Blogging the Oregon Trail

Everyone has their own ideas of what's an American classic. For some, it's a pristine garage kept Chevy Thunderbird convertible. For others, it might be a restaurant, an actress, "When a man loves a woman" by Michael Bolton or any number of other things. For me, it's Oregon Trail. That's right, the Apple IIe game made in 1985 is my zenith of Americana. So, after figuring out that the internet - and really I should have known this - had provided me with a way to relive my childhood via Virtual Apple, I decided it would be fun to live blog the game using other bloggers from the blogosphere as my characters. Of course, the blog isn't live to you all, but I wrote it as the game went along a la the blogs reporters write from award shows.


My cohesive family unit is made up of an eclectic group of bloggers and internet users. My wife - they don't tell you in the game who's who so I'm assigning at a whim - is Kristen. The only non-blogger of the group and my lone commenter, I met her in a Vietnamese house of ill repute and we've been fighting and fondling ever since. Then, there are the kids. Goose, the eldest son and habitual dragon chaser, made the suggestion we undertake this adventure. He thinks we're going to California to meet up with all his other stoner friends. He has an affinity for the written word but still can't tie his own shoelaces. His hopes and dreams include being underwhelmed with angst and founding a center for the research of unsalted peanuts and there affect on man. Then we have the twin girls, Debra and AMG. Sure, they have different mothers, but the same father, which in my mind makes them twins. I think I'm right on this one. Debra worked as a crazy bear beer wench at a traditional ale house in New England. She enjoys t-shirts and prefers Glenlivet, but really any Glen will do. AMG on the other hand is much more grounded. A world traveler and consummate scholar, she searches the country sniffing out young boys and girls, much like herself, to participate in nude gay art shows. Her favorite color is lilac and if she had a million dollars, she'd spend it all.

Are these names correct? y

As a farmer from Illonios, I've got to say that I'm feeling at little out of place. 1848 Missouri is just an awful place. Must like the Missouri of today. Between the roach infested taverns, bleary eyed people and the smell of rotting prairie dog, I'm definitely ready to get the hell out of this hole. We're leaving in March because it's the month of my birthday and I'm selfish like that. I better stop at the store before we leave. I'm poor, but luckily Kristen doesn't require much in terms of clothing and both girls are soon to be forced anorexics, making our limited food supply last much longer. Goose simply said he needed a dime bag and nothing else, so that's all he'll get.

Matt, the oafish looking shop keeper, keeps telling me he's giving me a deal but I secretly think he's an asshole. Even for the 1800's these prices are ridiculous. Twenty bucks for a spare tire? What the fuck! Where's the local Walmart? Fuck this mom and pop shit, I'm going corporate. There you go Matt. Take your money you selfish son of bitch. I hope you get eaten by wolves. And I have the feeling prices are only going to get worse.

Now loading the wagon...

In a ridiculous stroke of luck, we've all survived six days without food. There's no way I'd buy food from Matt. Not when mother nature has provided me with the equivalent of a fast restaurant drive thru just outside the wagon. I'm a farmer for the love of God. I think it's time for a foray into hunting, but first let's cross the river. Damn Kansas and its rivers. The ferry operater is giving me his schpeal and in the interest of not killing everyone off at the first stop on this trip, I think I'll give in to his sagely advice.

Ha ha! Deer number one in the bag. I'm a fucking dead-eye with this four pixel gun. My joy isn't without a tinge of sadness however because I misfired on the first buffalo of the season. Not the best omen but I'll try to turn things around. The family can't live on deer alone. Oh yeah! 980 lbs. buffalo on my second attempt. Now that's what I'm talking about. Now if I had only lifted in the off season and could carry more that 100 lbs. of it back. Ah yes, and two squirrels for my little china dolls. I hope they remember to eat the eyes to absorb the life force.

A blizzard at the end of March. Unbelievable. Kristen is very cold, with perky nipples that could cut a polar bear's teeth. One just got me in the eye. I'm going to be blind for a week.

Welcome to the Big Blue river crossing my salty little family. There's not much to see or do, but one of you might die in the river. So take a long look around, because this might your final resting place.

With a sigh of relief, I'm happy to report we all made it. It was a muddy fording of the river but we didn't get stuck. I'd like to think it's because my expert piloting of the wagon. That, and my unsettling closeness with the oxen. It's those cow bells, they get me every time.

Another round of hunting netted me my largest pull yet - close to a thousand pounds of the finest deer and buffalo meat God's great earth has to offer. I was hoping I'd getting stronger and able to carry more meat, but, alas I'm still lugging the flank steaks a hundred pounds at a time. I think Kristen is poisoning me and Goose said that AMG and Debra were lezzing out in the back of the wagon but I don't know what that means. Maybe it's a new disease, like Typhoid. Someone better get Typhoid soon, I'm getting anxious.

Fort Kearney, the place were dreams are made and then forgotten. I once had a dream that I was Amish. But then I remember that, at this time, everyone was Amish, so I forgot about it. So far, so good. Everything has been going smoothly. No one has died or ever suffered an injury. Frankly, I'm a little disappointed in the lack of drama on this trip. I thought things would be explosive but up to this point, not even a sparkler's worth of tragedy. This has to pick up. Either that or I'm going to start causing trouble.

I've just been informed by a local that they're not deer, they're antelope. I always thought antelope were African in origin. Silly me.

Yes! The gold medal for best actor in a supporting role goes to Kristen. She broke her leg while showing me how flexible she was. We'll leave it at that. I guess I'll have to go back to using the oxen to pull the wagon now. Also, we have a new hunting high mark - 1710 lbs. That's right, people. I got two buffalo in one session. I would have gotten a stag too but the game cheats.


Oh, God no! Shit! Just like an actual Apple IIe, the game locked up. I can't do a thing. Reboot! Reboot! Damn it! I lost it all. Alright, I'll pick up the blog when I get back to the second fort (Fort Lamarie). Don't worry, I'm a pro.

Wow, that ended up being a lot harder than I thought it'd be. Between the multiple snake bites, bouts of measles and a ferry breaking in the middle of the river, it took me quite a few times to get back to the fort with the same credentials I had before. But were here now, at the fort of the dancing gay pride Indians on horse, so let's press on.

Don't dig a water hole, a faceless and very hairy lady warned me. I didn't even know that was an option. Speaking of watering holes, my wine glass is looking awfully empty. Time for another Riesling courtesy of our friends down under.

I've finally made it passed Fort Lamarie to the next destination, a big rock, and let me tell you I feel great. Everyone's in good health, we have no money but were used to being poor anyway and Goose has informed me that Debra and AMG have stopped lezzing out and are playing a happy game of Russian roulette. Things are most certainly looking up.

After a successful hunting venture, a wheel broke, which I was able to fix. A simple farmer put the wheel back together. I'm not saying that I'm the second coming of Christ. But I am. For my next miracle I'll turn a buffalo into wine. Oh, and now a tongue too. God, grant mercy on these sinners for they know not what they do. I wonder if there's a code in the game to give carpenters the middle finger as I fly by them in my oxen powered chariot.

We've entered my favorite country. That's right, bear country. And why is bear country my favorite country you may ask? Well, I'll tell you the short version. Back at Independence Rock, an Indian named Jeremy told me that, though I look like a retarded snail, I have the spirit of the great brown bear. Then I riped Jeremy's head off and gnashed out this heart with my teeth. I think he was right.


Not good. The river's 20 ft deep and that's a little much to ford. Is the green river always so offensive? What the fuck do I do here? Wait, I know. Let's break out the caulk gun and see if we can't seal up a thing or too - most notably Debra's mouth, she's driving me nuts with her incessant chatter. And I can't forget about Kristen's flaming vagina but I'll need something with more fortitude than caulk for that one. That thing's already set fire to the wagon twice. While were talking about the family, I thought I might do a little update. AMG has been playing something called guitar hero for the last sixteen days straight while snacking on whole grain barley kernels. The barley seems to be fermenting in her stomach and producing a rich barley wine beer. Unfortunately, this has left AMG in a game engrossed zombie like state. Debra, unsatisfied with the lack of attention, has hit the bottle and is doing flaming body shots off the reserve oxen. She's also tapped AMG and began serving the Indians AMG brand brews. They seem to be enjoying it. We haven't seen Goose in days but the game says he's still alive somewhere, roaming the plains of Colorado and singing karaoke.

Goose came back. Apparently, he was on tour with Phish for a couple weeks. He also brought back a bear cub which he proceeded to immediately roll up, light and smoke. He said it was the best toke of his life. That, and we're at Soda Spring so let's all just relax and take in the majestic beauty of America's heartland. It's so breathtaking here it confirms my suspicion that it was the right decision to steal this land from the natives.

Miles Hendrick told me that taking the short cuts is worth the risk. Personally, I'm inclined to believe him and his ironic name.

Well, hello there Fort Hall. You're not exactly a welcome sight considering you're going to rape the shit out of me on supply prices, but something's better than nothing. The key to this game is anticipation. I'm still maintaining our supplies and hoping they hold up. The end beats the shit out your rig so buying things early, when they're cheap, and keeping them till you cross the finish line is crucial.

The mountain rise before us like the guardians of the west. Goose won't stop yelling, "It's the Andes! It's the Andes!" And I'll tell you what, a couple more days of this and I'm going to ship him to South America. That way he can work as a Sherpa in the real Andes. Something needs to happen on this trip because I'm sick of writing fiction.

Someone call the fire department because I'm on fire. Three bears in one session. I can't say whether that's ever been done before but I'm doubting it. It's like the career home run record in baseball, completely untouchable. Kristen, stir the fire because daddy's bring home the bacon tonight. Bear bacon that is. Not to mention, I fixed another wagon part. This time it was the axle. So, if you're keeping track at home, that makes me 3 for 3 in the fixing shit department. That's right, I'm handy as all hell.

We're at the snake river and all the Indians pointing off into space is really starting to freak me out. I've seen Dances with Wolves so I know they do this on a regular basis but really I just want to hang my laundry on there arms. They'd also make good scarecrows. If they knew in a couple years the Asian were going to put a monopoly on the dry cleaning business, they probably would have been more willing to hold on to my wool underwear while the stiff breeze blew. I've always said, don't trust a man who's skin is browner than the earth and look what happened. My damn Indian guide took three sets of clothing right out from under me just to get me across the river. Just wait till the Alamo. Then we'll see what's up. Wait, that has nothing to do this, moving on.


Finally, someone caught something sweet. Alex, I'll take Kristen has measles for 400, please. *buzz* What is Kristen's gross and bloody sores? Hell yeah, that's right. The monarch of our little family has got a case of the measles. What ever shall we do? Damn Kristen, now a broken arm too. What are we going to do with you? If it's karma, maybe you should do something nice for someone because right now, life is taking a giant dump on your head. By the way, I could put up with the syphilis and herpes but I have to draw the line somewhere.

The winter is not going to be pretty. We have three pairs of clothes between the five of us and I'm not sure how that's working out. I'm trying to wait it out, hunt my ass off, and stay warm in front of Kristen's fire crotch. Goose, Debra, and AMG seemed reluctant to toast there digits at the alter of Kristen's raging STD's, but with a little encouragement from our favorite friend, frost bite, they all came around. If I head out on the trail, someone's going to die.


And like I said, Goose dies of exhaustion or bad water. It's tough to tell. I didn't see the kid do an once of work in his life, yet he dies of exhaustion? It must have been the tiresome bothers of life were too much for him. The man was bringing him down. Of course, humping a cactus for twelve hours can be tiring as well. He's in the Lord's hands now. Rest in great ball of fire, Goose.

Were never going to make it. Our fire has been put out. Kristen is no more. A second bout with the measles was her final demise. She truly was a cesspool of human biodiversity but she lived like an ocean. A breeding ground for some of the prairie's most formidable diseases. The Midwest's version of Paris Hilton, just without the money. The cold has been spreading to our private places for sometime and it won't be long till things get much worse. We're dropping faster than Jews in a concentration camp.

Crap! The twins bit the bullet within a day of each other. It seems they were closer than we thought. AMG succumbed to dysentery and Debra just plain froze to death. That's what happens, I guess, when you only have 3 pairs of clothes in the middle of winter. It's just me, myself and I now. I've wrapped myself in two dress and put my only pair of underwear over my head to protect my ears. Maybe I shouldn't have skipped that last fort.


Wouldn't you know it, two stops before the end and everyone's dead. I was running at the slowest pace I could pick but it appears even that was too fast. No one can escape the icy chill of winter. I was so damn sure I would lead us to the promise land. I apologize to everyone since I failed as your leader. You may promptly vote me off the island now. But you're dead, so you can't vote and so am I, meaning I wouldn't listen to you anyway. You win some and you lose some. The important thing is, you have the time to waste two hours of your day giving play by play of your Oregon Trial adventure. Life is good, isn't it?


Obviously, the characters in this tale are complete fabrications and in no way are representative of the actual bloggers. I've never even met them. I'd also like to take a minute to apologize to all the races and religions I've offended in the aforementioned piece. You know I got love for you.