Hell, we just got here.

The Spring Offensive

The spring offensive or Kaserschlact, was a real fucking toilet plug for the krauts. These shorthanded hairy fuddle fucks decided that a series of attacks along the Western Front was a good idea. Lol I had this real terrible thing going on in my diarrhea manufacturing plant and all the workers had gone home with the flu if you catch my drift. Of course you don’t, you’re probably a one-eyed fucktard named Paul living somewhere in the San Fernando Valley.

ANYway, these idiots are running around like retards and it’s just pissing me off cuz I got stuck on this god damn train a week earlier when this French soldier boy of the la Division 167e. I’d been ram-housing this bent little tard until one morning over a quiet espresso - that tasted like dog cum - and a pair of stale croissants, he coerces me into going off to war with him. At one point during this shit breakfast, he burped quietly. I don't know why, but it pissed me off. Like a lunatic I bounded on the small table we shared and sprayed doody fish water from my thriving man-horn all over his fucking face. He puked and it smelled like summer sausage and cat food, so I puked. Unfortunately, before I could really process what I'd agreed to, I ended up murdering him in a jealous rage with a pair of greenish-stained pantyhose after discovering a used condom in his mouth. I later realized it was my used condom and I was embarrassed that things went so south so fast in our relationship.

So here we are, me with his body tied to a fuckin’ leash nude as the day he was sharted into this world, and me half naked from the waist down and wearing his battle fatigues up top. Well these douchey Frenchies are all marching along and this rubbery asshole grabs me and with the most annoying fucking voice I think I may have ever heard tells me some shit in French. Well of course I’d been drinking. I had me probably eighteen bottles of cheap French vino in the last four hours. There used to be this shop run by a mungaloid dipshit who lived with his cousin or whatever in the stank apartment above us. They’d sell me wine at whatever price I said because I’d raped them a number of times. The cousin was a pretzel-shaped paraplegic and the mungaloid would get all hissy when I’d shove my parking cone into his muddy-huh-uh watering hole. And I’d hiss really fucked up things into his ear, like lines from Clueless.

This is June 15, 1918.

So this barf muncher grabs me and I drop the leash with poor French soldier boy on the end of this just lying in the gutter and I wish him farewell by blowing a snotrocket at his bare ass sticking in the air like a pile of gelatinous horse SEMEN after one of my burlesque shows in Minsk. I’m drunk. I mean I am pretty fucking lit. I am dragging this fucking rifle, Meunier A6 I believe it was. The thing was a beast. I remember I kept firing it off and screaming “what’s up there, flapjacks?” and all these garlic stinking Frenchmen would turn and stare at me and I queef and reveal my smoldering golf balls. One dude barfed and when the dude behind him got a whiff he burped then barfed tOo. It sounded like two ducks quacking.

We end up on this fucking train all packed in like boobs and I start freaking out because I don’t have any liquor. I realized I have about a gram of raw sweet chewy shoved into my cowabunghole so I wrest that out, spraying a bit of blood on the boots of the darsh next to me (I flipped him off and took the cigarette out of his mouth then put it out on the tip of my penis and said “scellé pour de bon” "sealed for good" and winked at him.) I then proceeded to smoke the crack and blow the shit in his face until he passed out with a pffffffrt. I got so high I was doing Lenny Bruce stand up for the next hour before I passed out in the shit bucket. Well we were near the Marne River when they opened the doors and started this fucked up whistling. I only knew it was the Marne because I used to dump French prostitutes nearby.

This big prick keeps pulling me by the sleeve causing me to miss my little pop shots I keep taking at the asses of men up front. He keeps yelling something inaudible so I finally whirl around and bust him right in the no no nuggets. He belches something awful and his eyes go as wide as saucers. He drops his rifle and his mouth opens up huge. I bayonet him and leave him in the mud. Then I turned to keep following these idiots cuz I like takin’ pop shots at their asses. Before I know it, there’s a full on war going on around me. I find myself wandering around with shells going off right and left. For a brief period of time (it may have been hours) I found myself huffing mustard gas near this pile of rotting corpses I’d been ejaculating profusely and had a bullet wound in my shoulder. I was so fucking high still from the crack that I was jumping up and down waving my arms like a bird and singing with a terrible, cracking voice, “WE ARE THE WORLD, WE ARE THE CHILDREN” whilst shitting myself and blowing snotty loads like a hose from hell.

All these idiots are running up this god damn hill, Bellau Wood Hill 142. That's what I read off a paper I found on the body of a corporal I murdered with my big toe. Yes you dingus, you read that right. “This is fucking retarded,” I blurted as I prepared to gargle piss from a horse hooved puddle. Of course I lapped some before filling up my canteen. Well as the battle raged around me, I did an about face and headed back toward Paris. I still had no pants on and my frank and beans were kinda flopping around like a diseased cucumber over a pair of rotting roma tomatoes. The lines of troops marching the other way all shrieked like little girls and I just farted that green gas I have and kept walking. Somewhere close to town I ditched my rifle when it’d jammed as I fired on children in the villages I passed. 

Two days later I awoke up in some brothel with this ginormous Guido motherfucker standing over me, his hand out. I have half of the dead body of a French prostitute glued to my pecker and my shoulder has gangrene. I literally woke up screaming, "VIVA LA FRANCE!" 

I fucking hate France. 

Salem, Ore.

The Salem Witch Trials

I began my vacation late in the year, hopping fare to the Commonwealth. I immediately commenced a hanus barrage of pentobarbital huffing. God bless the Commonwealth. Making my way through Boston, I ransacked several vacant homes for silken knickers, mine having been soiled beyond recognition due to an overwhelming bout of anus-clout contracted from several mutant three year old children in Newark. Drunken and injured from a brawl I’d initiated near a brothel (having refused to pay for a one-eyed harlot who spermed greenish egg whites into my knapsack), I crawled into a rotting wagon, hitched in a nearby alley. I slipped into slumber lain over festering horse apples, the lingering stench of filth and incredulous putridness lulling me to dreams (pretty sure that god damned cart was used to scrape sewage from the tattered cobble paths snaking the backend of Boston.) When I woke the next day, the wagon was tipped, the horse tied to an apple tree outside farmland, which seemed to go on forever. I was submerged in horse turd and vomit (I can only assume my own.) A dinky sign read the population of some crapburg. “SALEM” it said. There was no driver to be had, only a hastily scribbled note pinned to my lapel:

Thou'st come hither a village in rapture. You shall find nothin’ but testy gast, any who enter here!

I read the note several times; my eyes squinted in devilish annoyance. “This chicken scratch was either written by a possessed rat dick or a fuckin’ retard” I drooled. I noticed then I was still perched in human scum, so I pulled myself up by a twisted horse conch and stood. The smell was unbelievable. I reared back and belched a gummy explosion of hayseed and stomach acid all over the horse’s ass. The animal started and whinnied, then galloped away, pulling the tipped cart at an uncanny speed through the fields behind. I sighed and farted. The fart smelled like pickled swine hoof. I gagged, then headed toward a group of structures in the distance.

The assholes were about as welcoming as me finding a half-naked balloon boy-man crawling out of my refrigerator at 3 in the morning whispering “GIMME DE CHIMMY GIMME DE CHIMMY!” Some retard stumbled from a barn and pointed at me in terror, shouting something about the devil. I shoed him in the blow-up bags and shoved him by the forehead. He fell over backward like bunch of shit and impaled his ass cheeks on the pitchfork in his hand. “Fucker!” I hissed at him. I wandered around for what seemed like eternity, looking for a god damned public house to no avail. Eventually I copped a squat in some fuckin’ courtyard and took a boom smear right there in the dying flowers. By now, small parties of people had begun to follow me and were aghast when I dropped trou and exposed my warty, wrinkled hob-knobbler. A man screamed and a woman fainted before two or three of these shitheads pushed forward and pulled me from my steaming blubber dump. “UNHAND ME, YOU CRAP FUCKS OR I’LL BURN THIS FUCKING VILLAGE TO THE GROUND!” That same man screamed again and I squinted then wondered if it was a man at all.

Well, along the main street they dragged me, my pants around my ankles and warm plops of dung spilling from my still leaking goiter-cave. A number of the idiots were trotting along behind, some were crying. I squeezed a rancid butt spray and that same guy screamed again. “Who the fuck is that that keeps screaming like a little bitch?” I said to the bastards dragging me along. Neither of them even looked at me. “BRING HIM BEFORE THE MAGISTRATE!” some dink yelped. “HE IS NOT OF THE PURITAN WAY!” belched another. “HANG HIM!” called a third. “Now just wait a fuckin’ minute!” I shouted. “You assholes think you’re gonna get close enough to my neck to put a rope around it? You better think again!! When you fuck with me, you’re fuckin’ with tha best!” “CLOSE YOUR LIPS, HEATHEN!” finally said one of my transgressors. I broke free an arm and howled “CRY HAVOC AND LET SLIP THE NUTS OF WAR, YOU GUMMY FUCKTARDS!” and I swung with the might of an elephant, my fist connecting with his baby testicle gum drops. He shrieked in wild pain and his dumbass cockle hat flew from his head and into my piles. I was able to gnaw at the flesh log of the other boob before I was tackled there in the mud. Cries of “IT’S THE DEVIL INCARNATE!” filled the air. Someone was bashing me in the head repeatedly with what felt like Wilt Chamberlain’s dick. “You pathetic penis shredding bastards…” I managed to mumble before losing consciousness.

Well the fuckers tossed me into some sort of wooden duck-fuckin’ shed with bars on the windows. I woke up twisted into the shape of a pretzel. My pantaloons were still around my ankles and I’d turd queefed a substantial amount of fecal curd over the floor. I hiccupped like a drunken sailor and then barfed almost before the hiccup finished. Someone shuffled in the other room. I pulled myself up using the bars and kinda wobbled there before puking, again, through the bars and onto the dusty floor outside. I heard someone move around again, and then I heard assorted gagging noises and whispering. “Ugh, god damnit,” I belched, then crawled to the corner of my cell and began making these disgusting whimpering noises like I was a three year old being sexually rubbed by an overweight pedophile named “Lemur.” The shuffling from the other room started again, so I got louder and threw in these gyrations, bashing my corn-cob against the log wall. I also added a few curse words and farts to sweeten the deal. Finally, the shuffling turned into marching and this big fucker rounds the corner, a real nasty look on his face. He comes up to the barred door and said “Speak not, you demon! For God will judgeth thee!” and he rapped on the cell with a little toy hammer. I spun violently and grasped his balls with a furious fist. He screamed and I realized it was the same dumbass who kept screaming earlier. “You are not of this world, devil!” he shouted through tears, kinda buckling like a broken tree. I wrenched him in close by his sac and whispered: “Maybe so. But if I am the Devil’s child I will live from the Devil.” I paused here to belch putrid long and hard into his ear. He screamed that woman’s scream again and pleaded with me to let him go. “I can know no law sacred but that of my nature.” Then I produced my QUIVERING member and jammed it through his cloak. He squealed like a child and passed out. I fumbled through his pants for keys to ensure my escape from that shit box, but before I could locate any, some other asshole began bashing me in the head again and I was knocked out.

I awoke in agonizing pain. I had a bulbous lump on my head that felt like a dead frog was growing inside of my skull. My nose was bloodied and the motherfuckers left my pants around my ankles. I felt for my pus-junk only to find that I was wearing shackles and some sort of shit robe. I heard murmuring all around me. “Where the fuck am I?” I said, not able to see much. Someone behind me swatted at my nuts with a ballet slipper and I bent over, pains shooting through my vaginal works. “You will speak when you are called upon, demon,” came the voice at my back. “Ouch! You sack of shit!” I spun and spat a real stringy loogie in the manimal’s face and he winced and drew back. He turned again and looked at me with these wide eyes. “Why did you do that?! EW!!” and he ran off crying. Just then some tall, skinny motherfucker comes floating in and he’s all “IS this the CONdemmed?” “Condom?” I said with a snarky accent. The old dude stared down at me and said something about being silent. I burped from my ass and spit a dried chunk of puke I pulled from under my lip. The one asshole screamed. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I said as I searched the room for him. My eyesight cleared a bit and I was able to see that there was a good fifty people in that little rat shed, which sort of looked like a courtroom. The tall bastard climbed up behind this podium and was flanked by four other tall bastards. The renobs were wearing these pubic hair wigs. “Oh, nice pubes,” I said and another dick behind me pushed me and told me to be quiet. The pubic-head spoke, loud and booming:

"This demon who hast entered our town and brought with him the vilest of ungodliness now coming in to be examined relating to his accusation of suspicion of sundry acts of witchcrafts the afflicter persons are now dreadfully afflicted by him as they doe say. I claim the proceedings of this initial examination of the dammed as in session this day of our Lord, the 19th of April, Sixteen hundred and ninety-two."

I stood there, teetering a little, and blew a snot rocket the size of a Plymouth then flipped the douche off. He squealed and jumped back a little and cried out “DON’T!!” I laughed and farted. That dickhead behind me screamed again. One of these other fuckmasters up front hollers out:

"Heathen, what doe you say you here stand charged with sundry acts of witchcraft by you done or committed upon the bodyes of many aye town folks."

I squinted. “What the fuck are you saying? You sound like a retard jammed into a toilet hole. Speak English, you flaming cocksucker.” I farted again, real wet. The building shook a little and I felt two of the dudes at my back move away. That stupid idiot screamed again. The men behind the podium thing looked around at one another in confusion. Then the pube-head spoke again:

“Doe you not see how they are tormented? You are acting witchcraft before us! Looke upon this man and see if this be the demon that you have seen hurting you.” I heard a number of morons call out “Aye.” Those of you afflicted and others doe now charge him face to his face with hurting of them.” Pube-head pointed straight at me then said, “What doe you say now you see they charge you to your face?” I still didn’t understand a god damn word so I said (mockingly) “DRR MY NAME A BOOBY I LIKE PLAY WITH MY PEEPEE YOU ARE FOOD MAN I CUM ON OWN BOOBYS DRRRR!!” and I made motions like I was fucked up and palsied. The pube-head furrowed his brow. “Goode heathen! What contract have you made with the devil?! Doe you not see how they are tormented you are acting witchcraft before us what doe you say to this why have you not an heart to confess the truth?! Have you not given consent that some evil spirit should doe this in your likeness?!” I’d stopped listening a while ago. I was fishing around my shorts for pubic lice and when I’d find a real fat fucker down there I’d turn and flick it at the screaming idiot. Every time I’d hit him he’d scream again and I’d just laugh.

Well after what seemed like a year of this crap they finally dragged me from the courtroom having stated something about a signing a death warrant or some horseshit. I remember all these assholes were lined up outside the shit shed and I was SCREAMING and hollering like a banshee on meth. At one point I got loose of my restrainers and grabbed this particularly mortified looking motherfucker and belched into his gaping hole. He gurgled like a drowning mouse and fainted dead away. I heard the idiot scream again and I laughed, but resolved to murder him so he’d finally shut the fuck up. They dragged me through the streets and to the god damn jail cell where I’d spent the previous night. I was thrown in head first like a lump of shit.

The second I hit the back wall and right before the jail door swung shut, I bounded back like a rubber ball and blew through the door with my blood-filled howitzer gagger. The idiot screamer was there and (you can guess what he did) I bashed him in the head with my great bazooka of god. He had this dumbass look on his face. His mouth was wide open like a train tunnel and his eyes were like little moons. Every time I’d beat him about the noggin’ with my flesh pipe his face wouldn’t change, it would just bounce back to the same position, over and over again. I was grunting real hard and yelling “I’M GONNA PUT THE POWER OF GOD IN YOUR ASS!! I’M GONNA PUT THE POWER OF GOD IN YOUR ASS!!!” After I drowned him with my ejaculate, I found the other dickwad cowering in the corner, clutching a bible and muttering some shit about satan. I crawled over to him, my peen dragging on the floor like a dead eel. He shut is eyes tight and covered his ears. I found a quill on a desk, inked the nib, then drew a cock on the guy’s forehead. He cried. I beat him to death with my bare hands whilst singing hymnals.

When I emerged from the stinking shit cabin, a plume of steam followed me. It was late. A gnarly cloud cover blanketed the small town. I pulled a lantern from the wall of the jail and lit it with my fiery asshole. I spun and chucked the fucking thing into the open doorway and it crashed against the wall, erupting into flame. I skittered off into the night as the structure burned to the ground and villagers surrounded the flames.

A short while later, I’d made my way to a diphole town in the Ozarks. I had frostbite on my rubber play coil and some dickweed thought it would be funny to brand a pentagram on my ass while I slept in the shitter. SO SAYS THE WORD OF GOD OUR FATHER.

The Dinner Party

The Donner Party Tragedy

"I will now give you some good and friendly advice. Stay at home,—you are in a good place, where, if sick, you are not in danger of starving to death."

-----Mary Graves to Levi Fosdick (her sister Sarah Fosdick's father-in-law), 1847

I didn’t blame the prez. That cunt, Polk, couldn’t send troops because they were busy in Mexico. Of course, why the fuck would Polk even give a shit? We were all out for the dream and the bastard already tip-toed around full-scale war with Great Britain over gang-banging territory to our north. And I don’t blame Hastings. The smudgy asshole was just trying to capitalize on any dumb shit willing to nibble his anal-cum-sandwich for a few dollars extra. The Breens, Kesebergs, the fucking Graves, the Donners…I just won’t point fingers at any of ‘em. I’m a little pissed at that scum-licker, Samuel Brannan, but only because he’s a gossiper and half the shit he spreads will be full of his ratty, penis-curling design; however, I won’t hold him accountable. Shit yeah, there’s a mound of king skunk spunk I swallowed because of all those dinks, but I can’t blame them. I can’t blame them because in the end, the objurgation is mine…and mine alone. As I write this, that blubbering fucktard, Keseberg, the last, stumbles in from the mountains. This is April 29th, 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. 

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!!!