WARNING: DO NOT READ TODAY’S FFF. I AM NOT EVEN JOKING.
It’s not actually called “The Fievel Story;” I named it that because it has no title that I’m aware of, but also because it belongs in the pantheon of truly wrong fan fiction such as “The Pok?mon Story” and “The Other Story.” And there’s barely any sex in it, so you know — you know — it’s fucked up. I called a suicide hotline twice when trying to riff this nightmare by an author who terrifyingly refers to himself as FievelJ. Don’t read it! JUST DON’T. YOU WILL REGRET IT FOREVER IF YOU DO.
Eeeak here I am, staying at Mickey’s again, and I am going on 6-years-old, they must like leaving me with Mickey Mouse.
I knew what I wanted to do, but I would be being placed down for a nap. Usually, Mickey would change me before placing me down.
Mickey’s house was three floors total, but I would be on the second. Mickey had three bathrooms. First floor; second floor; third floor. They all worked.
Some authors like to begin their stories by describing the characters. Or discussing their personalities. Some like to explain the setting. FievelJ here decided to tell where the fucking bathrooms were. THIS IS NOT COINCIDENTAL. ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO HIT THE JUMP.
“So Fievel, you are here again, any idea what you care to do after nappy-tyme?”
Ah, “nappy-tyme,” an important part of all “ye olde infantophilia poopie fics.”
Asked Mickey. I shrugged, and then said.
“I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind a swim, I guess.”
“Well, please don’t mess things up… NOT LIKE LAST TIME!!!”
“Donald thought it was a Baby Ruth bar and someone was pulling a Caddyshack, so he ate it. I tell you, you think you’ve seen Donald mad, but you never really have until he accidentally eats shit.”
Mickey still wasn’t very happy that I poopied all over the second floor bathroom closet. Okay, not just unhappy, his anger was still quite alive.
Mickey’s anger is pretty fucking justified, methinks.
“Hope up on the table young mouse, lets change those.”
Said Mickey. I hopped myself up, and then laid on mah-back.
“Mah-back”? Is… is the author trying to write in some kind of baby-speak? If so I refuse to read this if so. I will read about a cartoon mouse shitting the floor of another cartoon mouse, but not in baby talk. I have some standards left.
Mickey wasn’t gonna find it this time,, at least not fast. I was gonna sneak upstairs to the third floor, and go into maybe the broom closet. Mickey so rarely used anything on the third floor, that if I went into the guestroom, there would probably still be poop in the closet.
Mickey pulled the sticky tabs, and then pulled down the front of my diapie.
I didn’t think I’d have cause to use the Toht-Palm so soon, but here we are. Thanks to Jeff Robertson for the image.
“Well, looks like you let a rosebud in here. “Mickey made an odd noise, and “Ewww.” cause I let a piece of poop in my diapie.
Have you ever been in a car wreck? Like, right after the car hits and you don’t know if you’re okay or injured and you’re sick to your stomach because no matter what you know everything in your life has just gotten worse?
That’s how this story is making me feel.
I peed them too, probably while playing earlier.
“I can’t be expected to pay attention to all my excretory functions.”
He wiped at me penis with wet wipes, also getting my anus. Mickey’s paw made me groan in orgasm, I couldn’t seem to hold onto it.
OH GOD WHY WHY WOULD YOU ALLOW SUCH AN EVIL IN YOUR CREATION WHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
“Now now little one, looks like you like that a bit too much.”
Said Mickey, and then grabbed a new diapie. Gawds I wish Mickey would have just fooled with me for a while… is gentle touch made me so horny. He placed on my diapie, and then rubbed the sides of it. He didn’t do it in my crouch area… he was only being sure the tabs were firmly in place.
Remember, Fievel is 6! And a mouse! And a cartoon! And just came because Mickey Mouse wiped his genitals with a handi-wipe while diapering him! Just wanted to make that was allabundantly clear.
“Okay you naughty mouse, up to bed for your Nappy.”
TAKE A NAPPY IN YOUR DIAPIE WHILE I PUT A LOADED GUN BAWWEL IN MY MOUF
Mickey tapped his one foot, waiting for me to get down. I got down onto the bathroom floor, and then headed out of the bathroom, to the stairs, and straight up… I didn’t even wait around to see if Mickey was checking to see if I went up there. I went into pretty much my room, and then in. I closed the door behind me… even though, I wanted to leave this room to go upstairs.
Well, you have to give Fievel one thing: when he commits to shitting on the floor of Mickey Mouse’s third-floor bathroom, he commits.
My crib was there from when I and that blue bunny use-ta play around. He had an affinity for liking to eat poop… and at times, liked puking. He loved it when I had way too much formula in my body… he’d eat it, when I’d spit it up.
This story makes me envy the dead.
I stared at the many poop stains, mostly mine, but a few belonged to other mice as well. I then went to my bed, and then laid down. By this point, because I had begged Mickey for it, I hadda bunk-bed in my room at Mickey’s.
I don’t know if Mickey is the world’s most forgiving babysitter or maybe Fievel’s mom has some kind of incriminating blackmail on him in order to force him to continue watching over her little shitting-nightmare of a son. All I know is the first time a kid deliberately and maliciously shit on my floor, I’d punish him and warn him not to do it again, and the second time he did it I’d set him on fire and throw him in the trash.
The unspoken tragedy here is that Mickey is so resigned to Fievel shitting all over his house that he only makes a cursory attempt at cleaning it up. Seriously, Mickey, shove that bastard in the garbage disposal. No court in the world would convict you.
“I am going to do this, one way or another.” I thought, as if to say it. But how or where upstairs? I only knew I wanted to do this up there, but where wasn’t a sure thing. Mickey sometimes sat at the top of the stairs, making sure I wouldn’t try to sneak from my room, so I would either have to wait for the pitter patter of his footsteps down the stairs, or find another place somehow.
If I pooped in my closet, he would find that out today. No.
When I said I envied the dead before, this was based on the ass
umption that when we die there is no afterlife, just obliteration and void and blackness. While I used to be scared at the idea of my soul dying, now I’m genuinely looking forward to it. If there’s no me, then there’s no me who has read this story. That sounds like the sweetest release of all.
No I had to find someplace Mickey wouldn’t think of at first.
I went to my closet anyways, as I walked in. I slowly closed the door behind me, and managed to get it shut quietly.
There was a panel on the far wall I remembered, but how this would help me, I didn’t know. I moved it, and then walked into the section between walls. I walked far one direction, to find, I was on the other side of the stairs. Where I was is, if you are in the hall, looking at the stairs… I was in the wall, just to the left of the stairs.
Part of the edges of the stairs were showing from here, but how would this help? Nervously I walked fast and quiet to the other side, rather then working myself up the stairs yet. I wanted to see if I could hear anything of Mickey.
“I’ll be up in a few hours, good job listening to me.”
Mickey waited for me to reply. I yelled behind me, hoping to throw my voice well.
“I can’t sleep with you talking to me. Love you though Uncle Mickey.”
“He yelled back, “WHAT EVER!”
“YOU FUCKING WALKING SHIT-STAIN! I SWEAR TO GOD YOU POOP ANYWHERE IN THIS HOUSE THAT ISN’T A TOILET AND I’M CALLING THE CHESHIRE CAT OVER SO HE CAN TURN YOU INTO A GODDAMNED HOT POCKET.”
And then I heard the pitter patter of him going down the stairs. I hurried fast to get outa here, to use the regular steps… only when I got to that part of the closet, I kept going.
“I might as well see what room I can sneak into this way.” I whispered to myself, as I hurried up the other side of the third floor steps. I moved fast, trying to find a room. It came out at a broom closet. This was the one, the ticket. This was the place I would poop, and lose a load of white stuff. I suddenly had a different idea, as I moved swiftly to the third floor bathroom.
“Yeah, no one uses it.”
Not that every single word of this isn’t tragic, but it’s even stupider than you realize. If Fievel really wanted to shit in a place Mickey couldn’t find, in the wall space would be better than any actual room. DEAR SIR: EVEN BY THE IMPOSSIBLY LOW STANDARDS OF AN AUTHOR WHO HAS A STORY ABOUT A CARTOON MOVIE WILLFULLY SHITTING ON THE FLOOR OF ANOTHER CARTOON MOUSE, YOU ARE AN IDIOT.
I said allowed. I went in, closed the door, and then pulled down my diapie. I went and sat on the toilet, even though I had planned to be naughty.
Please, someone, kill me. Or the author. Or both of us. Just let the price for this story be paid for in blood.
“What am I doing, there’s even Cobwebs in here.”
I said, as not a single piece of poop hit the water. The sink knobs were out, and the bathtub had parts which didn’t appear to be in working order. The toilet appeared to be in good working order, but I didn’t just sneak through all of this, just to place my poopy where it belongs.
I lifted my butt, and then hovered it over the floor between the bathtub, and toilet. I let myself drop slightly, wedging myself between the toilet and the bathtub. I could feel the pain as my poop slid out, as I hadn’t actually wanted to start yet. It made a thud noise, as it hit the floor. That thud didn’t alarm me one bit, as it wasn’t all that hard.
I swear to god, when I first got to this part of the story, birds stopped singing, children stopped laughing, and the sun was hidden behind the clouds. I don’t want to sound hyperbolic, but I’m pretty sure this story has killed joy. All of it. In the world. Forever.
I let out a whimpering moan, as I felt more inside of me. I had let out a 7 inch piece, still feeling rather full of poop yet.
Fievel can’t be more than six-inches long. SIR, I DOUBT THE VERISIMILITUDE OF YOUR STORY THAT MAKES ME WANT TO KILL YOU AND YOUR FAMILY AND EVERYONE YOU EVER MET BECAUSE THIS STORY IS TRULY THAT BAD THAT YOUR DEATH ALONE COULD NOT POSSIBLY MAKE UP FOR IT
It was now that I became aware of a full bladder. I grabbed at my penis, and then let out a long stream. I held a lot back, as I had made a slight buddle in the ugly orange carpet. Groaning in orgasm, I wanted to let out more. I moved myself to the other side of the potty, and then stuck my bottom between the sink and cabinet, and the toilet.
(Please excuse the crudity as this is for example.)
My total confusion about what the fuck the author is doing here only makes the anguish more agonizing.
I squeezed out another large piece, as I soon let out more of my bladder, once again making a puddle on the floor in front of me.
My gut hurt, as I made more mess then the above example.
Yes I know it’s sloppy, cut me slack, I am only going on 7-years-old.
I WILL CUT YOU AND THEN I WILL FEED YOUR PIECES TO BIRD AND THEN I WILL KILL THE BIRDS AND SET THEM ON FIRE AND PUT THE ASHES IN A LEAD-LINED BOX THAT I WILL DROP OVER THE MIDDLE OF THE BALTIC SEA, YOU FUCKING LUNATIC
I moved my bottom over again, to above the poop I pooped just moments before, and then pooped a new one. I pooped it nearly right overtop the first one, as I made the above puddle larger.
Seeing my piss splashing, made me even more horny, as my buddy became erect for me. Grunting and groaning, I began masturbating my erect buddy. This would make more mess though eventually, as if I kept toying with my buddy, he would be excited enough to peepee that white stuff. Once I get started though, I usually can’t seem to stop, until I finish. I let some piss in the toilet, as I crawled over it, finding there actually wasn’t any water in it. I peed in it anyways, as I did the floor, hanging my feet on the toilet, and my arms on the sink. My legs spread wide, as I joyfully pissed on the floor. I pressed hard, as I moved up the sink far enough to poop it onto the floor. I reached up further, pulling myself up, and then somehow leaning my balls on the edge of the cabinet. I had my paws on either side of my hips, as I peed across the sink area, and then pooped on the floor some more, with my feet on the edge of the commode. I pulled up, grunting and groaning, as my tail was tingling… mah-body felt to wanna peak, as I grabbed my naughty member with my right paw. I began masturbating, as I still managed to piss slightly… grunting and groaning, while I misbehaved in Mickey’s none working bathroom. It of course by this point, wouldn’t take long to peak, as I done so soon after.
“Ohhh Gawds Here It Cumms.”
Oh my god.
I know what this story is now.
THIS IS IT.
IS THE ANTI-LIFE EQUATION.
I said aloud, as the first long spit was partly running down the sink… and into the drain. I spit a whole load of others, some long… some not so long… and some, just little droplets.
Mah-body was hurting down there, as I spit harder and longer then I can recall… either that, or I just really orgasmed hard, and don’t actually remember. Out-of-breath, I quickly and carefully headed back the way I had come from. But then I went down the normal steps, and then to my room. I never locked my door, so getting back in was easy. I don’t hardly remember closing my eyes, as Mickey was waking me up.
Question: If I put a picture of burn victims or mass graves here, would it really make you feel any worse? I didn’t think so.
“Dinner time you naughty mouse you.
I know what you done upstairs, and Miles just sort of volunteered to clean it.”
I stretched, as I placed this through my mind. Miles Tails Prower? Wait, is Mickey actually thinking what I think he’s thinking?
OH MY GOD THE EVIL DOES NOT END
Miles Tails Prower, had that Raichu taking care of him for the longest time… and that larger mouse then I was having sex with that Orange Fox. Tails is 12-years-old too, an entire 6 years older then I, he’s twice my age.
NOW THERE’S SONIC AND POKEMON CHARACTERS INCLUDED FOR NO FUCKING REASON AAAAAAAA
Thinking parts, as I sat-up.
“Sorry Uncle Mickey.”
“I am not your uncle.”
“I don’t care Mickey, I still like thinking of you that way.”
“Oh well, go downstairs and eat.”
I done so without complaint.
THERE IS NO POINT TO LIVING. LIFE ONLY BRINGS PAIN, FREEDOM BRINGS THE POSSIBILITY OF READING NIGHTMARES LIKE THIS AGAIN. DEATH IS THE ANSWER. HAIL DARKSEID.