About the author:
Buster B Manwomb was born to a pair of Wendy's cashiers who abandoned them in the same grease depository in which they was conceived. They was found and raised by wolves in the mountains of Florida, where they grew up learning to love the written word, spending many hours reading literature abandoned by the highway. Their favorite works, the second half of the June 1999 issue of TV digest, and the VHS case for 'Triple Nanny Creampie 3: Rise of the Babushka' influence their writing to this day. They currently reside in a Newfoundland dumpster, writing new and exciting literature on their Blackberry Playbook.
If you do not have the time to roam the maritimes with an aromatic bowl of deli meats in search of them, you can follow Buster Manwomb on Twitter at BusterManwomb.
Chapter 1: wet percussive anal romance
Simba made The Baby from Eraserhead cum like twenty times. It was love at first sight when they started grinding each other on the dance floor. Only when they were told that it was not a dancefloor but a Chuck E Cheese ball pit, and what they thought was House music was actually a large group of children crying very loudly, did they decided that place was too 'scene' and that they should find someplace to do some rump-bumping in quiet.
They went back to The Baby from Eraserhead's studio apartment in a lusty strut, engaging in minutes of the juiciest visceral butthole invasion and nipple chewing that the greater Baltimore Metropolitan Area would ever confuse for an earthquake.
Once the whole building had flooded with what many thought was vanilla pudding mixed with beef liver pate, Simba fell back onto the bed, dry heaving. The Baby from Eraserhead too was satisfied, and was smoking beside him. "That was fucking lit!" Simba sighed with spent arousal, spooning up to The Baby from Eraserhead.
With postpartum sensuality, The Baby from Eraserhead weeped blood.
Simba laughed and kissed The Baby from Eraserhead's tiddy. "I'm glad you liked it too! But boy and I spent! Do you want any food?"
The Baby from Eraserhead wailed like an elderly Mormon woman reading her adult grandson's comments on an incel subreddit.
"Taquitos would hit the spot!" Simba said, smacking The Baby from Eraserhead's thicc dad thighs as he got up from the bed. "I know a great place nearby! They don't do Skip the Dishes but they're tastier than all hell!" Simba clothed himself, struggling to stuff his still-semi-erect donk into his pants. "You keep your pants off! I am not done with your dick!"
The Baby from Eraserhead began to spew noxious, ever-expanding grey goo, sure to consume everything you have ever loved and/or would prefer not to be consumed like cthulu's midnight snack.
"I WILL remember the hot sauce!" Simba Said with the tenacity of denzel washington from the great debaters if he was high on blow.
What Simba thought was the place that mad the best taquitos in the city was actually the only place that would willingly sell taquitos to lions since the owner was kind of blind. Imagine if Jeffrey Dahmer grew a porn stache and turned into a bodega and you would have some idea how sketchy this place was. The taquitos were cooked on a hot dog roller that looked like it hadn't been cleaned since before the Simpsons existed. On the plus side, there was usually no line.
There was a line.
Simba was fucking livid, and decided that the best way to get his taquitos before his stiffy deflated was to weild it like a bat designed by david kronenburg and beat all the people in front of him until nobody else was conscious.
"What the FUCK" Said the third person he attacked with his penis.
Simba was confused, and attacked again.
"Stop that." The person he was trying to cock-bludgeon retorted.
This made no sense. Usually after one or two hearty bops to the noggin with his penis, anybody's top three favourite brain lobes would be squeezed out their tear duct.
"Who da fuck are you?" Simba interrogated, brandishing his penis with a dwindling sense of menace.
The person slowly turned around. It was the Master Control Program. Odd how Simba never noticed that he was smashing his cock-bat against a massive wall of light.
"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?" The MCP Bellowed menacingly.
"What if I am, bruh?" Simba retorted, fruitlessly attacking the MCP with his fleshy trouser baton.
"I'd like to go against you and see what you're made of."
"Come at me bruh! I'll fucking school you!" Simba threatened, ignoring the fact that he was completely in the wrong.
Thanks to the drama, Simba never noticed the fucking massive laser that was lining up behind him, and loudly charging until it blasted him right outta this world.
Chapter 2: Fucking lasers, man.
"Fuck in a wat?" demanded a viscerally confused Simba as he realized he was wearing what looked like a road map of Boston made from glowsticks, and was sitting in a room that looked like if a Linux user made a laser tag arena.
"You there!" Said a guard that looked like a copyright-safe version of a storm trooper. "You have been sent to the grid by master control program. You must sex yourself to death!"
"This looks like Reboot."
This triggered Sark, who was about to kill Simba when he heard a contextually convenient voice of the Master Control saying 'I want him in the games until he dies playing. And record it too. Then put it in the 'slightly questionable porn' file."
"Fucker!" Sark said.
Simba looked up. A man was yelling at him from a spaceship like a mile away.
"Is he saying something?" Simba asked.
"He's telling you not to lose your identity disc." The not-stormtrooper said.
"What do I do with it?" Simba asked.
"You throw it at people."
"That makes sense. How do I get out of here?" Simba asked.
"You must fuck your way out."
"Oh, so it's like Chuck E. Cheese." Simba said.
"…What?" The not-stromprooper asked, slightly concerned.
"Imagine if you got molested by Teddy Ruxpin every time you at a pizza or made an Undertale reference. Now imagine trying to do that instead of paying for a Five Night's at Freddy's game."
Not-Stormtrooper did not move.
"That was my Vietnam."
Not-Stormtrooper wasn't moving because he had committed suicide.
"Classic." Simba stretched triumphantly. The man on the spaceship was still monologuing inaudibly.
"WHO THE FUCK DO I FUCK FIRST YOU FUCK!" Simba yelled. "I AM DOWN TO A CHUB AND NEED A WARMUP!"
Something that looked like L'arc de triomphe as interpreted by Starfox on the Super Nintendo flew down and turned into a door. Because computers or something.
From the portal hissed a thick, hulking figure that lumbered towards Simba, shrouded in dramatic, convenient darkness.
"Hyuk." The figure hyukked.
Chapter 3: Politics
"Well gawrsh." A ripplingly curvaceous Goofy emerged from the shadow. "Normally the folks that piss off the MCP don't look so tiny."
"I'm not afraid of you." Simba stood his ground. "I literally EAT bigger people than you for breakfast!"
"Wanna bet?"
"Goofy thrust into the air, covering the distance between them while striking a midair pose so majestic that his clothes flew off like the gay guy in One Punch Man, only here you could see his schlong, worthy of the depravity of an nsfw Second Life world or the author's average fever dream. And boy was it a schlong."
"Hyuh… why are you narrating?" Goofy asked.
"I like to hype myself up." Simba said.
Stop it. That's my job.
"Fine! Christ…" Simba grumbled mildly
He wasn't wrong through. It was an extraordinary peen.
"Is it not majestic?" Goofy gestured to it.
Goofy's penis looked like if a Lance Armstrong action figure was filled with three times more corn syrup than it needed and was then lubricated with black shoe polish, making it look unnaturally structured and slightly racist.
"I have named it Mike Pence!" Goofy declared.
"That's disgusting." Said the Lion who was giving the Baby from Eraserhead a dirty trombone not a half an hour earlier without a hint of irony. "I honestly think I'd have preferred that red rocket business dogs usually have."
"If ya think this is bad…" Goofy teased. "You should look at Mickey's donk! It looks like a crashed greyhound bus!"
"I really don't like where this is going." Simba said.
"He called it #HumboIdtSchIong!" Goofy declared
"Christ almighty!" Simba cringed. "What the fuck is wrong with him?"
"Well, he has a lot of broken bones now." Goofy said. "The moment he said it out loud he got lynched by a pack of Canadians. Disney's already trying to remake Cool Runnings as an apology. Didn't go to well. They cast Scarlet Johansson as the lead, a-hyuk!"
Tired of all this shit, Simba lunged at Goofy's throat: his kronenburg bat dick was too limp at the moment to use.
"I can only die if I cum!" Goofy said, pushing Simba back whith his exuberant Big Dick Energy. "And good luck! I haven't been able to cum since 9/11!"
"Oh I'm sorry." Simba said, "Trauma?"
"Naw, it's just that nothing can compare. Sad hyuk." Goofy said, reminiscing.
Firmly done with this shit, Simba lunged at Mike Pence, rubbing along his polished black mass until he began to expand, veins beginning to bulge haphazardly. Simba's sharp claws digging into Mike Pence's stretchy, soft skin made Goofy shiver."
"That's all right." Goofy said. "But it's no jet fuel melting steel beams…"
Simba used his to gnaw on Mike Pence's pudgy girth, earning an occasional shudder and moan and hyuk from Goofy's ecstatic sweaty face. A tiny bit of precum leaked out of Mike Pence's head.
"Oh yawrsh. Fuck me up like America's international relations in the last year daddy!" Goody moaned. He was totally into all the dirty stuff Simba was doing to Mike Pence. He stuck a light cycle rod up Goofy's asshole while working Mike Pence's head, though he didn't start to get more of a reaction until he stuck Goofy's bike stick up Mike Pence's vestigial asshole and start straight up punching Mike Pence in the face.
"Awwww Yursh!" Goofy screamed. "Tell me you have nail clippers and that you're taking over the plane!"
Simba took the whole of Mike Pence in his mouth, feeling with throat throb with every lapping gulp.
"Mike Pence is gonna be able to tell if I'm smuggling cocaine when I'm done with you!" Simba yelled inexplicably clearly despite having Mike Pence giving him rapid fire oral prostate exams. Grabbing Mike Pence's Balls (Or maybe they were Goofy's. It's kind of a thing) Simba began to beat them like they told him that he phoned it in in Lion King 1 ½.
"This is as close as I've ever gotten!" Goofy moaned. " Though Flight MH370 was closer before it ghosted me!
"You want a disaster that destroyed the lives of thousands, Motherfucker?" Simba grumbled. He pulled Mike Pence's gleaming puffy mass from mouth. "The Hannah Montana Movie came out AFTER 9/11!"
It was like someone told Alex Jones that frogs have always been gay. Goofy swelled into a purple mass of misplaced energy and exploded out of Mike Pence hard until he looked like the lovechild of a wookie and a bearskin rug.
Sexually satisfied, Goofy begun to slither into the darkness. "Gawrsh." He sighed.
"Can I go now?" Simba said. "I want some fothermucking tacquitos."
"Nein. Your journey has only begun." Goffy said. "You must fuck your way through MCP's henchmen to the ultimate challenge."
"Shitfuck." Simba said. "How to I"
The polygonal spaceship turned into a portal again. Simba stepped through it and found himself in an arena the size of Blood Gulch. A tall figure stood at the far end.
"Hey!" Simba called. "Am I gonna have to fuck you too or is there a crack in the wall I can escape through?"
The unrecognizable figure lumbered closer, breathing heavily.
"You're gonna need a lot more propane to get out of this situation I'll tell you hwat."
Tune in Next Time for 69 Hues of Disney 2, part 2: advent of the unicocktopi.