Oregon in the Time of Cholera

My grandfather used to love telling me that kids today have it too easy.  That they couldn’t cut it back in his day.  Oh really, Old Timer?  To prove his old ass wrong, I’ve decided to go back in time and do this Oregon Trail style.

When This Wagon Hits 88 mph...
When This Wagon Hits 88 mph…

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Duh.
Duh.

April 1, ’48: That’s eighteen forty-eight.  Old school.  Time to hitch this wagon.  And what is the first name of the wagon leader?  Right, like I’m gonna let my wife drive. Please.

Butcher, first name, Earl.  Booya!!

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Rollin' Deep Like Ants at a Picnic
Rollin’ Deep Like Ants at a Picnic

April 1, ’48: All right, getting the crew together.  Here’s who’s coming with:

1)   Earl Butch: Alpha Dawg, bitches!!!!

2)   Ms. Butcher: That’s the wife.  I can’t leave her behind, or else who’s going to, to use the parlance of that time, mind the young’ns? What young’ns?  These:

3)   Lil Butcher: That’s my oldest daughter. She’s four and weighs 30 pounds.  That means she doesn’t eat much and doesn’t take up any room, so she can come.

4)   Baby Butcher: That’s the youngest.  She’s one and weighs 30 pounds.  She could be a problem if we end up forging a river.

5)   Carmen Electra: Aww shit!!! You didn’t think I was rolling all the way Oregon without some super fine ass sitting shotgun?  Booya!!

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4_1 Matts General StoreTime to stock up.  We’re heading to Matt’s General Store.  It’s kinda like a 7-11 if 7-11 sold livestock and ammo.  Booya!! Lil Butch tries to come in with me.  “No!  Wait in the wagon.”

“But I wanted to get a slurpee!!!”  This is going to be a long-ass trip.

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Make it Rain in the General Store
Make it Rain in the General Store

So, I’m picking up stuff when dude tries to tell me something about oxen.  I’m like, “Bitch, please.  You’re talking to the Butcher!  I’ve been butchin’ since I was three.” And he’s like, “that’ll be $200.00.”  I’m like, “I piss on $200.00.  There, you got change for a million?”

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April 7, ’48: Heading out.  The only nav system I have is me licking my finger and holding it up in the wind.  If Ms. Butcher falls asleep early enough, I might be doing the Electra Slide up in this cut, if you know what I mean.  I’m gonna bang Carmen Electra, if you don’t.

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4_7 Carmen Drowned

April 7, ’48, Later in the day: NOOOOOOOO!!!! Why??!!! Why does God always take the good ones?

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4_9 Ms Butch Broken Leg

This is Why I'm Hot

April 9, ’48: Damn it’s hot out here.  But my health is good.  Wait, now what?  I hear my old lady screaming.   “How in the hell did you break your leg?”  If only Carmen were here…

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April 9, ’48: Lil Butch asks: “Daddy, why are we stopping.”

You Shot 1200 Pounds of Meat...

But Could Only Carry 1199 Pounds Back to the Wagon.  BOOYA!!!
But Could Only Carry 1199 Pounds Back to the Wagon. BOOYA!!!

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April 12, ’48: Shit, another river.  Let’s have a moment of silence for Carmen and the poonanny I never knew.

All right, time to forge this bitch.

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Baby Come Back
Baby Come Back

April 12, ’48 Later: NOOOOOOOO!!!!! Why do they mention the clothes, axle, food and oxen before telling me my daughter died?

I’ve been on the road five days and I’ve drowned two of my passengers in two separate accidents.  My grandfather is giving me the “I told you so” look.  Hey, grandpa, you can kiss my ass… in Oregon.  Booya!!!

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4_20 I COULDNT FIX

April 19, ’48: Man, I can’t fix shit.  I hate – where the hell am I – Missouri?  I hate Missouri.

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May 11, ’48: You know what would suck… if my older daught – I mean my only daughter… I’ll never stop missing you, Baby Butcher… anyway, it would suck if my daughter got bit by a –

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5_11 Lil Butch Snakebite

May 11, ’48: Grrrrr!!!! Damn it, I can’t drive this thing and rear the young’ns too.  But Ms. Butcher is back there nursing this whole broken leg thing to the last drop. I guess I have to do everything around here.

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June 13, ’48: It’s been a while my since my last entry.  I haven’t been feeling my best.  We stopped and traded with some ingines.  I think I may have caught cholera.

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June 21, ’48: Definitely got the cholera.  If I had the internet, I would go onto webmd.com and check it out. But no internet, b/c it’s ’48.  That’s eighteenforty-eight, mind you.  Booya!!!

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No Idea the Date:  Slipping in and out of consciousness.

Wait a tic...
Wait a tic…

Oregon.  It’s even prettier than I imagined.  Wait, is this… something tells me this is my Russel Crowe-Gladiator- Fingerips on the Wheat- Moment.  I’m still in Missouri, aren’t I?

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boo...ya....ugh.
boo…ya….ugh.
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