.
FIND WILD FRUIT!
one of the oxen is injured. again.
FIND WILD NATURAL ICE!
upon this discovery, i decide its a good time to stop and have a little bit of a party. you know, get some good old fashion R&R for the group. we invite some of our friends, and things get a little out of control.
kathleen shows up with seven layer dip, which is an immediate hit. skidmore arrives and promptly makes out with ian in an abandoned tent from hullabaloo 2003. scott mccurdy stumbles into camp and whispers into my ear that i "should attempt to ford the river known as paige gydosh" as soon as possible. i tell him that paige is my sister so thats gross, and also that he has the eyes of a mass murderer. sam shows up and starts shaking a baby. he knows that it is the only real way to stop a baby from crying.
peter is asleep in the back of the wagon during the ohio state / michigan game by 2pm.
ian thanks "ashley stradtman" for a night he will always remember, and we continue on our way.
we arrive slightly hungover at chimney rock. everyone showers up and we start to feel better. paige takes a nap instead.
from here it is 86 miles to fort laramie. i wonder aloud why no one has died. except that girl from dublin scioto.
wrong trail - lose 3 days.
that night, ian and i decide to trade with some indians. we offer them magical crystal sheets (aluminum foil) in return for 300 pounds of food. they agree. typical!
in celebration, we get freak-nasty with a couple tramps from the wagon next to ours. ian decides he cant part with the foil, so he shoots the indians in the face with a harpoon gun and takes it back. i tell him that the violence, while EXTREMELY hilarious, was completely uncalled for. yet extremely hilarious.
we arrive at fort laramie and are asked to flip to side two of the disc in order to continue. paige hopes that flipping to side two doesnt involve any forced personal hygiene, and sean doesnt want to play softball this year because he doesnt like rushing to the park directly from work. really cuts into his cross-dressing and watching little mermaid time.
from fort laramie, it is 190 miles to independence rock. also, the gound has turned orange.
one of the oxen has died. we all laugh because we think animals are stupid and deserve to be in pain.
paige has a broken arm. probably from all the celebratory fist pumping that she was doing after the oxen died.
bad water, no water, very little water. ian has a fever. uh-oh....
ian has died.
at the funeral, sean and i make it very clear that we wished it was paige who had died instead. she hasnt showered in weeks, she hasnt slept with anyone, and she went to freaking jones. we were under the impression that all girls from jones were mega sluts. even jack nicklaus knows that.
we say a few words, and show a
short video - paige sleeps with sean to keep the trip interesting, and i start to feel better.
paige decides to wait until tomorrow to shower.
our health is poor, the weather is hot, and a thief comes in the middle of the night and steals three sets of clothing. i really dont care about sean and paige at this point. just get me to oregon where the beer flows like wine, and the women instinctively flock like the salmon of capistrano.
we reach independence rock, and from here it is 102 miles to south pass. the good news is the ground has changed back to green. which has to mean something good. wagg says that the only reason the celtics / cavs series is tied up right now is because of the play of rasheed wallace. hard to disagree with him there.
ian shoots him in the face with a harpoon gun from the grave.
we continue onto south pass.
our health continues to be poor, and i mention to sean that i have a feeling that something bad is about to happen. he begins to sing "wooo hooo that tonights gonna be a good good night" and i openly mock him for liking the black eyed peas. it may be 1848, but even the pilgrims (which came to this country around the same point in time) knew that saying "i gotta feeling" is basically the same thing as saying "i have to feeling". and thats not even english.
sean you are a total weenus licker.
paige mentions that she doesnt feel like showering until tomorrow, and promptly gets stricken down with the typhoid. i hate it when that happens!
no grass. very little water. bad water. lose trail.
sean has the measles. FIND WILD FRUIT!
sadly, paige has died. in typical weenus-licker fashion, sean dies the next day. left alone for the first time in my life, i begin to ponder my place in the universe. as i dig the shallow grave that will contain both of my friends remains, a single tear runs down my beautiful child-like face.
what is there left for me in this cruel world that can take away my friends in such swift fashion?
i decide to hunt. if a few dirty stinking indians get in my way, so be it. i'll show you to take our land before we knew it existed or before we knew we wanted it. i'll show you to teach us how to survive in the winter time.
hunting goes worse than anticipated. i come back with six pounds of squirrel meat and zero dead injuns.
i arrive at south pass. i am given the choice of heading to the green river or fort bridger. both sound equally bland, so i decide to hunt.
two rabbits and zero indians later, i decide to consult the locals on where they think the best destination is.
the first lady i run into says "the only way to get a baby to stop crying is to let that baby eat some human milk" - everyone knows thats not true, so i murder her with my bare fists and move on.
as i turn the corner to consult the next person, i see a familiar face. it is my old friend lauren hines. and she is visibly wasted on a delicous boones farm malted alcoholic beverage.
lauren tells me that she and my good friend christian john bergh need a ride to ontario. figuring she probably means oregon, i tell her to grab chris and we can all ride together. chris shows up also obviously drunk, wearing mocasins and tarheel blue mesh shorts. good lord, could you BE ANY UGLIER IN THE MORNING???
we head to the green river, which is 87 miles away.
chris, lauren and i spend the next evening laughing about the time in 2001 when evil andrew took a dump on the hood of that car parked on 10th avenue. seriously, who thinks to do something like that? after a few minutes, we start to realize that this memory wont actually happen for 153 years. we get the wagon up to 88 MPH, produce 1.21 jiggawatts, and feel a whole lot better.
FIND WILD PAPA JOHNS STUFFED CRUST PIZZA! YES!
one of the oxen is injured. no grass for the oxen. very little water. completely out of garlic dipping sauce.
we arrive at the green river, which is 400 feet across and 20 feet deep in the middle. my memory reminds me of the last time i got cocky and floated the wagon across and managed to get karen from grove city killed. wagg says that vince carters play is the only thing that could stop the cavs from reaching the NBA finals. didnt ian kill you with a harpoon gun?
no reason to risk getting someone else killed while trying to save money by floating the wagon across, so i decide instead to float it across.
thankfully, as the wagon sinks to the bottom of the river, wagg dies for good. his death will be welcomed among those of us who survived in "wagon carol seaver". nothing can stop the cavs now.
from here it is 144 miles to soda springs. chris hopes they have tahitian treat. NOT THAT KIND OF SODA, CHRIS.
lauren has dystentery. very little water. inadequate grass. it rains, and begins to smell like worms.
lauren is feeling better. chris is blackout drunk and wants to take a walk to indianola. not going to happen.
a thief comes in the middle of the night and steals 60 pounds of food. they leave a note that says "he is a pilot and i am brutally honest. if people dont like that, they dont have to. i am brutally honest and he is a pilot. we have passion. and if you dont like it, we have passion, and thats your problem."
we pray that vienna from "the bachelor" dies a slow, painful death.
we arrive at soda springs - from here it is 57 miles to fort hall.
chris smiles as he cracks open a tahitian treat. how in the hell...?
a wagon axle has broken. as we are in the process of fixing it, we are stopped by police on horseback and they demand to see proof of citizenship. we assure them that our darkened skin is from the sunlight exposure and not because we are indians, or worse yet, mexicans. as proof, we offer then a glance at our pearly white perfectly straight teeth and our general lack of disease. we assure them that we are from ohio, we voted for william henry harrison, and we also believe being from a different country is a crime. they ride off, we fix the axle, and resume our course.
we arrive at fort hall, and lauren is in rare form. sporting a broken arm, she is showing the locals her special trick of dropping a jolly rancher into a bottle of zima and "killing that bitch before it has a chance to escape". i ask her how exactly a jolly rancher would escape form a bottle of zima, and she kisses me long, deep, and hard. it feels strange. i remark that it reminds me of that scene where lorraine kisses marty in the car before the "enchantment under the sea dance", and lauren reminds me that this is the second back to the future joke i have made in the span of six paragraphs.
i hate her.
from fort hall, it is 182 miles to the snake river crossing, which sounds totally badass and i bet there are tons of dead bodies and people hanging out shoointg BB guns at their neighbors cats. yes!
impassable trail, lose 5 days. another wagon axle breaks and chris is able to fix it because he has a degree in construction management.
FIND WILD GUSHERS AND SQUEEZE-ITS!
a fire breaks out in the middle of the night and destroys berghs awesome shoes, which were semi-covered in vomit from day drinking at four kegs anyway. his huey lewis posters are unharmed.
lauren has typhoid. bitch.
chris finds an old passive aggressive note that ian put under his door thanking him for the invitation to the day drinking at four kegs. oooh, snap.
wrong trail - lose four days.
very little water, no water, the oxen are hungry, lauren has sand in her vagina.
we arrive at the snake river crossing, and the corpse of wagg tells me that antawn jamison is really proving what type of elite scorer he can be this season with all of the defense attention that lebron draws. WHY DONT YOU EVER STAY DEAD?
the river is 1000 feet across and eight feet deep in the middle. no use doing anything crazy. we decide to hire a local indian to help up across.
on our way, the cops on horses show back up and murder the indian for "looking like he was up to no good". consequently, the boat sinks and chris huey lewis posters are ruined.
from the snake river crossing, it is 114 miles to fort boise. fort boise is currently undefeated, has beaten six ranked opponents on the road, and is #18 in the latest BCS standings. you tell me how that is fair.
lauren tells me to quit talking about stupid college football. chris says that she is "menstruating. HARD." we pass a gravesite, and decide to look closer...
"HERE LIES DAVID FRENCH. OR TRAVIS AUSTRALIA. OR RON MEXICO. WHO CAN BE SURE."
that guy sounds like a total fag.
we arrive at fort boise just in time for their biggest conference game of the year again the hellen keller school for the blind and deaf women. oh yeah, THATS why they are ranked #18 in the BCS standings.
from fort boise it is 160 miles to the blue mountains. a sterotypical asian kid reminds me loudly that hoverboards cant go on water unless you have power.
we find an abandoned wagon filled to the brim with midol. lauren is cured.
as we arrive at the blue mountains, the spirit of wagg tells me that UNC got to the championship game of the NIT and thats good because of having extra practice time for all the young kids on the roster. i remind him of ones inability to polish a turd.
from the blue mountains, we have the option of heading the the dalles or fort walla walla. assuming that the dalles is somewhere in central texas, we choose fort walla walla. we also like that it sounds like the kind of fort that may be owned by willy wonka type of personality.
a shady character comes in the middle of the night and draws rainbows and ponies all over the wagon. they leave a note that says "cartoons are my favorite!" and something smells like cotton candy. tenley from "the bachelor" is near. we can feel it.
FIND WILD DAY OLD BREAD FROM JIMMY JOHNS! SADLY, BRANSON SHOWS UP AND THROWS IT IN THE DUMPSTER!
one of the oxen has died. chris has a fever. lauren has the measles. i hope those cops dont show up again and mistake her for a sickly indian.
we arrive at fort walla walla, and decide to take the famed barlow tolld road all the way to our final destination - oregon. chris and lauren celebrate by making the sex all over our wagon. thanks to the shared bodily fluids, they now both have measles.
lauren and chris have died.
left with just the spirit of wagg (who tells me that if ty lawson wants to be the best point guard in the league, he could do it in less than three seasons) for companionship, i finally arrive in oregon.
wagg and i celebrate by stealing menthol cigarettes from my mom, crushing a case of flavor ice, and playing a few games of tecmo super bowl.
zombie ian comes back from the dead and shoots us both in the face with a harpoon gun.
ZOMBIE IAN MAUTE.
OREGON TRAIL CHAMPION.
