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Mass Fiction is a long running collaborative fiction effort.

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can start by copying one of those. That's what most people do. Or you can just start a new repetitive routine that is equally simple-minded. It will make us all feel better about our sad lives in our tiny trailers getting impaled on fences, talking Spencer, and drinking diarrhea with Porky. Hockey fags too. Then bunnies. Being retarded isn't so bad. We like it. You piece of

Hello! My name is Puke. I'm a boring troglodyte and I post repetitive, uninteresting shit on Mass Fiction along with my other co-pathetic insecure repetitive, uncreative people. How are you? Would you like to join us? We have five or six repetitive routines. If you like you can start by copying one of those. That's what most people do. Or you can just start a new repetitive routine that is equally simple-minded. It will make us all feel better about our sad lives in our tiny trailers getting impaled on fences, talking Spencer, and drinking diarrhea with Porky. Hockey fags too. Then bunnies. Being retarded isn't so bad. We like it. You piece of

sunshine. You have no idea how special and valuable you are. There are a lot of people who care about you even if you don't know it. Take care of yourself and don't take life too seriously. Have a nice day!

Except for a few things. One, Spencer is real. An actual person currently in new Haven CT. Also hockey players are sexy as fuck when they're still in gear. But only to faggots.

Strike a match and watch me burn like wildfire. Hello! My name is Puke. I own a house in Orange County and I think I'm very creative.

I'm a boring troglodyte and I post repetitive, uninteresting shit on Mass Fiction along with my other co-pathetic insecure repetitive, uncreative people. How are you? Would you like to join us? We have five or six repetitive routines. If you like you can start by copying one of those. That's what most people do. Or you can just start a new repetitive routine that is equally simple-minded. It will make us all feel better about our sad lives in our tiny trailers getting impaled on fences, talking Spencer, and drinking diarrhea with Porky. Being retarded isn't so bad. We like it.
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And so the song played on. Near the end of the CD, there was a space of 17 minutes of silence. Suddenly, some gibberish was heard. But when played backward, it clearly said "Gruntwilligar is dead with his fiery breath."

At the end of the track, the same voice said forward, "I killed Grunt."

And that, ladies, gentlemen, Spencer, and Valmorx, is where we came in. The circle was completed. He bought some spam and had been driving a truck again since 2013. ...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.

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