"Well, this is stupid."
Timon's unsavory statement echoed in the hot, dry landscape. For the past few hours they had been following the tracks of the car that had so unnecessarily run them down like so much road kill, with next to no results. Pumbaa was exhausted, Timon was angry, and all the bugs they had brought along had all died petulantly and dried up into tasteless husks. This whole ordeal was looking less glorious and more like a big fat waste of time. Timon wished that idiot old man was in front of him so he could beat him with that rubber chicken in his suitcase.
Pumbaa finally plopped down on the ground, sighing in a great whoosh of air that blew up a dust cloud in front of them.
"Uhnn... I'm pooped, Timon... can we just sit here and rest awhile?"
Timon jumped to the ground and narrowed his eyes at Pumbaa, stomping an obstinate footpaw on the ground.
"What?! You get run over by some guy in a Chevy and you want to stop?"
Pumbaa only dropped down further onto his stomach and looked wearily at Timon with drooping eyelids. Timon groaned in frustration, then sat down on his behind, supporting himself by spreading his arms out behind him.
"Hmmph.... Well, okay..."
Fortunately, it was still early morning (they had gone all night after getting another fix-up), and the ground was still cool. Timon determined to keep up a constant vigil for last night's assailant, promising himself he would go insane with boredom before he let that guy slip past his gaze.
But the soft, cool dirt felt good under his paws, and the air was so peaceful... it began to grow on the meerkat, and soon he simply slumped against Pumbaa's slowly heaving chest, using it as a pillow while he dozed off, folding his paws over his stomach.
Timon woke up feeling like his bottom was on fire. He hopped up and yelped loudly enough to wake up Pumbaa, who stirred and opened an eye to watch the meerkat hop around rapidly smacking his behind over and over again.
"Um... what are you doing Timon? You know that didn't win us anything at that dance contest last year..."
"I'm not –ow!- doing any dance –yee-how!- Pumbaa! This dumb sand got hot from the sun..." Timon turned and noted the position of the sun, his eyes widening as he stared at it. Wherever it was (Timon needed a watch), it was way later than he had wanted it to be.
"Agh! Pumbaa! How long have we been asleep!?" he yelled, still looking, and now pointing at the sun. Pumbaa rolled over onto his back.
"Oh, I'd guess around six or seven hours... we never were light sleepers."
"But... but the sun! It's so high, and... and late and... and.... Wait a minute..."
Pumbaa was just about to remark how bad looking so long at the sun was, when Timon yelled aloud and began running in circles, this time rubbing furiously at his eyes.
"Aaaaaahhh! Pumbaa! Pumbaa! Water! Get water! Iodine! I'm blind! Bliiiiinnnnddd!!!"
/=/
Once Timon had calmed down enough, and convinced that he was certainly not blind, they at once set off into the desert following the tire tracks. After another couple hours of mundane wandering, which would make anyone's head explode with boredom if it was described to them, Timon suddenly sat up from where he had been lying on Pumbaa's head and pointed a large, black silhouette on the horizon.
"Would you look at that, Pumbaa!" Pumbaa stared in the direction Timon was jabbing at. Squinting, he too soon saw the shape.
"It... looks like a rock."
"Yes, Pumbaa, that is, indeed, a rock! And look! The tire tracks go right to it! Go for it, buddy!"
"Yay!" yelled Pumbaa exuberantly, and they were off like a shot once more. Granted, it took two hours to reach the rock, but they were still full of inspired energy when they reached it. However, disappointment reigned once more when they began to search the mall-sized butte for clues. There didn't seem to be anything on the rock, above the rock, around the rock, or in the rock. Timon let loose his signature groan of frustration as they circled the monolithic structure for the third time.
"Grraaggh! What is this? The stupid tracks just run right into the dumb thing! What mook would seriously consider driving a car into a rock?!"
"Well, Timon," began Pumbaa, taking on an oddly insightful air, "since you consistently seem to term all the really dumb people we meet as mooks, then I think it's pretty obvious that the person who drove their car into this rock is a mook himself, therefore we can't really ask what kind of mook it was, as mook is a derogatory term for stupid people, as I've mentioned. Therefore, the only kind of person that drove their car into the rock is, as you say, a mook."
About halfway through Pumbaa's speech, Timon had sighed and leaned forward on his friend's head, leaning forward on his elbow with his head in his paw. When the warthog was finished, Timon glanced blankly down at him.
"Rhetoric is lost on you, isn't buddy?"
"What's that, Timon?"
"Oy... never mind. Let's just camp out here tonight and figure out what to do for tomorrow..."
The night would prove to be more eventful than either of them anticipated.
A/N: Well, there's a dumb cliffhanger if I ever saw one. Either way this chapter isn't very inspired, I'll admit. Well, it always gets worse before it gets better!
Timon's unsavory statement echoed in the hot, dry landscape. For the past few hours they had been following the tracks of the car that had so unnecessarily run them down like so much road kill, with next to no results. Pumbaa was exhausted, Timon was angry, and all the bugs they had brought along had all died petulantly and dried up into tasteless husks. This whole ordeal was looking less glorious and more like a big fat waste of time. Timon wished that idiot old man was in front of him so he could beat him with that rubber chicken in his suitcase.
Pumbaa finally plopped down on the ground, sighing in a great whoosh of air that blew up a dust cloud in front of them.
"Uhnn... I'm pooped, Timon... can we just sit here and rest awhile?"
Timon jumped to the ground and narrowed his eyes at Pumbaa, stomping an obstinate footpaw on the ground.
"What?! You get run over by some guy in a Chevy and you want to stop?"
Pumbaa only dropped down further onto his stomach and looked wearily at Timon with drooping eyelids. Timon groaned in frustration, then sat down on his behind, supporting himself by spreading his arms out behind him.
"Hmmph.... Well, okay..."
Fortunately, it was still early morning (they had gone all night after getting another fix-up), and the ground was still cool. Timon determined to keep up a constant vigil for last night's assailant, promising himself he would go insane with boredom before he let that guy slip past his gaze.
But the soft, cool dirt felt good under his paws, and the air was so peaceful... it began to grow on the meerkat, and soon he simply slumped against Pumbaa's slowly heaving chest, using it as a pillow while he dozed off, folding his paws over his stomach.
Timon woke up feeling like his bottom was on fire. He hopped up and yelped loudly enough to wake up Pumbaa, who stirred and opened an eye to watch the meerkat hop around rapidly smacking his behind over and over again.
"Um... what are you doing Timon? You know that didn't win us anything at that dance contest last year..."
"I'm not –ow!- doing any dance –yee-how!- Pumbaa! This dumb sand got hot from the sun..." Timon turned and noted the position of the sun, his eyes widening as he stared at it. Wherever it was (Timon needed a watch), it was way later than he had wanted it to be.
"Agh! Pumbaa! How long have we been asleep!?" he yelled, still looking, and now pointing at the sun. Pumbaa rolled over onto his back.
"Oh, I'd guess around six or seven hours... we never were light sleepers."
"But... but the sun! It's so high, and... and late and... and.... Wait a minute..."
Pumbaa was just about to remark how bad looking so long at the sun was, when Timon yelled aloud and began running in circles, this time rubbing furiously at his eyes.
"Aaaaaahhh! Pumbaa! Pumbaa! Water! Get water! Iodine! I'm blind! Bliiiiinnnnddd!!!"
/=/
Once Timon had calmed down enough, and convinced that he was certainly not blind, they at once set off into the desert following the tire tracks. After another couple hours of mundane wandering, which would make anyone's head explode with boredom if it was described to them, Timon suddenly sat up from where he had been lying on Pumbaa's head and pointed a large, black silhouette on the horizon.
"Would you look at that, Pumbaa!" Pumbaa stared in the direction Timon was jabbing at. Squinting, he too soon saw the shape.
"It... looks like a rock."
"Yes, Pumbaa, that is, indeed, a rock! And look! The tire tracks go right to it! Go for it, buddy!"
"Yay!" yelled Pumbaa exuberantly, and they were off like a shot once more. Granted, it took two hours to reach the rock, but they were still full of inspired energy when they reached it. However, disappointment reigned once more when they began to search the mall-sized butte for clues. There didn't seem to be anything on the rock, above the rock, around the rock, or in the rock. Timon let loose his signature groan of frustration as they circled the monolithic structure for the third time.
"Grraaggh! What is this? The stupid tracks just run right into the dumb thing! What mook would seriously consider driving a car into a rock?!"
"Well, Timon," began Pumbaa, taking on an oddly insightful air, "since you consistently seem to term all the really dumb people we meet as mooks, then I think it's pretty obvious that the person who drove their car into this rock is a mook himself, therefore we can't really ask what kind of mook it was, as mook is a derogatory term for stupid people, as I've mentioned. Therefore, the only kind of person that drove their car into the rock is, as you say, a mook."
About halfway through Pumbaa's speech, Timon had sighed and leaned forward on his friend's head, leaning forward on his elbow with his head in his paw. When the warthog was finished, Timon glanced blankly down at him.
"Rhetoric is lost on you, isn't buddy?"
"What's that, Timon?"
"Oy... never mind. Let's just camp out here tonight and figure out what to do for tomorrow..."
The night would prove to be more eventful than either of them anticipated.
A/N: Well, there's a dumb cliffhanger if I ever saw one. Either way this chapter isn't very inspired, I'll admit. Well, it always gets worse before it gets better!