Setting: The Alvord Desert, Oregon

Mainlining and Evan39 had finally had enough. SeaTTTle—yes, with the extra T’s for emphasis on the city's inescapable "Trash, Tent, and Traffic" problems—had driven them to the brink. Their escape plan? Flee the urban decay and relocate to one of the most remote parts of the U.S.: the Alvord Desert in southeastern Oregon.

Nestled between the desolate ridges of the Steen Mountains and a dry, cracked lakebed that stretched to infinity, the Alvord Desert was the perfect place to reinvent themselves. With a population of almost zero and Wi-Fi about as common as empathy at a HOA meeting, it was an optimal locale to test their survival skills and establish a new life—away from the chaos of urban modernity.

Day 1: The Great Departure

"Are we seriously doing this?" Evan39 muttered, nervously clutching his grocery store manager's handbook—a relic of his old life that he still consulted in moments of crisis.

"We’ve been 'doing' SeaTTTle for too long, friend," Mainlining responded with his characteristic cryptic enthusiasm. "The city lied to us, promised enlightenment but delivered only soggy socialism and anti-gravity tent cities. It’s time to transcend."

They piled into Evan39’s rusted Subaru Outback, an irony-laden choice given its Pacific Northwest credentials, and began the long journey south. Evan39 had insisted they bring it, claiming it was part of the Subaru owner's unspoken contract with the universe.

Day 2: Arrival in Alvord

After a day and a half of driving, fueled by Red Bulls and philosophical debates about the best David Bowie albums, they arrived in the Alvord Desert. The vast, alien landscape stretched out before them—a white, cracked lakebed under an endless sky.

"Welcome to the new frontier," Mainlining announced, stepping out of the car and gazing into the middle distance, as if trying to channel Bowie himself.

Evan39 wasn’t so sure. "You know, there are literally zero grocery stores here," he muttered, still wearing his name badge, “Evan, Store Manager.”

Mainlining smiled enigmatically. "Exactly."

Day 3: Adjusting to Remote Life

Things began promisingly enough. They set up camp beside a few scattered juniper bushes and built a modest shelter using tarps and scavenged wood. They even managed to start a fire without burning down the sagebrush, a minor miracle given their combined lack of practical experience.

Mainlining, always the optimist, had decided to start a “Desert Diary,” chronicling their daily struggles and triumphs. He was confident their story would go viral on AutoAdmit. “Title: ‘Two Men and a Desert—No Liberal Lies Here.’ That’ll get at least 180s,” he proclaimed.

Meanwhile, Evan39 was grappling with the lack of urban amenities. "No cell signal, no electricity, and my Ambien supply is running low," he mumbled, his eyes darting back and forth like a man seeking an escape route. He had already tried to negotiate with a jackrabbit, hoping to trade it for some wi-fi.

Day 7: The Reality of Desert Living

By the end of the first week, things began to fall apart—predictably. The endless quiet, once a welcome change from SeaTTTle’s urban chaos, was starting to get to them.

"Friend," Mainlining said, "we’re missing the essential human connections… like trolling libs on XO or debating RSF’s endless monikers."

Evan39 nodded solemnly. “We also need food, Mainlining. I’ve eaten nothing but beef jerky and cactus bits for the last two days. And I think the cactus won.”

They decided to explore the desert in search of sustenance. Mainlining was convinced there was an "Oasis of Freedom" somewhere—an off-the-grid community where like-minded individuals lived free from societal norms, much like an eternal Nightcrew but in the flesh.

Day 10: Discovery of the "Oasis"

After days of wandering, they stumbled upon a small camp with a few weather-beaten tents and a handful of people. The group looked like a mix between Burning Man attendees and prepper convention enthusiasts.

"Welcome, brothers," a man named Dusty greeted them. "We’ve been waiting for you."

Mainlining, with wide eyes, whispered to Evan, "See, I told you."

Dusty continued, "We don’t have much, but we live by three principles: self-reliance, freedom, and every Thursday night, we do a dramatic reading of Ayn Rand."

Mainlining was sold. Evan39, less so. "You have grocery stores?" he asked.

Dusty smiled. "No, but we forage for mushrooms. They’re… enlightening."

Day 15: Becoming Desert Legends

After two weeks in the Alvord Desert, Mainlining and Evan39 had adapted—sort of. Mainlining had embraced his role as the self-appointed philosopher-king of their small camp, using his cryptic AutoAdmit posting style to lead motivational speeches.

Evan39, meanwhile, had become the camp’s de facto “Reality Checker,” constantly asking questions like, "But where’s the water?" and "Do we have a plan if someone gets bitten by a rattlesnake?"—which, to his surprise, actually made him quite popular with the more cautious members.

Despite their differences, they found a rhythm. Mainlining started a nightly "Desert Salon," where he’d expound on Bowie’s Berlin Trilogy while Evan39 attempted to barter for Ambien with the more herbal-oriented camp members.

Day 20: The XO Check-In

But even in the remote desert, old habits die hard. One night, they found a weak, flickering bar of cell service. Immediately, they logged onto AutoAdmit.

Mainlining posted, “WE FLED SeaTTTle: AMA,” while Evan39 crafted a new thread, “Ask Me Anything About Living in the Alvord Desert (and When to Panic About Cactus Digestion).”

To their surprise, they were met with a flood of replies. RSF accused them of living a “poser’s life,” while “cowjoke” commented, “As a distinguished Desert Curator, you two are doomed, but it's hilarious.”

The post got 180s all around.

Day 30: The Return?

After a month, Mainlining and Evan39 began to wonder if perhaps the Alvord Desert wasn’t the ultimate answer to their quest for freedom. The mystique had faded, and the reality of sandstorms, rattlesnakes, and existential boredom had set in.

“I kind of miss the Trash, Tent, and Traffic,” Evan39 muttered.

Mainlining, after a long pause, said, “Maybe. But at least here, even the cattle and rocks aren’t fraud.”

They both laughed, realizing that maybe, just maybe, the journey itself was the destination—and if they got bored, they could always return to SeaTTTle to fight the good fight another day.

But not before posting a cryptic goodbye thread on AutoAdmit: “Taking a Break from Society. BRB, Need More Ambien.”

And so, their desert adventure ended… or perhaps, just began.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5596766&forum_id=2#48101812)