massfiction title graphic
Mass Fiction is a long running collaborative fiction effort.

words ...

locked from the inside. While feeling frantically along the top of the door frame for the key that I, Valmorx, keep there, the dreaded fecal explosion occurred. Several quarts of foul smelling filth were forcefully discharged from my anus, covering my legs, my feet, and most of the hall carpet in feces. I, Valmorx, then vomited onto the floor and wall.


Sadie was best friends with Jenny, who had a crush on Sean, who was the boyfriend of Ariana, who broke up with George, who was rivals with Richard, who was the boyfriend of Natalia, who was the sister of Lana, who was best friends with Kiki, who just dumped Herman, who was the long-lost twin of Marie, who was best friends with Francine, who was enemies with Alicia, who was the girlfriend of Rory, who was best friends with Paul, who had a crush on Olivia, who was in track with Ivan, who was the brother of Natasha, who had a crush on Timothy, who was the brother of Michelle, who had a crush on Bryce, who was best friends with Anthony, who had a crush on Lucy, who was in the same homeroom as William, who was acquainted with Edward, who was enemies with Vincent, who had a crush on Sadie, who drank the diarrhea.


Ah, I see our Canadian nincompoop has learned how to punctuate.

I was in the bathroom at work yesterday and I was just finishing up a nice solid dump, when this guy came rushing in and went into the stall next to me. I could tell he really needed to unload because he fumbled with his belt and didn’t bother with seat paper. When he hit the bowl he immediately had this incredible bowel explosion which was followed by a barrage of turds. This guy was seriously unloading with a lot of very loud farts and grunting. Now I’m totally straight but I just get turned on when a guy is really uninhibited and really goes for it, and this guy was awesome.

So he wipes and flushes and gets up, but wait! He’s not done! He puts down some seat paper and sits back down and after a few seconds of shameless farting and grunting he starts unloading more logs – BIG TIME. And it just keeps going. Then the most embarrassing thing happened -- right in the middle of him blowing out all those turds, I have an orgasm! – I just couldn’t help it.

And what was amazing is that I thought the shitting sounds drowned out whatever sound I made, but then I heard the guy chuckle. After he wiped, we both came out together. He was very tall and stocky. We washed out hands side by side and the whole bathroom stunk of his shit. He looked at me in the mirror, smiles and says, “That was pretty wild, huh.” “Sure was!” I replied. After that we went our separate ways, but talk about a hot experience. Wow!

Good old Mass Fiction. Always keeping it classy.

And gassy.

By the way, I'm not a "Canadian nincompoop." I'm from Tattooine and my name is Mary Skywalker. I like to trip and impale myself on fences. Then crap my pants. And die. THE END

and the end reaches back around to the beginning. And in the beginning, there ws Spencer. Spencer was an asshole. A pot-smoking Morrissey wannabe.

Sitting in a cubicle on the third floor of Google's main office building, Spencer typed up his dastardly plans for domination of the nation's Gatorade supply, and stored them in an Excel spreadsheet. He named the file "November Budget B" to hide its contents, just in case a supervisor examined his computer. Spencer chuckled to himself. He wore an impalation-proof vest and had already gone to the bathroom, so he would not have an accident in his pants. Nothing could stop him.

Nothing, that is, except an inopportune hard-on that materialized as his supervisor entered his cubicle. He tried pushing his chubby down into his pants but the boss wasn't fooled.

"Well, Spencer, I see you're hard at work," quipped the boss. Spencer grit his teeth. Oh, how he loathed the boss. "It's the, um, allergy medication I'm taking. Causes some weird side effects."

"Uh-huh," replied the boss with a smirk. "I'll just bet it does. By the way, Spencer, didn't you bother to read the memo about the new dress code? You're no longer allowed to wear impalation-proof vests. Lose it or lose your job." He turned and strode imperiously from the cubicle.

Spencer groaned. He couldn't afford to lose his job. Not now, not when he was so close to cornering the nation's Gatorade supply. Reluctantly, he removed the vest. No sooner had he done so than he tripped, impaling himself on a fence.

Where in the hell did that fence come from? Spencer wondered, as he crapped his pants. And died. THE END

...contribute to our story.


Here's where you can contribute. Type something into the box below. Take the story wherever you want. End in the middle of a sentence and the next author can continue from there. Or not. Only the mundane and the idiotic* is disallowed.

I am not a spammer: 

* HTML tags are allowed. Type <P> or press return a couple times to separate paragraphs. Please do not use extravagant html or post anything overly offensive. If you try to disrupt our fun, you will be banished from this web site. Only one submission at a time. Massfiction won't let you add two submissions in a row.

Too many dirty words? Try the Nice or Naughty filter.