03x27 - Common Scents/Mister Twister

[bunniefuu]

♪ Hakuna matata ♪

♪ what a wonderful phrase ♪

♪ hakuna matata ♪

♪ ain't no passing craze ♪

♪ it means no worries ♪

♪ for the rest of your days ♪

♪ it's our problem-free ♪

♪ philosophy ♪

♪ hakuna matata ♪

♪ yeah! ♪

♪ Hakuna matata! ♪

♪ Timon and Pumbaa! ♪

♪ Hakuna matata! ♪

♪ It means no worries ♪

♪ for the rest of your days ♪

♪ it's our problem-free ♪

♪ philosophy ♪

♪ hakuna matata ♪

♪ Timon and Pumbaa ♪

Ah. Nothing like floatin'
in the river on a hot day.

The feel of cool water,
the sound of birds,

the smell of the city dump...

Hey, we're thousands
of miles from any city.

Ahem. Try not to take this
personal, Pumbaa, but you stink!

Who, me?

That's funny. I
don't smell anything.

Phew!

I don't mind rotting
carcasses, but this is too much.

So as you see, Mr. Gofigure,

your jeans and crummy accessories
are selling better than ever.

And your eau du
whatever is selling... ok.

Okay? I'm Donny
gofigure, fashion trendsetter.

"Okay" is not good
enough for moi.

Eau du whatever
is eau du history.

I need a new
overpriced scent to sell.

I need... yes! That smell...

It's so different, so macho,
so gross in a kooky kind of way.

I gotta find out where
it's coming from.

Even a bath has no effect
on your barnyard aroma.

Well, that may be true...

But I haven't had a
mosquito bite in years.

Aha!

That stench...

That unbearable odor...

That gaseous as*ault on
my million-dollar nose job.

You da man.

He's a warthog named Pumbaa.

Then... you da warthog.

I'm fashion designer
Donny gofigure. Hola.

I'm sure you've heard of
my world-famous blue jeans.

Heard of them? My mom
used to nest in a pair, see?

I'm touched.

But you, you, Pumbaa,
reek of unwashed masculinity.

I could sell that.

I'll call it... Pumbaa...

The perfect contrast to those
sweet-smelling colognes.

Pumbaa, what about me?

Sorry, pal. Two's company,
three is an unfavorable profit split.

Now, where were we? Oh, yes...

The world is going to want
Pumbaa all over its face.

Did you hear that, Timon?
Everyone's gonna smell like me.

What's he got that I don't got?

Whoops. Sorry.

Money in the bank.

And now for the ultimate test.

Tell us... have we captured
your natural essence, Pumbaa?

Surprisingly gassy... With a
fruity bouquet of rotten apples...

It's me!

Yes!

I don't really smell that good either,
but nobody ever seems to notice.

In life there are certain
things you cannot deny.

The look of love...

The sounds of passion...

And the smell of success.

Be a man... smell
like a warthog.

Pumbaa.

Available only at finer
department stores.

And the winner of the
scent of the year is...

Pumbaa!

Thank you, thank you.

This award means more to
me than a snout full of larvae.

But first a word from
my good friend Timon.

Ta-da!

Oh!

Gee, I wonder
what's bugging Timon.

Thank you.

And so with the smashing
success of Pumbaa Cologne,

we've created a new
line of Pumbaa products

that includes hoof-shaped
sneakers and pre-stunk jeans.

- Ooh...
- Ooh...

That does it! I'm sick of
Pumbaa this and Pumbaa that.

It's time for the world to open up their
nostrils and smell me for a change.

Look out, world.

Timon's spray of meerkat
is now officially for sale.

Please form a single-file line.

There's plenty of Timon's
spray of meerkat for everyone...

And autographed photos.

Uh, excuse me, sir.

Care for some Cologne,
ma'am? Buy one, get one free.

Ok, how 'bout
just "get one free"?

Here, take it. Don't give
me any lip. Just take it.

Oh, Timon! How's business?

Look! It's Pumbaa!

I want his autograph!

- Take my money!
- No. Take mine!

That's it. Now you've done it. I
was just about to sell a bottle.

Gee, I'm sorry, Timon.
I didn't mean to...

Oh, sure.

You ruined everything
for me on purpose

just to sell more of
your Pumbaa Cologne.

That's not true. I don't
need fame and fortune.

But I need my
bestest best friend.

Oh. Y-You mean it?

Sure, I do. You know me. I'm
a hakuna matata kind of guy.

Why, Pumbaa, that's...

Great news, Pumbaa.

Hey, that's what
I was gonna say.

Your colognes are hip, babe.

We've sold thousands
of bottles at $500 apiece!

$500 apiece?

That's right. And here's your
first royalty check for $1 million.

$1 million?

That's more money
than I ever imagined.

Yeah, it is a lot of
money, but I can't take it.

Well, what do you mean, Pumbaa?

Yeah. What do you mean,
Pumbaa? Have you lost your senses?

Your sense of smell I can understand,
but what about all the others?

I can't charge anyone $500
a bottle to smell like me.

I kind of look at my smell as
my life's contribution to the world.

My stench is my
gift to the masses.

No! Please don't say that.

Yeah! Don't say that!

No. I mean it.

Hey, everyone, from now
on, Pumbaa Cologne is free.

Free?

Who wants something for free?

That cheapens it somehow.

Hey, there's some
toothpicks for $100 a piece!

Ha! What a wonderful
waste of our money.

Let's buy 'em!

That does it.

I'll never do business
with a warthog again!

No! Wait! Donny,
baby, come back!

How 'bout doin'
business with a meerkat?

I smell bad, too. I
can smell even worse.

In the spring my musk glands
get really gamy. Come back!

Please!

Ah, easy come, easy go, Timon.

At the risk of overstating the
obvious you are so pig-headed.

You gave up $1 million.

I'm sorry, Timon. I just can't take
advantage of the public like that.

Well, I can.

I'm gonna sell this stuff, and you're
gonna keep your big snout shut.

I'm with the environmental
prevention authority.

These chemicals are toxic and
must be disposed of immediately

or you'll be subject
to $1 million fine.

Is it just me, or is it
getting stuffy in here?

What a mook.

Uh, you talking to me, Timon?

I was referring to that monkey.

He just hacked his way
across 3,000 miles of jungle

to deliver another
one of your catalogs.

It's here! Oh, boy, it's here!

I'm surrounded by mooks.

"The bug of the
month club catalog."

Bug of the month?
Lemme see that.

Uh...

Mayflies, chewing
bugs, bugs in baskets,

in bottles, in bags
with little bows on 'em.

Bugs delivered
right to our door.

Yum-yum!

Hmm-mmm... Yummy-yum-yum...

Pumbaa, just how does one
join this bug of the month club?

Well, you send in your order form,
and whammo! Bugs in the mailbox.

Every month a new taste treat.

And with this order
form you need to send...?

Uh, your address so they
know where to send the bugs.

And?

Uh, some money.

Of which we have...?

- None.
- Exactly.

And the reason we don't have
any money is because to get money,

we'd have to get
a J... a J-j-j-j-J...

A job?

Uh, precisely.

So this bug of the
month idea of yours

is just like all your
other stupid ideas.

What if we got a job that
wasn't really any work?

Oh, yeah? Like what?

Like bird-watchers.

Oh, you mean
like... bird-watchers?

Bird-watchers? Whose
bird-brain idea was that?

Then how about bee keepers?

I mean, it's the
perfect job for us.

And just how do you figure that?

The bees do all the work.

The bees do all the work.

Dog walkers?

Dog walkers?

All we'd have to do is walk.

Dog walkers.

Whoa... big teeth!

All right. That's it.

That's the last time I ever listen
to one of your hare-brained ideas.

But, Timon, you can't blame me.

Blame you? Of
course I can blame you.

It's your fault. I blame you.

But you always blame me.

Because it's always your fault.

Then you come up with
a job that isn't any work.

All right. Let me think.

Got it.

Is tornado chasing
the job for us or what?

We get paid for lying around
in a field doing nothing.

Very hakuna matata.

But what if a tornado comes?

Pumbaa, Pumbaa, Pumbaa,
how often does that happen?

Go ahead, say it.

Uh, what?

This is your chance to
blame me for a change,

so why don't you just
go ahead and say it?

I'm not saying a word.

But you want to, don't you?

So why don't you just go
ahead and say this is all my fault?

Say it, Pumbaa, say it!

Uh, well, there is
something I'd like to say.

I thought so.

Yikes.

What?

The worst rash of tornadoes
in 20 years has hit...

Just when Timon and Pumbaa
decide to become tornado chasers.

I wonder which one of those mooks
came up with that hare-brained idea.

Whatever you do, Pumbaa,
don't make a sound.

Who is it?

You nitwit!

Go ahead, blame me.
You want to blame me,

so just do it. Do it!

No. It's not in my nature,
Timon. I'm bigger than that.

Ohh... ooh!

Admit it, Pumbaa, we wouldn't
even be in tornado country

if I hadn't said tornado chasing
was the perfect job for us.

Admit it!

Now, now, Timon,

who knew that tornadoes
would be chasing us?

In here.

Would you just go
ahead and get it over with?

What?

Say it. You blame me
for all this, don't you?

Well, ok.

Ha! I knew it! I knew...

I guess this is it, pal.

Any last words?

I think you're the one who
needs to say something.

What do I have to say?

You know.

I... I do have something to say.

Me, too.

Help!

Say, son, you know better than
to run off and play by yourself.

Sorry, dad.

Come on... there's a deserted
glass factory in the next county

that's got our name on it.

Cool, dad.

Well, now that those two
windbags are outta here,

let's go collect our
tornado-chaser paychecks

and join the bug
of the month club.

Not until you say it, Timon.

Say it? Say what?

You know what I'm talking about.

All right, Pumbaa. I'm sorry.

For...?

For all the times I
blamed you for things.

That...?

That weren't really your fault.

Thank you.

I feel better. Don't you?

Yeah, I do.

Good.

What a mook.