The Lion King

In the jungle, the mighty jungle, Simba had a sexual craving that could only be cured by a highly sexual lioness.

He leaned over to Timon and said, “Timon, I think I need a little bit of sex to fill that hole in my soul.”

Timon replied, “Why Simba, I thought you knew that me and Pumbaa here were a travelling two-man sex act from the beginning.”

x

Simba was five years old, newly exiled by his gay paedophilic uncle, and very thirsty. For sex. Being alone in a desert for as long as he was tends to have that effect on a lion.

A red-headed meerkat and a morbidly obese warthog stood before him.

“Who are you?” he said.

“I’m Timon,” said the meerkat, “and this is Pumbaa. We’re a travelling two-man sex act.”

x

“So, how about it?” said Timon, brandishing a breast.

“Nah, I’m not really into men,’ said Simba. “You know, I think it’s time you kept up with your promises and found me a girl.”

“When did we promise to get you a girl?” said Pumbaa.

“You promise that you’ll get me a girl every time my birthday comes around. Just as long as I let both of you have your way with me. Now I think it’s time--”

“Simba, I think it’s time for us to have our way with you again,” said Timon.

“Are you going to get me a girl?”

“How about we dress Pumbaa up in that grass skirt we have lying around?”

“Can we remove the penis?”

They looked at Pumbaa.

“No,” he said.

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Damn, we’re never going to find a use for that grass skirt and Hawaiian headpiece,” said Timon.

Many hours of unabridged sex followed, although, all throughout, Simba protested strongly.

“Stop it Timon. Stop it. Pumbaa, get your hoof out of my ass.”

“Hold on a minute,” said Timon. “Hey Simba, instead of protesting, how about you scream my name?”

“No,” said Pumbaa, “get him to scream his own name.”

“Yeah, that’s kinkier.”

“No wait,” said Pumbaa, “how about we get him to dance for us?”

“How are we going to sex him if he’s dancing?”

“Oh, right,” he said.

Simba had had enough. “Hey, how about you two go sex each other, and I’ll just be over there looking for some female genitalia?”

“Good idea,” said Timon. “No, wait a minute--”

But it was too late, and Simba was gone.

And Timon and Pumbaa were sexless.

A tumbleweed tumbled.

Timon turned to his life partner.

“So, you want to watch that TV series we made?”

“What,” said Pumbaa, “that Disney one?”

“Well it’s not like we’ve done any others.”

“Nah,” said Pumbaa, “I’d rather watch Brother Bear.”

“Jeez, Brother Bear?” said Timon. “I couldn’t bear that one. Get it? Bear? Bear, Brother Bear? I’m great, I know.”

A moment passed.

“Kiss me.”

x

Simba was tumbling through forest, ripping away at branches and spitting at things like an orphan having a seizure.

The kind of seizure you have when you’re watching a sadly underfunded Disney film.

He screamed every time a leaf tickled his back and started to cry every time he stepped on a thorn, but then he started having another seizure.

Also, he laughed every time he saw something that reminded him of female genitalia. Like your face.

(editor’s note: pwned)

A minute passed before Simba started to calm down. Ahead of him he saw a light that shone through the forest canopy. Upon entering it he found himself in a clearing. At the centre of the clearing, a really suck-ass PC sat on the damp leaf litter. The monitor was green with generic rolling hills. Whoever was here last had forgotten to log off their account.

Hah! He was going to take advantage of this.

Realising how long it had been since Simba had written anything proper, he summoned a chair and transfigured his paws into fingers so he could type. He spent far too long typing up a stupidly effortless piece of shit that he entitled “Can We Remove the Penis?” which starred himself and his homoerotic fantasies.

Everything was good until he finished and decided to save. Instead of actually saving the story, the suck-ass PC posted it on a generic fan fiction website (editor's note: not this one) and then the suck-ass PC teased him.

“YOU ARE THE SUX00RZ,” said the PC.

So he ate it.

“These computer chips sure taste good,” said Simba. He allowed a moment for Timon to congratulate him on the pun before realising that Timon wasn’t around. He was probably arguing with Pumbaa about whether they should watch Disney’s Timon and Pumbaa, or Brother Bear.

Simba was lonely.

x

Timon and Pumbaa stared at a screen. Two bears frolicked through a field of yellow flowers while Phil Collins sung.

“You know, this really sucks,” said Timon. “I really hate this. Why do I hate this, Pumbaa? I normally don’t mind Brother Bear.”

“I think it’s cause normally when we watch this, we’re ploughing Simba,” said Pumbaa.

“Nah, that was when we were watching our TV series,” said Timon. “Come to think of it, we might still be making it if that new director didn’t come and fuck everything up.”

“Then maybe it’s because we need Simba for something other than sex,” said Pumbaa.

“What? No way, I never heard anything more stu--hey, you know what?” said Timon. “Maybe it’s because we need Simba for something other than sex!”

“That’s what I just--”

“Timon, you’re a genius!” said Timon. He jumped upon Pumbaa’s back, but not like he normally did. “Mush, Pumbaa! We have to go... back to the future!”

“Timon, you have to stop breaking copyright--”

“I said mush, slave!”

Pumbaa then turned into the car from Back to the Future. Only, instead of carbon monoxide, the exhaust pipe emitted a jet of purely noxious fart.

(editor’s note: that day, thousands of square miles of foliage were ravaged by the gasses native to Pumbaa’s stomach. The government of Kenya put forth three billion dollars of taxpayers' funds to ensure that no Pumbaa-related destruction ever happened again. You can help. Please donate to Pumbaa-stop.)

x

The suck-ass PC was now inside of Simba forever. That was, until that fateful day when he literally shat out his insides. But that’s another story.

Simba left the clearing that once contained the suck-ass PC, then came across another clearing that looked exactly like the previous one. In fact it could have been the previous clearing except that it lacked one suck-ass PC, so Simba strolled into the light like a happy schoolgirl.

He was halfway through the clearing when he tripped on a root and broke all four of his legs. Simba fell onto his face, then writhed on the floor. He did not writhe because he was in pain--he writhed because damp leaf litter turned him on. After that, he laid face-up on the forest floor.

So here was Simba, boner-up, completely immobilised because of his broken limbs.

“I want to get up!” said Simba. “Please, I would give anything to get up!”

Now he was tired.

“On second thoughts, I would rather stay down.”

A really saggy lioness fell from the canopy, right onto Simba’s genitalia.

“That’s funny,” said the lioness, “because I would rather you stay down as well.”

So Simba and the lioness made sweet, sweet love, and Simba’s highly sexual needs were satisfied.

It was then that Timon and Pumbaa burst into the clearing. Timon wore a cowboy hat, and Pumbaa wore the clothing of a cabaret dancer.

“What the hell?” said Timon.

“Well, Timon,” said Pumbaa, “it appears that Simba is making love to a fallen tree branch under the belief that it is a lioness.”

“Would it be wrong to sit here and watch him?” said Timon.

“Yes,” said Pumbaa. “But let’s do it anyway!”

Simba later found out that it was really Timon and Pumbaa who were hallucinating, and that he really was making love to another lioness.

He also found out that the lioness was his mother.

(editor's note: due to the lack of funding to Pumbaa-stop, this parody must end here)