A/N: Okay, you want me to do what with this hot dog? Well, no, I'm, very secure in my masculinity, it's just . . . it's kind of kinky, isn't it? Huh? What do you mean we're on? You mean they just—crap. Well, at least we can edit that out right? Right? What the hell do you mean we're streaming live?! This is a story, not YouTube! . . . Fine, I'll try to save face. Dick. Hello, and welcome to another installation in the fascinating and completely truthful life of Scar. The author would like to you to know that all reviews are welcome, flames included—especially those that insult him using the words "gay-ass douche-bag—" Ow! Fine, I'll stick to the damn script. He would also like you to know that all you people who can't take a joke should sent their comments to King Scar; 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. NW; Washington, D.C. 20500; where your comments will be handled in a timely fashion.

oOo

"Mother?" Uru looked up to see Scar and Chisan standing in front of her. "Could you help us solve something?"

"Sure. What is it, dear?"

"Chisan says that giving doesn't feel good. Now of course, I'm completely against that, I can think of dozens of things that feel good to give. Grenades, bullets, rockets in the face—"

"You know perfectly well that's not what I was talking about," said Chisan. "And besides, that's a sign of a psychopath."

"Anyway, we just can't settle this. So we bet each other twenty bucks that you'd be able to solve it."

"Alright," said Uru. "Give Chisan forty dollars."

Scar opened his mouth, nothing coming out. He finally said, "Well that doesn't feel good at all."

"Alright, then just give him twenty." The queen walked away.

Scar blinked. "Did I just make a bet where I'd lose twenty bucks either way?"

"Don't feel bad," said Chisan, rifling through Scar's wallet. "After all, you helped someone more fortunate than you."

Scar glared at Chisan . . .

oOo

Shenzi stopped dead as she saw Scar standing over Chisan, a bloody knife in his paw. Chisan lied on the ground, not moving, several stab wounds bleeding onto the grass. "Scar?" she asked.

Scar immediately dropped the knife. "Oh. Er . . . Hi."

"What happened?"

"Um . . . He was crazy. He just started screaming at me. 'You screwed Sarafina, you screwed Sarafina—' And he ran into my knife." Shenzi raised an eyebrow skeptically. "He ran into my knife ten times," insisted Scar.

"Oh, come on!" yelled Chisan, bringing his head up. "Chicago? Of all the possibilities, you choose Chicago?"

"Shut up, you're dead," said Scar. He turned back to Shenzi. "Yep. Ten times . . ."

"Uh-huh . . ." She looked back down at Chisan's now unmoving corpse. "Anyway, I—need your help with a little something."

"What?" asked Scar warily.

"Well, you could come with me, or me and the three henchmen hiding in the bushes could tie you down, rough you up a little, and then take you with us."

"Um . . . let's start walking."

oOo

Scar stepped inside the mansion, thankful to be breathing clean air. The air in the graveyard was becoming even more putrid than before. Shenzi cast an accusing glare at him as she opened a door. "Down through there."

Scar looked through the door. From what he could see, it led down a long spiral staircase, the only light coming from where the door was opened. "Uh, it looks dangerous—"

Shenzi kicked Scar in the backside, sending him down the entire staircase until he collapsed in front of a lump. Scar heard the sound of something eating. "I'm turning on the lights," called Shenzi.

Scar's eyes widened as a single light was illuminated, shining down on a hyena that didn't seem to be the brightest one around. The hyena was chewing on several sheets of paper. Scar pulled one that was on the ground closer to him. "Riemann?" Scar whispered.

"This is Ed," said Shenzi. "He wanted to see you."

"Uh, how do you know?" asked Scar.

Shenzi flipped a switch on the wall. The rest of the lights flipped on, revealing along the walls, written in what looked like blood over and over, the words "MUST HAVE SCAR!"

"Oh," said Scar.

"We're afraid he's gone a little mad."

"Eregurah!" said Ed.

"No, he hasn't," said Scar.

"No, we're pretty sure he's crazy."

Ed let out a high peal of maniacal laughter. "He says he's fine," said Scar.

"You can understand him?"

"Well yeah. All you have to do is take his speech, take inverse cube root of his pitch, derive that, plot it on a graph relative to sine . . ."

oOo

". . . and then take the limit of that as it approaches the number of syllables," finished Scar. "It's really not that difficult."

Shenzi stared at him, her mouth open. "He's eating paper!"

"Males think with their stomachs."

"It's an expression, not a reality!"

"Well now you're just splitting hairs."

Shenzi groaned. "I'll leave you two morons alone. I'll be back to collect what's left of you in an hour." She walked back up the stairs.

Scar turned to Ed. Ed pressed a button on the wall. Several sections of the floor turned over, revealing a laboratory. Scar grinned. "Let's get started."

oOo

Shenzi woke up sleepily. She yawned, got up, and went to use the toilet and brush her teeth. After she was finished, she walked back put on her makeup. She walked out the door, noticing her shrine to Scar as she left. She'd have to burn that in effigy sometime—

"Oh my god, I forgot Scar!!"

She ran down the stairs. It had been three days since she had left him down there with Ed. Who knew what would have happened to him. She opened up the door and gave a little shriek as she saw Scar, eyes bloodshot, mane completely mussed, and wearing what looked like a catheter. He was carrying several things in his forelegs.

"WhatareyoudoingsnoopingaroundtryingtostealmyworkyounogoodsonuvabitchI'llkillyouIswear . . ." He blinked sleepily, then seemed to recognize Shenzi. He pushed what he was carrying into her forelegs, then walked past her. A few moments later he walked back down the stairs carrying a toaster and a fork, slamming the door behind him.

Shenzi looked over what she was carrying. There were six letters to the Clay Mathematics Institute, a vial which was labeled "Cure for Cancer," another one labeled "Cure for AIDS," a treaty for world peace, and a syringe with the label, "Experimental, DO NOT DROP!"

Shenzi suddenly heard a loud scream, and the power suddenly flickered. "IT'S ALIVE!!"

Shenzi slowly backed away from the door.

oOo

Chisan walked down the spiral stairwell, seeing Scar sitting down, staring at what looked like a gun. He sat down next to Scar. "What is it?"

"I really don't know."

"What does it do?"

"It emits a beam which, when it reaches its target, creates a small explosion in the target, taking all of the Heisenberg particles around it and messes with them—don't ask me how, we're still working that out."

"So . . . it does what?"

"Well, it turned a pencil into a duck."

"A duck."

"Yes."

"What do you think it'd turn Mufasa into?"

"That's the next step." Scar looked over at Chisan. "Hey, would you mind helping me out with something?"

"What?"

"Well, we were going to tackle Schrödinger next."

"You were? Um . . . I hate to ask this, but isn't that where you set a lock a cat in a box with a can of poison gas and make it both alive and dead at the same time?"

"So you've heard of it?"

"Look, I just came down here to tell you that your mother wanted you back at the house for dinner. It's Thanksgiving, after all."

"We're in Africa. We don't celebrate Thanksgiving."

"Tell that to your father."

Scar sighed. "Fine. I'm coming."

oOo

"There you are Scar, I've been looking for you all over," said Uru.

"Really?" asked Scar.

"No," said Uru. "As I was saying, you can help out with the food. Here's some stuffing and the turkey. I'm sure you can figure out what to do."

"You just want to tell me what to do, don't you?" asked Scar bitterly.

"I am your mother."

"Said the white lioness to the black-maned lion," muttered Scar.

oOo

Chisan walked into the P.O.T.T.Y., seeing Scar hunched over something. He walked around to see Scar with the turkey. "Oh, so you're stuffing the turkey, I see. Stuffing it up the butt." Scar glared up at him. "Is that what you like? Does stuffing turkey butt do it for you?" He leaned closer to Scar. "I can just hear it. 'Ooh, Scar, right up the butt—'"

Scar turned around, his paw still stuck in the turkey, and hit Chisan across the face. Chisan fell to the ground, grabbing at his mouth. "You're possibly the first animal to ever be sucker-punched with a turkey," said Scar. "Congratulations."

Chisan glared up at him, then lunged at him with a snarl.

oOo

"Dear Lord," said Ahadi, "we would all like to take this time to give thanks for the health and prosperity of our great nation, and for this food which you have blessed us with. For this turkey—which has, for some strange reason, teeth in it—for these red, blood-ish colored mashed potatoes, for this green bean casserole which has an indentation of Chisan's face in it, and for the pumpkin pie, which will hopefully be fine. In your name, amen."

"That was beautiful, honey," said Uru. "Now who wants—oh, for crying out loud, Scar, stop trying to kill Chisan with that wishbone!"

"He started it!"

"I did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did—"

Ahadi stood up and slammed a belt down on the table. "Who's first?" he snarled. Scar and Chisan fell silent. "You should be ashamed. What kind of family fights at Thanksgiving?"

The rest of the main course was eaten in silence. Uru finally said, "Scar, Mufasa, why don't you two go get the pies?"

The two lions stood up and walked out of the den, down to the P.O.T.T.Y. where all the food was being held. "Say, Mufasa," said Scar, "would you mind stopping right there?"

"Sure thing, B.M.!"

Scar rolled his eyes and pulled out his gun. He aimed it at Mufasa and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He pulled the trigger again. And a third time.

Nothing happened.

"Gods, damn it!"

"What's taking so long?"

Scar turned to see Chisan behind him. "It won't work!"

"Are you sure it works in the first place and it wasn't just some kind of hallucination from staying up three days inventing stuff and shocking yourself by sticking a fork in a toaster to keep you awake?"

"Yes! Look!" Scar pointed the gun at one of the pies. The pie turned into a small, flaming clockwork soldier.

"Have you just thought that it could just be that Mufasa's so stupid, he doesn't know the laws apply to him? I mean, I know Gravity—good guy—and he has a hell of a time with this guy as it is."

"Ignorance of the law doesn't mean anything! They've proved that!"

"In America," reminded Chisan.

"Dammit!" Scar collapsed, weeping. "It's Thanksgiving, and I don't have a thing to be thankful for!"

oOo

"Dad?"

Ahadi looked up. "Oh, it's you . . . Claw, is it?"

"Actually, it's Scar."

"Whatever."

"Well, it's Black Friday, and there's a ton of sales going on right now. Anyway, I was wondering what to get Mother for Christmas, and well, I thought, 'Hey, why not get her a country? She's been wanting one of those ever since she realized she was getting screwed over by just being queen.'"

"Well that sounds nice. Which one?"

"Well, that's the hard part. Could you pick for me?"

"Sure! What are they?"

Scar held up two pieces of paper, a flag on each one. "Well, this one is a country with a proud people that are determined to defend their homeland at any cost, even if it means going to other countries and kicking the crap out of them in order to get what they want."

"Ooh, I like the sound of that!"

"They also turn a blind eye to genocides that they've caused, and insist that their budget be spent mainly on the military in order to put the fear of God into their enemies."

"What about the other one?"

"Eh, pretty much the same thing. This is the big difference," said Scar, holding up the two flags again. "Which one do you think she'd like more?"

"Hmm . . . well, the first is pretty . . . a lot of stars and stripes. Does it stand for anything?"

"For how many provinces it's divided into, and the red and white stripes are the blood they spill in war and the courage they have in doing so."

"Sounds like something your mother would like. But the other one has that nice, red background, and red is, after all, your mother's favorite color . . . and it's got that neat design in the middle. What do you call that?"

"Oh, that right there? That's a swastika."