Love on the Oregon Trail A comedy article
by scotttaylor 2,872 9 06/26/2004 09:59 PM 2767 views
It was time to play...
For children who attended public schools in the early nineties, The Oregon Trail was a staple of computer labs. It had been years since I had last seen the game, but its exploratory spirit and simulated real-life adventure had never left me. Sequoia Jr. High, where I attended school in Washington, had copies installed everywhere. Named after either a savage Indian or a peaceful Native American -- I can't remember which -- Sequoia was where I was first exposed to the ideals presented on the trail.
I never mastered the game; the trail was always my better. I never could quite make it to Oregon. In real life, Oregon is not a desirable place. Oregon today is a hippied-out wasteland, its only redeeming feature being its lack of sales tax. By law you aren't even allowed to pump your gas, and their basketball team is a joke. At one time, however, Oregon was a desirable place to send a wagon. This game harkened back to that past, and playing it brought me back in touch with mine, in more ways than one.
The goal of the game, if you've never played, is simple enough: You and a wagon party must survive the long and tough road of the Oregon Trail. Plan correctly, picking the right amount of supplies, guts, oxen and know-how, and you'll be settled in the new world. If you falter, you and your crew will pay with your very lives. There is little margin for error.
It was time to play again. The game asked me my occupation. I had no idea whether my fake job would have any bearing on my fate. I could choose to be a banker, a blacksmith, a carpenter, a doctor, a farmer, a merchant, a saddlemaker (!), or a teacher.
I take no chances and select farmer. In real life I can grow nothing; on the Oregon Trail I am a god of agriculture, and there is no one present to dispute this and make me click "pansy ass Frostwad" (oddly, not a selection.)
Accompanying me on this path were four of my ex girlfriends. Together on this journey we could find the closure we all were seeking, even if most of them didn't know they were seeking anything from me at all and in real life refused to speak with me or take my calls.
First off was Mary, a girl I dated in high school who I haven't seen in nearly three years. I Frosted with her head and bled her heart dry until it was nothing more than a turnip in the dry ground. She resents me still, even if she won't admit it (actually, I wouldn't know. She won't talk to me, remember?). She wouldn't sleep with me and I didn't pressure her, but weeks after we broke up she banged the first guy who came along, a balding older Frost who she moved in with soon after. Their relationship ended in ruin, three years later than I predicted, but in ruin just the same. For a time we spoke often, but then for some reason she stopped taking my calls. My last contact with her came when our mutual friend Jeff, while drunk, rang her house late one night. A man answered and Jeff claimed to be me, desperate to speak with her. I have yet to clear up this misunderstanding. I hoped the trail would finally give us some peace.
Next came Kellen, a girl who I remain friends with to this day. Kellen gave incredible head. We dated with success for a year until she broke up with me because she is my intellectual better and I bored her. I have no bone to pick with her, as we had proper goodbye sex. She is studying to become a doctor. I hoped she would bring stability to this arduous journey and heal me if I got the measles. I also hoped to be pleased orally like I hadn't been since we were together.
Rebecca was along, too. Rebecca is, sadly, insane. Her mother was recently arrested for murder. She had sex with my good friend in a field behind my dorm, I assume while I slept, which can only have added to their thrill. I do not believe she used protection during this encounter. Having her on the journey increased the chance of a lesbian orgy between my ex girlfriends, of which I could watch. I am unsure if she has ever had gay sex, but with her serious emotional issues I couldn't rule it out. She did, in fact, have a great body, and in real life I wanted to save her, much as I want to save any bat-Shakespeare insane attractive twenty something, even if they're mildly pudgy, which Rebecca in no way was.
Last was Jennifer, a girl I hardly remember. But she was my first, and I'm told there's something special about your first time, even if I don't clearly remember it. Jennifer was a slut who I assume I befriended because I feared I would die a virgin. I was fifteen. We "dated" for a few months and broke up for reasons forgotten by me. She recently had a bastard child and I am unclear if she ever actually graduated high school. From what I remember of her she was emotionally unstable. She did teach me how to kiss, however, and I am thankful for this. She knew what I was doing wrong when I kissed her because by the age of fifteen she'd already had several penises inserted into her private vaginal area, and I assume her mouth and ear as well. I am unsure how I am not diseased.
For the first time ever my worlds would be colliding. Women who knew me in a special way would be conversing. I had to be careful. They could compare anything they wanted, even my penis size and ability as a lover, and if I wasn't careful they might be able to break through the carefully constructed persona I had spent years building up. The trail could strip me naked.
My first choice in the game was selecting the month I was to depart. "If you leave early there won't be much grass for your oxen to eat," the game text read. "You may encounter some very cold weather and late spring snowstorms. But if you leave too late, you may not get to Oregon before winter, which can be very dangerous."
Decisions are hard for me because I don't like to think for myself. With four of my ex girlfriends' lives in my hands, only some of which I wanted to see end in death, I had to decide what the best choice for my own survival would be. Without the game telling me which month was best, and knowing the result of my decision could affect my own physical well being, I covered my eyes and selected a month randomly. I am not equipped with the emotional capacity for important decisions. March was selected. I would blame any ill that came from this assessment on others, creating a circle of distrust that would both simulate my past relations with these women and absolve me of responsibility in the result of their death by typhoid fever.
Next up was picking the supplies for the journey. I was given $400.00 cash money and asked to spend it on various items. I am unsure what the best path to take is, so I max out my money on various supplies, much as I would do in real life, even if in real life I've never actually had $400.00.
I found myself looking around Matt's General Store and wanting items that were not available to me, such as Matt's tie and his mustache. I imagined the artist making the game, laughing at people such as myself who would obviously desire objects they can see but not acquire, such as Matt's forearms and black arm bands. In the time period of this game, with $400.00 I would be able to buy whatever the Frost I wanted. For a historical game that was supposed to teach, this game was pretty Frost-ing fake.
After buying supplies I was on my way across the country with women who each despised me for various reasons. At the beginning of the trip things seemed to be going well. Signs of trouble started early, however, as an ox became sick and twenty pounds of meat became spoiled.
I blamed Jennifer even though I was unsure how we could keep any of our food supplies from rotting without a freezer. On March 11th, 1848 I went hunting and shot seven buffalo, killing each of them with a single bullet. The women were impressed but Kellen still refused to blow me in front of the others. I understood and we carried on to the Big Blue River Crossing, where we faced our first major challenge.
I was given a few options to cross the river. It wasn't very deep, but it was wide. Kellen, the smart one, thought we should caulk the wagon. I didn't know what the word caulk meant with that spelling, but floating the wagon seemed like a good idea. And that's just what we did, despite Mary's whining that we should simply quit and find her a replacement father figure instead. I took this opportunity to tell Mary I cared about her but, at the same time, made gestures towards the other women in the wagon, successfully recreating the degradation of our relationship. She pouted but remained along for the ride, much as she did in high school. I lost respect for her all over again while at the same time continuing to seek her affection.
Mightily, some might say miraculously, I transported the entire wagon train across the famous Big Blue River. Mary was pissed, however, and I became worried she might leave the group. I searched the surrounding area for well-read, older, balding men she may be attracted to. Finding no one she might like better, she stayed with me as we continued the wagon on the trail.
On April 19th, 1848, my friend John met up with us at Ft. Kearney for a visit. That night Rebecca broke her leg Frost-ing him while I slept in a tent nearby. She used a buffalo condom skillfully forged from the numerous buffalo I killed on March 11th, 1848, ten days before what would be my birthday in one hundred and thirty one years. To this day she thinks I am unaware of her betrayal. The trail is not as forgiving as I am, however, and I knew the broken leg was merely a harbinger of her impending doom.
We departed Ft. Kearney in dampened spirits. Kellen had somehow acquired dysentery, which made me happy she hadn't blown me recently. I am unsure if dysentery can be contracted by blowjob, but I was content not to worry about it at all. In the wagon the girls banded together in their mutual distrust of me. Some even wondered aloud why they were there. In control of our collective fates, I told them to watch their mouths. We forged ahead in silence.
Not long after we left, with no warning at all, the game and typhoid took Rebecca from me. My feelings on her passing were mixed. On one hand, she was dead. On the other, her death brought the game one step closer to completion, which meant I was one step closer to watching Real World/Road Rules: Inferno without distraction. We buried her on a simple hill overlooking a lake. We left quickly so as not to see John try to mount her in her grave. I wished her peace, as much as she could have being someone who Frosts men in fields with buffalo-forged condoms.
In the game generated journal I noted the following:
April 23 1848
Rebecca died of typhoid.
Clearly there was no time for reflection. We continued onward, and as we did Kellen's dysentery cleared up, making the possibility of head very real. Rebecca had died, but life went on. One door closes and another possibly for oral sex opens.
For a few weeks things went well. Suddenly, Jennifer got dysentery. I had spent most of the trip ignoring her because her emotional instability didn't act out in an interesting enough way. Rebecca, in contrast, was so insane that her madness would manifest itself in fits of rage, screaming and perpetual self-destruction: Jennifer just got knocked up and wept a lot. The trip was not working out. I had resolved nothing with Mary. She hadn't gotten sick once, or even wandered away. She didn't need me at all. The lack of her needing me slowly began driving me mad.
Low on supplies, I snuck to the river to hunt. My rage was out of control. I was at a breaking point. Fortunately, I had a gun. Well, more accurately, I had a target (presumably the gun was close to me, just off-screen, hidden in the brush.) I sat, lying in wait. What followed was a slaughter the likes of the frontier had never seen before. I shot numerous buffalo, elk, squirrels, birds and deer. They would run into my view, foolishly stepping over the carcasses of their animal brethren, before they were taken down by my unforgiving killing instrument in a hail of gunfire. My wrath was unleashed on the pixilated animals that dared to cross my path. All they wanted to do was live. All I allowed them to do was die. Still they came, even as their numbers fell, bouncing their way to the river and then zagging suddenly in the exact opposite direction. They were coy, clever. My gun and its endless supply of cheap bullets were cleverer.
I had collected 2363 pounds of meat. A successful kill, no doubt. I had most likely wiped out several breeds of each species I took down, and I wasn't sorry about a goddamned one of them. Unfortunately, with only my lazy ex girlfriends there to help me carry the fruits of my slaughter back to the wagon, I was able to salvage a mere 200 pounds. Numerous dead animal corpses were left behind to rot. The animals died not so that we as a group could eat another day, but so I could feel satisfied. A window popped up informing me my rampage was over.
The wagon continued the next morning. Jennifer was still ill, and Mary still stole glances at balding bastards that passed in the opposite direction. The more pretentious, the longer she stared. She wanted someone who was hip, not someone who wrote stories about fictional characters taking a journey in a dated video game. I knew this. Still, I hoped she would see me for what I am: a hip guy that no one else on earth thinks is hip. On the trail I was myself. I didn't hide, didn't put on any sort of persona. But was that what anyone wanted?
The action screen wasn't much to look at. Our little wagon moved forward, camped, moved, camped, etc. Clearly the simple graphics and boring interface were meant to simulate the monotony of the actual journey. It worked. I was bored to tears, as the Scotts of the past would have been, especially with Jennifer bitching about wanting to be cured of dysentery and return to her fatherless child. I wasn't even sure why I brought her along. She was my first, alright. My first headache.
Things were slowing down, so I decided to increase the possibility for disaster. Under the pace settings, I changed the selected option from steady to grueling. Under rations, I switched from filling to bare bones meals, despite my random shooting of any soon to be endangered species that crossed our paths. We had plenty of food. I made the women look at it before I shoved an empty plate under their noses.
To simulate our faster pace, the annoying music quickened. We rapidly advanced to the South Pass, where I once again had to make a decision. Would I take the slower, more responsible route to Fort Bridger, or the short-cut to Green River Crossing. As a proud graduate of Green River Community College, located near the famous resting place of several Seattle area prostitutes killed by the Green River Killer, I leaned towards the river. The girls suggested it was more dangerous. I pointed out that it was a short-cut. What could go wrong?
While Jennifer and Kellen slept, Mary called me over to the fire. She was over me, she said. I knew. I was over her as well. Still, there's something about your first love, and Mary was certainly that. I couldn't shake her, not totally, even though she had long ago forgotten me and moved on with her life. She agreed that I would always hold a special place in her heart. Hearing her say that meant the world to me. She asked for some food. I told her no and went back to my tent. I slept soundly, happy that at least one of my harem was finally taking this journey seriously. In my sleep I dreamt that Rebecca was Frost-ing all of my best friends in the brush near our settlement, but when I woke up to investigate I discovered it was merely the wind.
The Green River Crossing wasn't the cake walk that the first river was. 402 feet wide and 40.3 feet deep in the middle, we certainly weren't going to ford the river. Mary had broken her leg, and tension was at its peak. We decided that we would caulk it once again.
Before we set off I took a look at the women that remained and thought of what this journey had taught me. Mary was beaming, a pixie of love and joy, and I was happy I'd finally let her go, even as I wished she was still a part of my life. Kellen wouldn't blow me but let me massage her whenever she was stressed, and just when things got interesting she'd kick me out and insist she had to go to sleep. Nothing had changed between us, but that was OK, not every relationship had to be filled with drama. And Jennifer, well, Jennifer was still dirty and her ass was too large for her body.
The wagon didn't hold long.
We survived each other but we could not survive the elements. The game offered these kind words upon our passing: "Everyone in your party has died. Many wagons fail to make it all the way to Oregon. Do you want to write your epitaph?"
I did. Few people get to decide how they are remembered, and I would seize this chance to be one of them. My ghost dictated the following to a scared young boy passing by:
It wouldn't let me complete my message because my wisdom contained too many characters, but I hoped that whoever took the time to read it would get the point.
The game was over and my time with the girls was done. I missed them all in various ways, and it made me realize I don't regret as much as I thought I did when it came to the opposite sex (well, maybe that crazy bitch I dated last summer and the girl in college who told me she likes to drive in the middle of the road at night because it gives her more room to swerve.) They were all dear to me in different ways, and I had taken something from all of them. And since I ended up killing them on the route to Oregon, I now knew I had affected them, too.
Maybe I'll play again someday. If I ever do make it, I hope it's with someone special. And what happens when we get to Oregon?
I don't know. Like I said, I've never beaten the game.
Yeah I must have played Oregon Trail Beta 1.573 or something because that version looks so much better.You were spoiled with the rich 8-bit graphics and epic encounters.
And if someone does find a place to download provide a link please ^^
very awesome story, clickie for you man. that makes me wanna play. i have the oregan trail, but its the crappy version with the 1 bit graphics. i looked on that website but i couldnt find oregon trail. also if its even there is it the version that the dude played with the nice graphics?
btw, has anyone played Oregan Trail II? Its got fat graphics, im gonna install it right now
I did the same, I brought people that I hated and that hated me and purposly never fed them so they would die. I once made it all the way to Sacremento (in Oregon Trail II) but with only my 3 year old son who had two broken legs (how a 3 year old breaks legs I don't know...). I once made a game and named the characters Muhammed, Jesus, Allah, and Buddah; only Jesus survived, coincidence? I think not.
I'm too old to have had computers in school--plus I went to a Shakespearety Catholic school that had no money and our textbooks were over 10 years old, so they wouldn't have had computers even if they were invented yet.
I enjoyed the story much.
Now, I'm going to go download the game and play it. I think I'll bring along some ex-boyfriends/husbands and see what happens...
I was in high school in the mid 70's, and I played Oregon Trail on the "teletype"
I also talked to boys as far as 60 miles away on this profound invention.
The 'computer' took up an entire study room in the library, and the 'modem' (I think) was this unit the size of a school desk with a portal to put the dial phone into. YES, Dial Phone. It had these 2 holes with some sort of newfangled soft rubber-plastic where you pushed the phone into after you dailed a 35 digit number.
i have been going to oregon of late. i dont remember why anymore.
May 28, 1848
An ox is sick. Its Babe, and no, she's not Frost-ing blue, alright?
Jorge has a fever. Celinda Hines keeps calling him "George." I hate that bitch. "Chimney Rock by moonlight is awfully sublime!" Whatever.
May 31, 1848
We have reached Chimney Rock. Whoop-de-do. Celinda didn't know what she was talking about with all that sublime bullShakespeare. It's a tall Frost-ing rock. Thank god we aren't staying overnight.
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