#tristmon

I was chilling after I just spent so fucking long diggin' a tunnah. Most beautiful tunnah I ever dug, if I do say so myself. I just performed my last scurry, sniff, FLINCH--!! Of the day. So there I was, relaxing in my own fuckin' house. And then, the ceiling above me started to crack. I went, "Aw hell fucking no. I KNOW I used all the mud and clay around every bend. There ain't no way." And then, it hit me......

No really, this fuckass thing fell into my house and landed on top of me. So I'm screeching like "AYO?! WHAT'S GOIN' ON HEERE??!" I got up and dusted myself off, and looked at whatever the fuck just ruined all my hard work.

Ohh bitch... It's another fucking meerkat. Nah, NAH. It's THAT FUCKASS MEERKAT. Timon the fuckin' tunnel klutz in my goddamn house.

I'm like, "Man, what the fuck. This my goddamn house."

And you know what this dumbass hoe says to me?

"Well, now it has a skylight! You're welcome."

....OOOOOOOOUGGHHHH BITCH. I DONE NEARLY STRANGLED HIM RIGHT THERE AND THEN.

But then.... I saw his stupid ass smirk. His bitchy expression. That's one smug motherfucker, I think to myself.

"Skylight. Yeah. Real nice."

He's still looking at me with that fuckass expression, most punchable face I've ever seen in my whole meerkat life.

As he gets up, I notice... this BITCH LANDED ON MY FUCKIN FRIDGE.

".....Bitch." I say, softly. "My fucking fridge....."

He dusts off a grub that his FATASS killed, and gives me a fruity stare.

"Here, I saved ya one, toots. A grUUHBUH--!" I snatch that fuckin' grub away from him and pimp slap his hand like it owed me money.

"Timon, get the fuck outta my house."

Fruity ass stare and that fuckass smirk, he shoots finger guns at me like he the most smooth ass motherfucker in the room.

"Haha...haah..... Welp! Guess I'll get goin' then!" This bitch starts climbing out the hole-- oh sorry, FUCKNING "SKYLIGHT" he made in my ceiling.

"Timon."

He pauses and I swear to God, I wanna wipe that stupidass smirk off his face with MY FIST.

"Yes?~~~~"

"You better fix my fucking ceiling."

"Will do! Just means I have an excuse to come back~"

And with that, he was gone.

I look at the damage around me and let out a big ass motherfuckin' sigh.

"Dumb bitch..." The faintest hint of affection— buried deep beneath the aggravation. I look at the grub that he flattened with his fatass. The curve of his fat ass is indented in it. "...Motherfucker better get me more food too. Hoe be trifling."

Timon was screeching as he birthed our son. He wanted an at-home birth, with Pumbaa being the one to deliver. He also said he didn't want the epidural. Stupid ass hoe.

"I TAKE IT BACK!!!!!! I WANT IT-- I NEEEED IT!!!!!"

"Timon, you can't have it now, the baby is already coming." Like the good husband I am, I'm by his side while he grips my hand. The feeling of his nasty, clammy palms makes me cringe, but he's giving birth, and Mama don't raise no asshole. Mama raised The Me.

"You're almost there, buddy. Give us one more push." Pumbaa was all up his meerkussy, fishing out our son. It was like he was playing Operation with a claw machine.

Timon gave one more big push, and out came our son. Born with a full head of hair.

"Aww, what a beautiful baby boy," Pumbaa said proudly, as if it were his. "What's the little fella's name?" He asked as he handed our son to Timon.

Timon looked at our son; this miracle he pushed out of his meerkussy. He held him up and looked back and forth between me and the child.

"9 months... 9 months in my meerkussy making me suffer... and he looks like my stupid husband..." He mumbled. "Well, if he's gonna look like you, he has to have a good name."

I scoff, okay, bitch. You just gave birth so I'll let that slide.

"What would qualify as a good name?" I grit my teeth. Don't fucking say it. I swear to god--

"Timon Jr.!" He fucking said it.

"Of course. Well, welcome to the world, Timon Jr."