So, being a man who just recently discovered Archive.org, I instantly searched up Oregon Trail and brought it up. Don’t question it.
Anyway, I thought this would be remotely funny, and, realizing that I’m far too lazy to intergrate an OT-themed branch of my upcoming Wild West CYS game, I decided I’d put everything I wrote about my experiences up here just to raise my post count.
June 3rd, 1848:
Dear Manly Diary,
Hello, it’s SentinelPenguin again. I mean, seriously, who else writes in you? You know I don’t like it when you talk to other guys. I’ve shared far too many deeply personal things with you for you to do that anymore. Anyway, I just emptied the entire contents of one of the five new banks in Boston with a tommy gun, because time travelling backward and wiping out entire family trees for the sake of getting antique cash is badass, and totally not ethically questionable. Unfortunately, I accidentally brought back 5 forummers back with me. They were chasing after me and trying to thwart my attempts at time travel. Something about disturbing the stability of the universe or some bullshit.
Or rather, that was Aman’s reason for trying to stop me. We had a very awesome fistfight that knocked us into the time machine, it was spectacular. Every Family Guy Chicken Fight combined couldn’t even compare to the shit that went down when Aman’s mustache grew fists and started countering my many blows. I did really well before we agreed to call it a draw. Really I did. He may have cracked my beak, but I’d like you to know that I bruised the living shit out of the man. He could hardly breathe! Honestly, that’s totally what happened. He’s still wounded, you just can’t see it because he’s wearing a shirt, and there’s no way I could land a punch anywhere near that mustache!
I will say though, that he’s quite good at fighting. I can see why Berka had such considerable trouble in dealing with him. However, I will dispell the myth that’s been spoken lately, he didn’t overwhelm the shit out of me once he started using his non-mustache arms, and I wasn’t forced to retreat in order to get into the time machine. And that’s the honest truth, no matter what Ford or Delta might have to say about the matter.
Oh, yeah, and Delta saw us fighting too. As I boldly tackled Aman off the top of the spike on the Empire State Building, Delta figured it really wasn’t a brawl worth missing, so he was ready to charge at us with a giant fucking Australia knife when we crashed through the glass roof of an indoor waterpark.
BerkaZerka, being a mod, was immediately notified by TacocaT to stop the glorious battle that was taking place. When he asked us why we were fighting, Aman explained, amidst a fury of knife swings and Penguinite fists. We had to take turns explaining, actually, because each of us was frequently punched in the gut and needed a few seconds to recuperate.
Instead of deleting the evidence of our battle, BerkaZerka chased after us arguing with us about how time travel is fucking impossible, occassionally bonking us on the head with his mallet in order to emphasize his point.
As for how Coins got here… Well, Delta and I attacked him on principle (when we totally weren’t fleeing the incredibly OP mustache man,) and he ended up in the machine with us when the mosh pit formed itself again.
And not a few minutes later, we were in the streets of Boston in 1848, duking it out with weapons from other time periods because paradoxes are fucking awesome. An hour’s worth of exposition later, and we had set our differences aside, robbed a bank with the last of our ammo, and headed off on the lam with $1,600.
Turns out that the time machine landed in Oregon but dropped us off here, so we’re going to have to lug our asses all the way across some horrible pioneer thing in order to get back home to CYStia.
We visited Matt’s local General Store when we got to the nearest Wagon dealership so we didn’t have to Frodo it all the way there. It was already June, and if we tried to walk we would fucking die in the winter before we got there. Matt was a creepy old fuck. He had the kind of mustache that stretched all across your face, he was completely bald above the temples, smoked an oversized pipe, and wore striped purple pants that screamed “Child Molester”. All in all, I found it hard to trust the man, but he seemed to run a legitimate business, so we bought some shit.
18 oxen, because we planned on going really fucking fast.
2 tons of pretzels, sun-dried tomatoes, and smoked salmon, because those are the ideal road-trip foods, and this was going to be the mother of all road trips.
20 sets of clothes, because if you’re going to get into fights like we did earlier, your clothes will be torn to shit quite often. Fortunately, Berka only wears hawaiian shirts from time to time, so we needn’t worry about him using them all up as much as someone like Coins, who insisted that we buy only designer waistcoats and stockings.
10 boxes of bullets, in case we need to kick some ass.
3 wagon wheels, 3 axles, and 3 tongues, because losing wheels and not being able to repair them really fucking sucks.
Matt bid us adieu and sent us on our way. I checked a calendar, and apparently we were in the year 1848, and it was the very first day of June as we left. We sped out of there, revving up our oxen and whipping them until we were convinced that our wagon was speeding along at a pace that could be called “grueling”. And we rationed our breakfast of pretzels and salmon very lightly, because it seemed reasonable, and that’s what the Strategy Wiki said we should do. We each took shifts whipping the oxen, and spent the days and nights playing Cards Against Humanity and reading sandwich porn magazines… Well, I was the only one who read sandwhich porn magazines… Really compelling articles in there. That’s what I read them for, of course.
June 5th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
We reached the Kansas River. This really sucks, because it’s just a bit higher than the height that will allow water to cross, so we got out our flex-seal and prepared to spend the day turning the wagon into a boat when Aman used his Jew Clairvoyance magic to tell us that the river would be shallow enough to walk our oxen across.
June 6th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
Aman was right, but Coins got his khakis wet and spent the whole day yelling at us and insisting that he hadn’t pissed himself on the ride over. The argument was so furious that we literally did nothing else for the whole day.
June 9th, 1848:
Dear Maaaanly diary,
We got to the Big Blue river today! Man, I’m excited! It’s so big and blue! I tried foraging, but all I found was this really weird plant. I ate the whole thing, from its leaves to its roots, and now I feel like a butterfly dragon sailing over the high up clouds… Sailing, sailing, like we’re sailing over the big blue river…. Walking through the water… Where’s my ukelele? I feel musucally inspired! Let’s increase the pretzel rations, I’m hungrier than a math class pencil sharpener!
June 13, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
BerkaZerka got lost after trying to go on an adventure. Apparently, he saw something shiny in a cave and went after it. It took us four fucking days to find him at the back of that thing, but now we have the Holy Grail. I guess that’s a good thing.
June 14th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
Aman somehow scraped his knee while we were playing Cards Against Humanity. When we tried to use the Holy Grail to heal it, he threw it into the woods, he says it’s Catholic bullshit and that he doesn’t believe in it. We figured it was no use arguing with him, and we left it there. Maybe someone will start a cult with it some day?
June 16th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
Delta attempted to cook something today. While the Tomato-Salmon-Pretzel casserole was quite exquisite, the preparation did set the wagon on fire. It burned all of our clothes, 162 of our bullet boxes, 2 of our spare axels, and one of our spare tongues. Because of this asshole’s deeds, (And I shudder to use that word, now that we’re in this horrible situation) will have to travel completely naked until the next stop. Really, the only person who doesn’t feel insanely awkward right now is Berka, because he’s used to being nude in the wilderness with other men. Penguins don’t usually wear clothes, after all. Delta was flogged for humiliating us all.
June 19th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
I went out hunting today, mostly to get away from all the naked people and awkward freudian slips. Unfortunately, I didn’t catch anything, because the controls were fucking horrible. Seriously, < and > to turn around, shift to walk, and spacebar to fire!? Have these people seen a QWERTY before? Is this the kind of shit we put up with before we had the luxury of shooters like Catacomb 3D?... Ugh, I shudder at the thought….
June 20th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
I went out hunting again, because I wanted to eat something other than salmon, pretzels, and sun-dried tomatoes. I found that a good strategy is to let the enter-key running do all the work, chasing after the woodland creatures and not firing until you’re sure that you can blast them apart from point blank range. Are buffalo kosher, though? I’m sure Aman knows his shit, he can eat it if he wants to, I guess.
Addendum: Finally! The horror is over, Berka knitted us all pants out of hemp, and is presently working on the shirts, but he ran out of it.
June 26th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
We reached Chimney Rock! It’s a huge landmark on this trail, I’m sure. Only ten more landmarks to go! We talked to other wagon-goers as we went by. Rebbecca Sims was a pessimist I met on the way, and she said some bullshit about wagon-parties running out of food as she went by. I told her that she was a total dumbass, and that if she had actually thought about shit before blindly running off into the wilderness, she would have robbed a fucking bank and bought 2000 pounds of pretzels and shit before she left. She did not take kindly to this advice.
June 27th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
We passed a grave site today. Alas, poor Voland is dead. on his grave was written the words of the great artists from The Offspring, who famously sang, “Hey hey hey! Come out and play!”... Although, really, that is a pretty fucking disturbing thing to say in a graveyard. Really, if you’re just going about in places like that saying, “Come out and play!” you’re either performing a Satanic ritual, or you’re Ash Williams. Naturally, Coins and I realized this and did our damnedest to try and keep Aman from finding out what was written on the grave, so that an army of Evil Dead wouldn’t come after us.
June 28th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
Thank God there’s a JC Penny’s at Fort Laramie! We now have proper, non-hemp-woven clothes!
June 30th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
It’s been two days attempting to trade at JC Penny’s, and nobody’s actually offered us any fucking clothes. Those bastards only want our wagon axles in exchange for things like bullets, or wheels or some shit. We’re leaving, now!
June 33rd, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
I shot a buffalo, but it refused to die, and charged at me instead. I was forced to fight it barehanded, because this damn gun takes forever to reload. The nearby In-*AHEM*Native Americans, (The I word is kind of like the N word nowadays. Don’t say it.) came in to see how I was doing, (And whether or not I wanted to trade,) at the wrong time entirely, and misread the situation. Apparently, painting yourself with the blood of the gigantic, ribcage-crushing monster that you just defended yourself from is disrespectful. I took 100 pounds of meat, and gave the rest to them for free as an apology. Perhaps I should learn more about the culture of others, so I know exactly which animal blood I can and cannot be covered with as an expression of vengeance and dominance.
June 34th July 3rd, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
It has been a looong time on the road, and I mean LONG. After having nothing else to eat but Buffalo, dried tomatoes, pretzels, and salmon, sandwiches probably started looking incredibly sexy to him. Possibly sexier than I ever thought they were. Now, I don’t have any proof, I’m just saying, but maybe Aman has caught “Exhaustion” because he may have “Overenjoyed” my sandwich magazines. Shame on him! Some of those sandwiches have bacon in them! On a related note, I can’t find my Sandwich Porn magazines anywhere.
July 4th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
MOTHERFUCKING DELTA! Can you believe this shit!? CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT!? The reason I couldn’t find my magazines earlier is because he traded my sandwich porn mags to some Indian named Naruyashan who, for some fucking reason, desired “ALL THE PORN!” in exchange for BUBBLE TEA! Fucking shit… He traded a VINTAGE, COLLECTOR’S EDITION 1943 ISSUE OF 'FOXGIRL FUN' MAGAZINE FOR FUCKING BUBBLE TEA! IT WASN’T EVEN GOOD BUBBLE TEA EITHER, IT WAS ELDERBERRY FLAVORED! WHAT THE FUCKING HELL! FIRST HE SETS THE WAGON ON FIRE, AND NOW THIS!? I HOPE HE GETS FUCKING DYSENTERY!
July 5th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
Delta said he had to use the restroom, so we stopped the wagon in order to let him use the bushes. He exploded out of both ends with a furious spray of vomit and diarrhea, but it turns out that it was only cholera, not dysentery. I was sorely dissappointed.
July 8th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
One of the oxen managed to injure themselves after we ran them for 30 days straight. I thought oxen were more durable than that.
July 11th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
We’ve reached Independence Rock. I’m going to try and trade for some clothes, and go for a hunt, and hope that no one except Delta gets dysentery while I’m gone.
July 12th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
I’m back from my hunting trip! I brought lots of prion-free deer meat with me! And buffalo! I love the 1800s, it was a time before prions were invented by the CIA to kill off Africans and Chimpanzees, where you could make delicious venison steak and sausage free of any fear! This will taste glorious with the pretzels! Wait, is deer kosher too? I never asked Aman. I know for a fact that pretzels are, though, because they should be enjoyed by people of all faiths and backgrounds.
July 21st, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
We’ve reached the South Pass. This is truly an accomplishment! Hopefully they have clothes here!
July 22nd, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
They don’t have clothes here. Also, I started talking to people, and it turns out that there’s Mormons here. Where 1800s Mormons go, harems always follow. I wonder if I could get in on that action? Yes, I am mated with a lovely plump Fox Girl named Angela, but anyone who’s read Flan knows that being loyal to your one true love back at home is bullshit if you have to go on a long, hellacious journey affronted by violence and nudity. I'm sure she would understand! Nah, who am I kidding, everyone here is positively filthy. We head off for Green River crossing tomorrow!
July 26, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
We’ve reached the green river crossing! Who’s the stupid fuck that named it that!? It’s clearly blue! I mean, everything around it is either green or brown, but that doesn’t change the fact that IT’S NOT GREEN AT ALL! Did Ford name this river!? Maybe the term “Ford” doesn’t refer to walking across it, it just refers to telling BLATANT LIES about the river. I can’t believe I lied twice about rivers by accident! It’s not my fault! I didn’t know! I’m an honest Penguinite!
July 27th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
Man, Duct tape and Flexi-Seal sure do work wonders on wagons! I’m writing this right after we sailed across! Hah, we didn’t even have any trouble doing it! # @coins didn’t even wet his hemp pants!
Addendum: I just read the wiki and found that that Forts always have clothes for sale. FUCK! I SHOULD HAVE TAKEN A RIGHT AT THE FORK INSTEAD!
August 3, 1848:
This has been a really shitty few days. Not only do we not have enough fucking grass for our oxen, but the water is bad, (presumably filled with Delta’s puke, from the smell of it...) and we broke a wagon wheel. I hope a fort isn’t too far from Soda Springs…
Addendum: I checked my map, and Fort Hall is our next stop! It’s only 57 miles until we have clothes and more wheel supplies! Yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
August 7, 1848:
I was so overjoyed to see the shopkeeper that I literally kissed him when we got there. I did spend the evening in jail for sexual harassment, but, on the bright side, we are now fully clothed men with more wagon wheels than ever before! Also, I shot some bears when I got out, because PETA has not yet been invented and I was hungry. I can’t tell if Aman doesn’t want to eat it because bears aren’t kosher, or because he’s afraid of the mineral deficiencies caused from the overconsumption of meat. Really, the only reason we haven’t got scurvy is because of those crunchy tomatoes and that bubble tea.
Addendum: I mean, I know my sandwich porn is valuable, but how in the name of shit is it not worth TWO tanks of Bubble tea, instead of just this one!? It’s only a third full right now, and I fear for the worst.
August 16th, 1848:
DEAR FUCKING DIARY!
FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCKING SHITFUCK PISS IN AN ASSWIPED COWPAT DAMMIT FUCK ASS SHIT FUCK DAMMIT SHIT!
Addendum: Sorry, I was pretty angry right then… BerkaZerka died… Apparently, penguins aren’t supposed to be in deserts, and they overheat... And to think a nice, cool river was only 50 miles away!
Addendum II: SERIOUSLY!? I might have to murder Coins tonight. Apparently he thought it would be fun to play with magnifying glasses UNDER THE FUCKING DESERT SUN! Once again, we have NO FUCKING CLOTHES, and WE LOST A BUNCH OF WHEEL PARTS!
Addendum III: Here we are, naked and afraid… I hear angry bears outside, apparently the one I shot outside the last fort was really important to them….
August 17th, 1848:
ARGH! GODDAMMIT! WHO KEEPS BREAKING THESE GODDAMN WHEELS!? IT’LL TAKE A WHOLE FUCKING DAY TO REPAIR THIS SHIT! WAAAAAGH!!!!
Addendum: I feel better now. I chucked the empty Bubble Tea tank out of the back of the wagon and stomped on it until it caved in. I feel a sense of impending doom. Delta’s still puking and shitting everywhere, Aman is exhausted, Berka’s fucking dead, the only people who aren’t sick are me and Coins, and Coins is an idiot. I guess I’m the only one who can repair this wheel properly right now.
Addendum II: I’m back! And it didn’t take all fucking day! We’ll be at Snake River Crossing in no time!
August 19th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
We finally got to Snake River, where another wagon party was. We decided that Berka deserved a Viking Funeral. Delta, between puke-shitting sessions, managed to convince them to take Berka onto their newly made wagon-boat and bring him across, while Coins, Aman, and I made fire arrows out of kerosene lamps. The family on board didn’t make it, but Berka got the funeral that he deserved, and that’s what counts. I’m pretty sure that the family was racist anyway, that was a thing during the 1800s, right? Totally justified.
Berka went down burning racists to death in a majestic blue river on the Great American Frontier. If there ever was a funeral worthy of a bird so great, we sure came close.... Shit, maybe we should have robbed and looted the family first… I bet they had at least 4 wagon wheel parts, and a whole lotta clothes.
August 20th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
Today we crossed Snake River. We didn’t have any trouble. I’m telling you, duct tape and flexi-seal work WONDERS on your wagon, and they give it a stylish black coating. I can’t believe people used to live without this shit. We’re ready to start krumpin’ on over to Fort Boise. My only regret is that Berka won’t be there.
August 21st, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
I used to think that oxen were badass little invincible engines of infinite walkitude, so long as they had a place to poop and plenty of grass to make poop out of, but that isn’t the case. It looks like one of them died from having a heat stroke and a heart failure simultaneously. We didn’t need that pussy anyway, I’m sure the oxen are having enough fights already about who gets to eat the few grass patches that are left around here.
August 23rd, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
“HEAVY FOG”.
August 25th, 1848:
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, Happy birthday dear meee, happy fucking birthday to me! (and there’s no caaaaake!)
Addendum: We got to Fort Boise, and we stocked up on clothes and spare parts. I am absolutely determined as fuck to get to Oregon! I feel pumped for some strange reason, and I can’t tell if it’s the testosterone from killing this bear with my bare hands, or my body is getting ready to shut down in the following weeks, but I DON’T CARE! FUCK THE WESTERN UNITED STATES! FUCK THE TERRITORIES, FUCK IT ALL! WE WILL KICK THEIR ASSES AND GET TO OREGON IF IT’S THE LAST FUCKING THING WE DO!... I hope no one sets the wagon on fire, we only have $97.50 left…
August 29th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
We found wild fruit, just like the kind that Berka used to find. *sniff* D,X Except this time it doesn’t make us high, and it can be used to flavor tea. But we don’t have any more tea, so we’ll have to use these as an alternate source of vitamin C, since we ran out of tomatoes. Come to think of it, we also ran out of pretzels and salmon recently. Our coffers are stuffed to the brim with 1811 pounds of bear meat and venison…
August 30th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
When it was Delta’s turn to pilot the wagon, his cholera caused him to puke and fall off, so he broke his arm. It would've taken us an hour to convince Coins not to kill him for the inconvenience this might cause, but it only took Delta 30 minutes to pull out his knife and threaten the shit out of him until he put my hunting rifle down.
September 3rd, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
To those of you who happen to read my diary, (assuming you’re from hundreds of years in the future, you probably won’t, because there is so much juicy shit in this thing I can’t even…) I’m assuming that you’ve never attempted to travel the Oregon Trail before. If I am correct in this assumption, then you’ve probably never heard of the snowy twin peaks called, “The Blue Mountains”. Well, to summarize it for you, I’ve heard (from fellow travelers, and from shitty simulations from the 1980s) that they are the closest earthly equivalent to Hell itself, and very cold. I’m really fucking glad that we have 10 sets of clothing, because THAT’S EXACTLY WHERE WE ARE! Shit. Here’s to surviving, if I die by the time I get to the landmark after this, let everyone know that I said something really righteous and wise just before I did…
Ah, fuck it, I can regenerate. It’s the other three guys that I need to worry about here, and I’m pretty sure Coins doesn’t have it in him to say anything wise and/or righteous period, let alone just before he dies of hypothermia. I’ll keep close watch on Delta and Aman if either of them start dying on me, but I won’t keep my hopes up, as far as awesome quotes go.
September 10th, 1848:
Dear Manly diary,
Huh, I guess that wasn’t so bad. Aside from having two thunderstorms in a row, that is. Maybe I overestimated the mythos surrounding it. Just like I overestimated the odds that Delta would get dysentery and not cholera. We’re at The Dalles now, and it looks awfully pretty. The water looks as rough as shit, though, so if possible, I’ll hire an indian guide to get us across the river, and maybe try trading for some extra wheel parts to get us over the rocks in the road.
Addendum: SCHEISSE! Some fucking help that guy was! We literally lost a ton of food (AND ALL OF OUR SPARE WHEELS!) because he steered us into the shore, so I brained that fucker with an axe, threw him in the fucking river, and steered us all myself. The good news is, however, that we’re in Oregon, and that none of us have acted on our fantasies of murdering Coins while we got there.
Score:
Four people in poor health: Aman is very exhausted, Delta is a sick bastard in more than 3 ways now, Coins is obese, and Berka is fucking dead. - 1200 points.
We only had to use one wagon to get across, it served us well, never breaking beyond repair no matter how much flexi-seal we sprayed, how many times we threw it in a river, dragged it across a river, and ran it through mountains at a gruelling pace.- 50 points.
12 oxen were left alive at the end. Flossy, Bossy, Buttercup, T-Bone, and Whore-Strangle Mcgee fell off the raft when the Indian crashed it, and Jimmy the Ox had a heat stroke and a heart failure (Simultaneously!) on the road. Clearly, Jimmy was a complete and utter failure to all of Oxkind. If a drunken Irishman with mental problems and/or a rich whiny midget with bare feet can walk further than you, and you’re a motherfucking ox, and you die from overworking yourself, then something is wrong with you, clearly. - 48 points
We had five spare wagon parts. Not counting the 4 extra ones that we would have had, if the filthy bastard had not CRASHED OUR GODDAMN RAFT! - 10 points
We still had 10 sets of clothing, all components of which looked incredibly sexy when worn with khakis. - 20 points
We only had 16 bullets left, but who cares? I guarantee that EVERY TIME I fired the rifle (except for the first few times) that I kicked some innocent woodland creature’s ass all the way to Dog Heaven and back. - 0 points.
We had 304 lbs of butchered and cured bear corpses. I have no idea how the idiot managed to lose upwards of 1500 pounds of that just by nudging the riverbank, but apparently that also jostled 5 whole cows off the damn boat. Fuck that guy and his physics-breaking crashes!- 12 points.
We had $97.50 in cash left… Damn, this trip was expensive! But who cares? we’re about to get home, and each one of these dollars will be worth millions in todays money, because it’s an old and out of print collectors’ item! - 19 points
It totals up to 1359 points, which, as Oregon City’s official welcome sign tells me, is not enough to qualify for the Oregon Top Ten, but FUCK the Oregon Top Ten, we braved a thousand miles of brutal desert roads, borderline starvation, and interpersonal conflicts! I think we deserve more frijoles than the pansies named “Stephen Meek”, “Celinda Hines”, “Jiffer Lawson”, and all those other guys, could ever possibly dream of earning! We came, we saw, we nearly died, and we were tortured by the harsh unrealities of the hellacious American Wilds, and it’s totally NOT all my fault, right guys?...
Feb 9th, 2015:
Dear Manly diary,
I’m back to the normal world again! And I learned 3 very valuable lessons from this great adventure! That’s right, parents of the children on CYS! Everyone who somehow finds my diary entries and reads them will find that there are not one, not two, but THREE very important morals to this obscenity-laden story!
1: Don’t abuse time travel for stupid things like personal gain! You never know what kind of terrible fates are in store for you!
2: BerkaZerka is pretty much immortal, just like Aman. He was in actually in a deep meditative state at the time, and he was a little bit pissed off by the fact that nobody heard him screaming on the burning wagon.
3: Mod hammers really, really hurt.
There you go, kids! Have fun!
