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| The Donner Party Tragedy |
-----Mary Graves to Levi Fosdick (her sister Sarah Fosdick's father-in-law), 1847
MAY, 1846
I was a young sprite, up for any challenge. Spent most of my days in the saloons, cheating at cards and forcibly gun-fighting the drooling, blind man living in my shed. I thought my luck had changed when I met George Donner; that I would finally be someone important; that I could hang up my six-shooters and stuff my cheatin’ deck into a deep, dank hole. George was a farmer nearby where I lived in Illinois and he was able to procure me a spot on his train to the west. See, a bunch of us motherfuckers were sick and tired of the flat lands and the boring climate. We were sick of the asinine politics. We were sick of the mutant horse rapists that would fly down from the heavens and violate our beautiful steeds or whatever. We wanted change. So in May of ’46 we started out on the long journey to the West. I recall the morning of our departure. I was nude, frolicking in the open air, a double-barrel shotgun strapped to my kong tower. I remember I had all this whiskey, and I was pounding it like water. My tits hurt, because I’d been in a real nasty tit-punching contest the night before. I won twelve pounds of pure ambergris. Some asshole told me to calm down and prep the oxen for our wagon, so I shoed him in the nuts and rectum-gleeked all over his curly blonde locks. He ran, screeching, that he’d been “Attacked by the devil!” and knocked himself out after running headfirst into a barn door.
We started on at the streak of dawn and I still wore no clothing. Several pioneer-looking mortherfuckers were huddled in the wagon behind me as I sat in the driver’s seat, making bloodcurdling belching noises with my frog thumper. One elderly man rested his wrinkly shit paw on my shoulder and whispered something about “keeping the children calm.” I immediately vomited all over my pecker sweater and the old bastard recoiled in horror. I spun my head around like Regan and with a mouthful of greenish puke I said, “Touch me again like that, you’ll draw back a stub!” The weathered bastard started and kinda fell backward into the wagon on to his flour bags. I reared up on my haunches and burped nasty from the poop tube. He shrieked and threw shut this curtain. That was fine with me – meant I didn’t have to look at him no more.
JUNE-AUGUST
Well this is how it went for a good spell, driving that god damn cattle cart through trails that appeared to have been developed by the devil’s semen. Every now and again, we’d get stuck, and everyone would be whining. I learned to use this whip like a god damned whistle. Whenever peeps got on my nerves, I’d crack that bitch and make howling noises like a monkey in heat. That did the trick mostly. The men were so weirded out by me; they eventually went from asking who the hell I was to avoiding me altogether. I’d taken to doing the fucking Richard Hatch, as in I refused to wear clothing. It was bad because this filthy infection grasped me about a month into the trek and really took a liking to my pus-ejaculating nether-regions. The women were really terrified of my pantless groin display. I’d often saunter around camp at night; just a flopping around like I had a god damned living vermicelli bouncing around between my legs. I’d barge into others’ wagons and bellow about my “water balloon snake bein’ hungry!”
This one night, I was roasting some shit vermin over the coals when I got to scratching something awful. I mean my jewels were burning like never before. I started gruntin’ and diggin’ in real hard when I noticed a small group of injuns had crept up on us. The peons appeared to be stealing one of our horses when they noticed my nasty ass and froze in curious terror. I didn’t cease the scratching, but I did draw my revolver and send a round in the air. The redskins scattered into the brush and I shouted after them: “IMAGINE WHAT 2016 WILL BE LIKE, YOU BONEHEADS!” I was a tad sloshed and had been teetering on my twinkle toes, so the shout caused me to buckle backward and toss my shit all over the place. I fell into a little dip in the landscape and decided it would work for the night. Well when I woke the next morning, the other fuckers had moved on without me. I guess they’d had enough. The fire I had going to cook my vermin apparently got out of control after I passed out because there was the smoldering remnants of a caulked wagon and a very strongly worded note. Oh and by the way, that “dip” I ended up in? Turned out to be a fucking bathroom trough. I woke up in about 5 inches of shit and piss.
Needless to say I spent the morning lapping up my own barf as the assholes took all the provisions (I hadn’t brought any anyway, I’d been mooching for the past three months.) Well I crawled to my wagon (at least they’d left me that) and readied my three oxen, Bart, Scout and Larry. I headed out. Made my way to this little plastic fort early in the day and met all this hoopla regarding which route to take. All these assholes convinced me to follow Hasting’s Cutoff and you know what? I didn’t give a shit. I realized the rest of the Donner party had left with my pants and it was getting cold, so I simply followed the way they went. “Yer ‘bout a day’s ride behind ‘em” some toothless beer dogged dickface drooled over me. I smiled like a maniac and made the peace sign. Then I poked him in his fucking eyes like Moe when he smiled back. “YAH! YAH!!” and I made my way.
The trail was bad. I mean PURE SHIT. Imagine trying to drive a fucking wagon weighing a ton with three huge ass animals dragging your ass along on a fucking path that’s about three feet wide with a drop-off on your left that disappears into hell….IMAGINE and I’m not talking the fucking Beatles. Every five god damned minutes I’d have to launch my naked ass off the fucking yolk and pull these dumb animals along. Well it went on like this for a good three weeks before I FINALLY saw signs of the Donner Party.
Exhausted and starting to freeze my bippy off, I camped for the night. I’d been storing this bottle of fermented dead body juices I’d pulled from corpses in Kansas. Ooh damn it smelt brutal. The first sniff I took after popping that melting cork made me gag like a god damned bitch. I closed my eyes and clamped shut my nostrils then went in for a sip. OH MY JESUS GOD it was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. I yelped like a small dog and vomited a fountain of yellow sea foam. The juice was loose and it was the vilest tincture I’d ever consumed. Well I was a little lightheaded already so I figured the crap was working. I corked the putrid drink and lay back.
The first moment I knew something was not quite right, was when I began hearing the incessant buzzing of flies. I tried to ignore this, because shit, that’s fairly normal. But then, then I went to scratch at my wonchay bonchay and I realized my hands were melting off. This really perturbed me, so first things first I check my rubba-dubba boom-handle to make sure all my boys are in line. I am HORRIFIED to find only a melting puddle of gunk. I shriek and lunge backward into the woods. I heard about a million toilets flush, accompanied by the distinct sounds of anus burps. I wrinkled my nose at the filthy stench of bung slime. Then I heard all this chanting and singing and I’m pretty sure these fucked up forest sprites are flying around and the sounds of the flies in my ears are getting louder and more pronounced until I’ve shoved my melting nubs over my ears and I’m screaming for it all to STOP but my tongue melts out of my fuckin' head and everything goes dark.
Next thing I know I come to in a fucking tree. I’m wearing nothing but a ski mask and I have (what I think is) a dead chipmunk carcass cradled in my NOT melted off hands. “What the…fuck” I muttered. Well it took me almost an hour to climb down from that god damned fir. I threw the varmint carcass in the bushes along with the ski mask (still have no idea what went down with that shit.) Luckily, nothing was missing and the wagon was still intact. There were several crude pornographic images violently carved into the trees around my camp and my fingers were raw and bloody. I spent the day rubbing my clinker raw to imagery of the gay boys I’d be seeking in the glorious San Fran. Faggots.
SEPTEMBER-NOVEMBER
So for next several weeks I made my way through the Wasatch, finally, and into the Great Salt Lake Desert. It was so hot and shitty that at points the wheels on my fucked up cart were sludging into the earth all the way up to my testicled pearls. Gummy gummy. That’s what I kept saying over and over to myself “GUMMY GUMMY!” The ground sucked. The piss in the salt and sand created nastiness. I remember singing real loud Van Halen’s JUMP every time I’d get stuck in this shit. The sun beat down on me like a drunken landlord and I remember seeing visions of swimming pools and a naked George C. Scott offering me a tall glass of horse sperm. After about a week of that bullshit, I found the end of the hellish desert stretch and recuperated in some springs with my yoyo out. Wow, I never wanted to leave. But I was out of water. And the dead body juice and the boys of San Francisco kept me moving, so I started on again.
Eventually I made my way back into the hills and found Hasting’s trail directions tagged to a tree. They were all torn and tattered. “This motherfucker,” I said aloud as I read over his message. His tracks were weeks old and his “shortcut” had already cost me a month, but I had no choice – I had to follow the fucker’s cutoff. Two days later, it began to snow. I was on a mission though. I mean I was really hauling my ass off. No clothes on still, I’m somewhere in the fucking mountains and it’s snowing. I took the last of several tabs of morphine to keep me from shaking my dick off. The trail seemed to get worse and worse and worse. One by one, my oxen withered away or froze to death as the meager ration of human feces I’d lifted from a veterinarian’s office back home began to run out. And on the fifth day of hell, when I was sure I'd have to abandon my shit and head into the woods to die like the bone-fucker I am, I ran into the rest of the wagon-train.
DECEMBER
The Donner’s were huddled around these fucking tents that looked like they’d been erected by mentally challenged, blind elves. The settlers did not look happy to see me wandering up, still butt-naked, no oxen and pulling what was left of my belongings in a little fur tote I’d fashioned out of bark and rat turd. One of them stood and called out to me to “STAY BACK, DEMON!” but was so weak he fell over on his pontoon. I flopped my dingle dangle and yelled, “HERE TO STAY, YA LUGNUTS! NOW Get me SOME GOD DAMNED CLOTHES!” Two women immediately ran to the tents to collect a pair of diarrhea stained dungarees and some crappy shirt. I pushed a greasy dinkel crack out of my way and stuck my head into one of the tents.
The tent smelled of rottenness that only the nose that smelled it would have believed. Left and right I saw piles of disgust that even I was unprepared for (I’d also taken several swigs of decomposing corpse juice earlier in the day, so I was actually pretty grossed out.) Someone was boiling what looked like leather belts mixed with human shit. I saw a few bones with festering flesh clinging to them, half buried in the muddy floor. All of the party’s oxen, horses and cattle had either been stolen or were dead. I saw several frozen ox carcasses waywardly stacked lean-to stile near the edge of camp. They were a stomach-turning gray and I vomited right into the pot of cooking human poop. Someone erupted “NO THAT’S OUR DINNER!” and dove at me, claws drawn and ready for blood. I kicked the monster in the face and screamed “DO NOT MESS WITH THE LORD GOD! FOR HE IS WITH THEE!” and commenced a barrage of blows unto the rat, which turned out to be one of the elderly men. One of these assholes, Franklin I think his name was, said we should go snowshoeing or some shit. I thought the idea was moronic, but I was (admittedly) a little hungry so I jumped on a rotting stump and hollered, “HOO BABY LET’S FIND US AN AMOEBA!” Franklin came up to me, interrupting, and told me something about saving my energy. I kicked him in the head with this snowshoe I fashioned out of horse stinky pinky and ragefully screamed: “HAJDI DON’T SURF!” He ran away crying. After he collected himself and the others finished constructing snowshoes (they all were terribly made) we headed into the dense tree-brush and snow.
I felt like boomba. This one creep, fast Eddy or some shit like that, pulled a bunch of bear meat from his bag. He claimed his wife must have hidden it there, but before he could finish explaining, I wrested the shit from his claws and devoured the lusciousness like it was water. He cried “NO THAT’S ALL WE HAVE!” I flicked him in the ear and hollered, “you just said you didn’t even know you had it, so fuck off!” whilst licking my chip chops. The others were so disenchanted; they looked back for a moment, and then trudged on ahead.
The whole expedition was fucked. We found nothing. We could discover no rescue. I kept pulling from the dead body swill and hallucinating like a maniac. The others became confused and starting wandering in different directions. I was climbing up trees and humping the ground and blowing ass shits all over the area. One of them, Stanton I think his name was, kept whining, “I can’t go no further! I can’t go no further!” I was trying to listen to him but all that bear meat in my belly didn’t wanna stay down so I reamed him with a hose spray of partially digested belch beef. He went down in the snow and I failed to mention to the others that I left him there.
A few days before Christmas, a terrible blizzard commenced. Franklin bought it. A few others bought it. This retard named Dolan, kept grabbing me by the lapels and hissing at me that I was “THE DEVIL’S SPRITE!” I continually beat him in the nards with my walking cane and told him over and over, “Dude, you’re fucked up.” He died some while after, having stripped his clothing and ranted deliriously about the rainbows in his penis tunnel. Some asshole kept asking about Stanton. “Where’s Stanton? Where’s Stanton?” It was annoying so I head-butted him with my dick and he fell to the ground in a steaming clump.
At this point, I was really starting to lose my shit. One morning after waking up with my ass frozen to my face, I crawled over to the dead and tore open Dolan, tore him to smithereens and began feeding. “SsssOUP’S ON!” I screamed. Others joined me. Fast Eddy refused. “YOU PUSSY!” I said through a mouthful of spleen. That night, this douchey little kid that was with us died. Then a dick named Jack Mehoff or something cashed in his chips. We stripped the muscle and organs from the bodies and dried that shit. YUM YUM. I got to craving the hume (that’s what I started called peep meat: HUME) and I couldn’t stop sneaking bits of the nast at night after everyone huddled up for the eve. Fuckers.
JANUARY-APRIL, 1847
The blizzard seemed to never end. These two injuns who’d been helping us drive wagons were so weak; they looked like they’d fall apart into bits and pieces before our eyes. I whispered to fast Eddy that “we should eat those skinny fucks!” The next day, they’d snuck out of camp! Eddy never admitted to warning them, but after water boarding him for the truth for three hours, someone comes crawling up and says the two Indians are just around the bend. I drew my revolver and charged down the hill shouting “SOUP’S ON, YOU FAGS!” When I found them, they were so fatigued they couldn’t even open their eyes. I put a round into each of them, and then went to work yummying on the corpses. Damn hootin’. SOUP’S ON!!
Finally we made our way into some sort of redskin refuge. We looked like so much elephant shit that initially the bastards fled when they saw us. Bunch of the fucks in our group 'd been eating the ox-hide webbing out of their snow shoes, so their feet were rotted down to nubs. I was so sad to be out of that party I turned around immediately and headed back to the tents. Now I can really have a free-for-all I remember thinking. The others called for me not to go, but I was already at a full sprint, screaming my brains out, “SOUP’S ON!”
I spent that night alone in the creepy, dark wood when Satan first visited me. The snow was so blinding I could barely move after dusk, so I chugged a swig of body swill and munched on the dried dick of one of the lost. The night was very dark and very cold. I was sharpening a human femur when this weird, low hum began to emit from beyond the trees. A hum like someone singing softly, out there in all that cold and darkness. I called "Who the fuck is that?" No answer. Then there came this quiet cackling and it sent shivers through my sweaty balls. "Jesus?" I laughed. It was about this time that I began to see these fucked up mermaids flowing through the trees. They were wearing white nightgowns and were hopping along using their fins like pogo sticks, except the fins were bleeding, and as the creatures hopped, red splashes of shit would slop behind. They were singing in whispers: “Roooooooy! Rooooy!” and getting closer and closer. I remember they had these reddish blue eyes and skin like the snow. “FUCK OFF!” I screamed at them, whilst jerking my ram gizzard. Well they stopped, but some other weirdo started circling my camp. A great, big, tall motherfucker with no face, slowly walking back and forth around me. I called out “LEAVE ME BE, YA HEAR? OR I’LL OPEN UP ON YOU WITH MY TROUSER REPEATER!” That didn’t do it. The thing kept inching closer to me. It was hissing at me, again and again: “Vos estis in aeternum damnatorum. Vos estis in aeternum damnatorum.” “LEAVE ME BE!” I would yell back. The thing seemed to shape-shift and at one point; it took the form of the little boy I’d eaten...except with deep, dark, black eyes. “Sie sind der ewig Verdammten” it cooed. “Leave ME BE!” I pulled my revolver and fired at the thing, but it was if I were firing blanks. “Vi ste zauvijek prokleti!” it screamed and it was sorta limping, dragging entrails. It opened its mouth and the words came but they flowed through sharpened, snaggle teeth without any movement of the lips: “You are the forever damned.” It smelled of dripping death. Finally and luckily, I passed out.
The next morning I trekked on, ignoring the reverberating voices from the frosty darkness, revolving in my head. About a week of this shit went on until I finally reached the makeshift cabins of the Breen retards and what was left of the Donner family. One filthy bitch popped her head from a poop-shoot in the snow and whimpered, “Are you from California, or do you come from heaven?” I grinned, my gums and teeth no doubt stained with human blood. She recoiled a little when I produced my cannon and told her that she only worry about renaming her vagina "Fort Sumter." She scurried back into her hole. I was about to take a steaming funk dump into that very hole when a group of rag tag troopers came riding up. I was so disappointed I blew my load all over the first horse face that came near. GET IT? CAME?!
MARCH-APRIL
I took my time heading out, camping a lot along the way, you know, enjoying myself. I murdered one of the rescuers and consumed his flesh. One day, I came across this moron, Keseburg (from our original group) on the way out. He was hovering over this bubbling pot of human body parts and muttering something about being sweaty. I kicked him over like a sack of shit then ransacked his little hut. I found $250 bucks, some jewelry and two pistols. He threw his hands over his eyes and shouted something about me being a minion of hell and that he was “gifted” the items. I reared up and pissed into his mouth. He gargled the urine as he tried to speak and then fell over in his own waste. I pulled him up by the ear and decided he’d make good eating. About a day later, however, we run into the preacher asshole named Brennan who’s asking us all sorts of questions. Well I resolved to murder him too, but the other rescue party came riding up and ruined my plans AGAIN. I ditched the whole lot of the motherfuckers and made my way to Fort Sutter, beating out the remainder of the rescue groups.
At this point, I was really starting to lose my shit. One morning after waking up with my ass frozen to my face, I crawled over to the dead and tore open Dolan, tore him to smithereens and began feeding. “SsssOUP’S ON!” I screamed. Others joined me. Fast Eddy refused. “YOU PUSSY!” I said through a mouthful of spleen. That night, this douchey little kid that was with us died. Then a dick named Jack Mehoff or something cashed in his chips. We stripped the muscle and organs from the bodies and dried that shit. YUM YUM. I got to craving the hume (that’s what I started called peep meat: HUME) and I couldn’t stop sneaking bits of the nast at night after everyone huddled up for the eve. Fuckers.
JANUARY-APRIL, 1847
The blizzard seemed to never end. These two injuns who’d been helping us drive wagons were so weak; they looked like they’d fall apart into bits and pieces before our eyes. I whispered to fast Eddy that “we should eat those skinny fucks!” The next day, they’d snuck out of camp! Eddy never admitted to warning them, but after water boarding him for the truth for three hours, someone comes crawling up and says the two Indians are just around the bend. I drew my revolver and charged down the hill shouting “SOUP’S ON, YOU FAGS!” When I found them, they were so fatigued they couldn’t even open their eyes. I put a round into each of them, and then went to work yummying on the corpses. Damn hootin’. SOUP’S ON!!
Finally we made our way into some sort of redskin refuge. We looked like so much elephant shit that initially the bastards fled when they saw us. Bunch of the fucks in our group 'd been eating the ox-hide webbing out of their snow shoes, so their feet were rotted down to nubs. I was so sad to be out of that party I turned around immediately and headed back to the tents. Now I can really have a free-for-all I remember thinking. The others called for me not to go, but I was already at a full sprint, screaming my brains out, “SOUP’S ON!”
I spent that night alone in the creepy, dark wood when Satan first visited me. The snow was so blinding I could barely move after dusk, so I chugged a swig of body swill and munched on the dried dick of one of the lost. The night was very dark and very cold. I was sharpening a human femur when this weird, low hum began to emit from beyond the trees. A hum like someone singing softly, out there in all that cold and darkness. I called "Who the fuck is that?" No answer. Then there came this quiet cackling and it sent shivers through my sweaty balls. "Jesus?" I laughed. It was about this time that I began to see these fucked up mermaids flowing through the trees. They were wearing white nightgowns and were hopping along using their fins like pogo sticks, except the fins were bleeding, and as the creatures hopped, red splashes of shit would slop behind. They were singing in whispers: “Roooooooy! Rooooy!” and getting closer and closer. I remember they had these reddish blue eyes and skin like the snow. “FUCK OFF!” I screamed at them, whilst jerking my ram gizzard. Well they stopped, but some other weirdo started circling my camp. A great, big, tall motherfucker with no face, slowly walking back and forth around me. I called out “LEAVE ME BE, YA HEAR? OR I’LL OPEN UP ON YOU WITH MY TROUSER REPEATER!” That didn’t do it. The thing kept inching closer to me. It was hissing at me, again and again: “Vos estis in aeternum damnatorum. Vos estis in aeternum damnatorum.” “LEAVE ME BE!” I would yell back. The thing seemed to shape-shift and at one point; it took the form of the little boy I’d eaten...except with deep, dark, black eyes. “Sie sind der ewig Verdammten” it cooed. “Leave ME BE!” I pulled my revolver and fired at the thing, but it was if I were firing blanks. “Vi ste zauvijek prokleti!” it screamed and it was sorta limping, dragging entrails. It opened its mouth and the words came but they flowed through sharpened, snaggle teeth without any movement of the lips: “You are the forever damned.” It smelled of dripping death. Finally and luckily, I passed out.
The next morning I trekked on, ignoring the reverberating voices from the frosty darkness, revolving in my head. About a week of this shit went on until I finally reached the makeshift cabins of the Breen retards and what was left of the Donner family. One filthy bitch popped her head from a poop-shoot in the snow and whimpered, “Are you from California, or do you come from heaven?” I grinned, my gums and teeth no doubt stained with human blood. She recoiled a little when I produced my cannon and told her that she only worry about renaming her vagina "Fort Sumter." She scurried back into her hole. I was about to take a steaming funk dump into that very hole when a group of rag tag troopers came riding up. I was so disappointed I blew my load all over the first horse face that came near. GET IT? CAME?!
MARCH-APRIL
I took my time heading out, camping a lot along the way, you know, enjoying myself. I murdered one of the rescuers and consumed his flesh. One day, I came across this moron, Keseburg (from our original group) on the way out. He was hovering over this bubbling pot of human body parts and muttering something about being sweaty. I kicked him over like a sack of shit then ransacked his little hut. I found $250 bucks, some jewelry and two pistols. He threw his hands over his eyes and shouted something about me being a minion of hell and that he was “gifted” the items. I reared up and pissed into his mouth. He gargled the urine as he tried to speak and then fell over in his own waste. I pulled him up by the ear and decided he’d make good eating. About a day later, however, we run into the preacher asshole named Brennan who’s asking us all sorts of questions. Well I resolved to murder him too, but the other rescue party came riding up and ruined my plans AGAIN. I ditched the whole lot of the motherfuckers and made my way to Fort Sutter, beating out the remainder of the rescue groups.
Of the 87 of us that started out, only 48 survived. I ate 12 myself.
And as I sit here, writing this bullshit, I watch Keseburg stumbling in, that asshole Brennan the “journalist” preacher at his side. I’m slugging from a bottle of whiskey I’ve pilfered from the rations.
They’re both glaring at me.
I’m dying of hunger.
I hear this voice deep in the depths of my being, whispering, nagging…
…before I can finish working my flesh totem, I lunge at the bastards and scream: SOUP’S ON!!!
And as I sit here, writing this bullshit, I watch Keseburg stumbling in, that asshole Brennan the “journalist” preacher at his side. I’m slugging from a bottle of whiskey I’ve pilfered from the rations.
They’re both glaring at me.
I’m dying of hunger.
I hear this voice deep in the depths of my being, whispering, nagging…
…before I can finish working my flesh totem, I lunge at the bastards and scream: SOUP’S ON!!!