Talk:The Lion King 1½/@comment-81.229.87.120-20130305172223

Uncle Max: {fuming} That would be... TIMOOON!

Timon: {embarrassed} Heh heh heh. Hey, everybody!

Meerkat1: Ha ha. Nice work, Timon.

Meerkat2: Way to go, tunnel klutz.

Meerkat3: Who else could break a hole?

Meerkat4: Four in a week—a new record!

Ma: {quietly despairing} Not again...

Timon: What? {defiantly} It's called a skylight!

{The "skylight" crumbles to nothing.}

Ma: {trying to salvage the situation} Ho ho. Wow! Isn't that creative. A skylight! Oh, ha ha. {seeking discretion as the better part of valor} I'll just have a word with him.

{Ma leads Timon away from the scene of the collapse.}

Timon: I... I was just trying to shed a little light on our pathetic existence.

Ma: Timon, this can't go on. Just this month, you've pulled down four walls and collapsed two tunnel exits. {She combs Timon's hair} We have to look after each other. Our survival depends on it.

Timon: What's the point? All we do is dig so we can hide, and hide so we can dig. {Ma finishes combing his hair, which "poofs" up into a bunch of spikes} I wanna be where we don't have to dig tunnels and live with our heads stuck in the sand. {pushes some grass apart and gazes out over the horizon} What's so bad about dreaming of a better home?

Ma: {joins him at the gap in the grass} I wanna show you something. Look, Timon. Go on, look. {Camera pulls back to a panoramic view of the Pride Lands in all their golden-lit majesty, as the "This Land" theme plays} Look out to the horizon, past the trees, over the grasslands. Everything the light touches... {sharply} belongs to someone else!

{A record needle scratches; the grasses snap back together and block the view.}

Timon: Funny. I thought you were going a whole different direction with this.

Ma: What can I say? It's nature's design.

Uncle Max: {appears out of the grass suddenly} She's right! We're food for other animals—a moveable feast. Feared by no one and eaten by all!

Timon: But when they die, they become the grass. And we eat the grass... right?

Uncle Max: Not exactly; we can't digest grass. We're grass intolerant.

Ma: {snatches Timon away} Ok, Max. Thank you. You've been a big help. {To Timon} Honey, I—

Uncle Max: {appearing out of another stand of grass} Meerkat... it's what's for dinner!

Ma: {increasingly sarcastic; pointing meaningfully off into the distance} Thank you, Uncle Max.

Uncle Max: {groans at the camera} Uhh. {disappears}

Timon: I think Uncle Max dislodged one too many rocks with his skull.

Ma: But he's right, Timon. {She tries to comb his hair again; a bug flies by, and she snatches it and squishes it into hair gel} Oh, I just know there's a way for you to fit in here.

{Timon glowers from under his plastered-down hair; a single hair springs back up, and he sighs.}

Uncle Max: {off-screen, to other meerkats} All right, who's on sentry duty?

Ma: {perks up with inspiration; gasps} That's it! That's it—My son on sentry duty! Timon the sentry!

{cut to Uncle Max being told of this idea}

Uncle Max: {in horrified shock} Timon the sentry?! Why don't you save the hyenas the trouble and kill me now? Just kill me now!

Timon: He has a point.

Ma: All you have to do is watch for hyenas and yell if you see one. Look at Iron Joe.

Iron Joe: {in the middle of a nervous breakdown} Don't close your eyes! Don't look away! Somebody's gotta guard us! Somebody's gotta protect us! {Breaks up in sobs as a couple of meerkat orderlies carry him away, raving, from his post}

Timon: Well. Now I'm convinced.

Ma: Listen—it's outside, up in the breeze, under the wide open sky—isn't that what you want? {to Max} Or maybe you would rather have him go back on the digging crew.

Max and everyone: NO!

{Camera switches to the entire colony of meerkats, listening intently, and now pretending nonchalance and clearing their throats}

Ma: Good... then we all agree. Timon, listen to Uncle Max. He'll teach you everything you need to know. And honey, {earnestly} try to make this one work.