The Lion King 1 1/22004

Ma:
Timon! Excuse me. Have you seen my son? Has he been through here? Timon!

Uncle Max:
Digga tunnah, dig, digga tunnah... digga tunnah, dig, dig—Aaaah! [Ma pokes him, scaring him out of his chant]

Ma:
Uncle Max?

Uncle Max:
[spooked] Aaahh!

Ma:
Uncle Max, relax. Have you seen Timon?

Uncle Max:
[pleased with himself] No, I haven't—and what a day it's been! No fractures, no lacerations, no concussions, contusions or injuries of any sort. As a matter of fact, there's no sign of Tee-mon's handiwork anywhere!

[The ceiling cracks and then comes crashing down around them, light streaming in all around; finally there's nothing left of the tunnel but a ring of dirt held up on a narrow protrusion, with Timon standing under it]

Uncle Max:
[fuming] That would be... TEE-MON!!!

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?!

Fred:
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]