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Mass Fiction is a long running collaborative fiction effort.

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"Oh fuck off you nerdy little Trekker!" Groden cried as he slapped the Star Trek geek across the face.
"I've had about enough of your crap, my friend."
Groden reached for his dueling glove.
"No...wait...I..." the Trekker's eyes shifted nervously.
"I can change, really I can."
"Okay" said Groden.
"You have 2 minutes before I slap you into next week. Tell me how you intend to change your ways"
"Well," said the Trekker, "for one thing, I promise I won't crap my pants anymore." This announcement was greeted with a loud "pflatt!" and a sheepish expression on the Trekker's face. "Uh, well, I'll start tomorrow." Groden slapped him into next week.
"Well, that one pimply little squirt out of the way. What shall I do now?" Groden though.
He felt pretty good about himself at that moment. Groden pulled a note pad and a pen from out of his pocket.
"Slap Trekker...check. What next." Groden look to the next entry on his list.
"Kick Dungeons and Dragons player....Yes. I love my job"
Groden was a Geek Cop. It was his job to find all the pathetic useless members of society, such as Trekkers, and beat them until they realized how much of their lives and mental capacity they were wasting. Groden loved his job. That week he had beat up an Online gamer, some guy who could recite the periodic table, and a person who loves flaming web forums to get a rise out of people. (*Author looks over his shoulder. All clear*)
Yes, Groden could only think of one other job he would rather do.


Dear Commander,

Per your instructions, I, Valmorx, submit this update on my last bowel movement.

I, Valmorx, had held in my last bowel movement for an inordinately long amount of time. When I finally was able to place my nude posterior on the commode, a glorious stream of high-density feces travelled from my rectum to the toilet water below. It was a proud moment for Valmorx, I must admit.

It took exactly 9 toilet paper wipes to sanitize my buttocks. I examined the toilet paper to inspect the color and consistency of this impressive excrement. It was a perfect deep-brown color. It reminded me of Easter chocolate, only smeared over toilet paper.

It took three flushes to get everything down. I felt quite nice afterwards. A pleasant bowel movement indeed!

This concludes The Valmorx Bowel Movement Report.

Meanwhile, back on Earth, Trevor had just broken into the Evil Doctor's laboratory located up in the back hills of South Dakota. He was still searching for the kidnapped boy who was known to have been a medical experiment of some sort. Trevor combed every inch of the hideous doctor's home. There, in the corner, Trevor located a trapdoor leading to another room. Opening it up, he found a ladder and headed down into a dark cold chamber-like room. Turning on his trusty flashlight, Trevor started to investigate the surroundings. He did not like what he saw. A faint sound came from the other side of a brick wall. Was it human? Was it animal? Was it just... a noise?


Dear Commander,

Per your orders, I, Valmorx, submit to you this update on my last bowel movement.

It was a cool crisp morning, and the toilet seat was quite cold. It didn't stop me from producing excrement, however. I, Valmorx, let out a sloppy brown mess that splashed all over the inside of the toilet bowl.

I, Valmorx, got feces all over my hands as I, Valmorx, wiped. It was not a pleasant situation. Much toilet paper was needed. My anus was sore for the remainder of the day.

This concludes The Valmorx Bowel Movement Report.

And all the fat old celibate lesbian had to look forward to was another weekend spent flooding the internet with her schizophrenic gibberish. It will be a weekend just like all the others before for years past and like all her weekends to come in her wretched future. Sitting and typing to no one but the hundred or so inner voices that command her life. Trapped in her mystical pigpen, she cries out for help and attention, all the while fearful of getting another PANIC ATTACK. What a beautiful weekend in Morro Bay, CA. God bless you, Julie, and don't forget to take yer anti-depressants!

Groden failed to realize that nerds everywhere were planning to fight back. He slept peacefully that night, blissfully unaware that an angry mob of hundreds of geeks, armed with lightsabers and Elvish swords, were gathering on his front lawn.

not to be thwarted by such an obvious and predictable distraction, a host of 750 foot fusion core mechanical aardvarks folded space and time and leaped into there authorized third dimensional gluten free existence and began to act

exactly in the manner that one would expect from 750 foot tall fusion core mechanical aardvarks...very unsociable and without regard to property values or zoning restrictions that would strictly limit their wanton behavior without proper permits and require massive amounts of liability insurance... ...contribute to our story.


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