A/N: Well, this is a change. Most of my stories are somewhat depressing with their realism. And this is, apparently, humor. You can usually take the amount of humor I have and fit it in a matchbox after removing only one or two matches, so bear with me. All characters are copyrighted to Disney, except for Ernst Stavro Blofeld, who may be copyrighted to Ian Fleming. But he's not mine. Anyway, the story . . .

King Scar, You So Crazy

He was a regal lion, standing about so high, obviously the pinnacle of evolution, his thick mane, his solid body, his stunning, gorgeous looks—no, not the one with the scar, you idiot, the other one. Mufasa. Who cares about the other one? Nobody, that's who. No, you don't care, because if you did care, I'd be narrating to nobody, and that would make me insane, and the voices told me specifically that I'm not. So there.

OF COURSE I'M NOT WRONG!! YOU DARE QUESTION THE INFINITE AND INCONCEIVEABLE POWER AND WISDOM OF THE ALMIGHTY NARRATOR??

No, don't go away, please, please, I'm begging you, please, I'm nothing without an audience, oh, God, please!

Fine. We'll talk about the one with the scar. Ahem.

He was a scrawny lion, standing smaller than so high, obviously the absolute bottom of any moral or ethical standard whatsoever, his thin mane, his puny body, his motions which were the only possible thing that could have motivated Elton John to write Be Prepared—don't interrupt, I'm narrating. Where was I? Yes, thank you.

As I was saying, this lion was simply born bad, born to be the absolute worst of all lions there possibly could be. By the time he was two he had already won a S.P.E.C.T.R.E. for his deeds, and has been in the running for it again ever since (we shall not mention what happened when he was two). His pride and joy was a picture of him sitting on Ernst Stavro Blofeld's lap, temporarily replacing the white cat.

His parents were rather dull and unoriginal in deciding names. At first, his name was Taka, this being the answer when his father was asked what to name him, having just stubbed his toe. Fortunately for the lion, this name lasted all of five minutes before his brother's strength, awesomeness, and ability to detect inherently bad people showed up, and he swiped his brother across the eye. From that point on, he was simply called "Scar."

Several years after he was born, he died.

Now, moving back to the wonderful, magnificent specimen that is his brother—URK! Gah—can't—breathe—argh . . .

I am so sorry to have been late. Fortunately, all of the damage has been now rectified. I will be your narrator from this point on. It is only fitting that someone as evil as I tell the story of such a misguided soul as this, yes? Please, sit back and enjoy the story. Ahem.

oOo

Scar lied in his cave, staring at the ceiling. His brilliant mind was hard at work, devising and scheming and plotting for his ultimate creation, and ultimately his undoing.

A daughter.

Of course, there was the matter of getting past the stage with the mother, first.

Sarafina. Had there ever been such a beautiful, sexy lioness as Sarafina? Gods, her radiance, the wonderful roundness of her ears, the way she moved, just like an angel, and that wonderful, wonderful body—gods, it's like she intentionally tortured me! Um . . . him. Tortured him. Sorry about that.

Scar wanted Sarafina. He wanted her bad. Yet she seemed so pure while he was filled with malice. Not that this actually bothered him; he could always find something inside of her that was at least a little black, if he tried hard enough.

He would have been content with Sarabi, though. There was a lioness that strutted her stuff. The only drawback, however, was that the difference between her and a mango was about three IQ points. Of course, she had chosen an equally stupid mate, his brother. Oh, well. There was always Sarafina.

He had tried to woo her in so many ways. He could remember the first time he met her:

"Hey, what's a girl like you doing in a part of the kingdom like this?"

"Uh, Scar, I live here. Like you do."

"Obviously it's not close enough, baby. Of course, we could always fix that."

"What? No!"

"And why not?"

"Because you are a morally bankrupt vile little lion, you've tried to kill your brother multiple times, and we're only four years old!"

"Only the good die young, baby. Only the good die young." He winked at her charismatically.

"Okay, that doesn't make any sense at all, not in your context or in the song."

"Just what do I have to do to get a little smack?"

She gave him the smack. It was rather painful, and included a painful flight off of the tip of Pride Rock.

Oh yeah, she wants me.

Our hero isn't the kind that will give up that easily. He crawled up to the top of the Pride Rock once again to give the lovely Sarafina his humble request.

"Sarafina, can I ask you a question—"

"No!"

"Really, it'll be a quick one."

"Fine, what is it?"

"I'd just like to know, apart from being sexy, what is it that you normally do?"

And lo, there was much screaming and falling.

"Sarafina, can I ask you a—"

It may interest the reader to know that as of yet, there is no word that appropriately describes the gnashing of teeth.

"Really, it'll be fast."

"It'd better be," she snarled.

"Just one quick question. Apart from being so damn sexy, what is it you do for a living?"

"Female impersonator."

"You must be joking."

"Not about this."

And lo, there was yet more screaming and falling.

"Look, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong paw here. I just wanted to apologize about my previous comment. About you being in a place like this. You're great here."

"Um . . . thank you?"

"But you'd be even better on the floor of my den!"

Now, I would like to tell the reader that I am not quite sure how many ways one can phrase screaming and falling.

"Sarafina, please, can't we stop these childish games? I'm tired, and I know you must be, too."

"Believe me, Scar, I'm just getting started."

"Oh, but you must be exhausted. You've been walking around my mind all day!"

More screaming. More falling.

"Girl, that has to be jam, because jelly don't shake like that!"

It did enter the poor prince's mind once or twice that this may be the beginning of a horrible, twisted, sadist/masochist relationship, and if it was, he certainly didn't want it this way.

"Sarafina, please, I just wanted to try to help. I mean, who knows what you gonna do with all that junk, all that junk up in your trunk?"

VfVfVoVo+2as

"Sarafina, would you hold it against me if I told you you had a beautiful body?"

Well, that one was completely uncalled for.

"You know, I'm beginning to think you know karate."

"And what tipped you off to that?" asked Sarafina, winding up for another blow.

"Because your body is kickin'!"

As you can see, victimization played a prime part in their early, developing relationship.

"Really, there's got to be something wrong with my eyes. Cuz I just can't keep 'em off that—"

Several other possible medical problems became apparent.

"SarafinAAAAHHHHHHHH!!"

Thud.

"Ow . . . I don't think I'm getting up from that one." Scar looked up and saw quite possibly the only thing that could have motivated him to get up: an angry Sarafina walking down the ramp to Pride Rock. Scar did the only sane thing: ran for his life. Unfortunately for him, he chose one of the worst paths possible: as she came down one side of Pride Rock, he ran right back up the other one.

Scar ran into the king's den, and found the animal that he wanted to see least—well, almost wanted to see least, Sarafina was currently on the top of the list. "Little brother!" said Mufasa happily. "I haven't seen you all day! Where've you been?"

"Plotting your inevitable demise by my paws. Now hide me. I'm going to go straight out the back of here, don't tell Sarafina where I am." Scar rushed off.

"That's odd," mused Mufasa. "I don't remember a back entrance to the den . . ."

"Mufasa."

The crown prince turned to see Sarafina. "Oh, hi, Sarafina."

"Have you seen Scar?"

"Yep. He's hiding from you. He out of the back of the den and told me not to tell you. I can show you if you want."

"Mufasa, the den doesn't have a back entrance."

"That's what I thought, too."

Sarafina sighed. She walked past Mufasa to the back of the den. Scar was gone. She couldn't believe it. "What are you doing on the ceiling?"

"Saving my necessary parts from unnecessary desecration."

"What?"

"You think I don't know what you plan on doing? Have you seen the size of those claws of yours? Imagine, if you will, a throat that has just one of those things stuffed down it, and then torn. Really, all in all, I'd rather you just hit me upside the head with those things, but my humble requests seem to have ignited a passionate desire which is just coming out completely the wrong way. Now, for the purpose of keeping my orifices pure, I'd rather not experience the rather wide-spread version of pain you're about to inflict on me."

"You're hanging from the ceiling."

"It's Scar. Taka Scar."

"Seriously, just how long do you think you can stay up there?"

"Oh, he'll just stay up there until he misses Mr. Buddykins," said Mufasa.

"Who?" asked Sarafina in confusion.

"If you so much as mention that name again I will strangle you with your own intestines!"

"It's just this guy right here," said Mufasa, producing a worn, obviously-loved, cute, adorable, button-eyed stuffed lion.

Scar could imagine nothing worse. The misery. The humiliation. My gods, how could it be any worse?!

And then she started laughing.

"This is Mr. Buddykins?! Gods, does he sleep with it, too?"

"Uh-huh," said Mufasa. "He loves Mr. Buddykins, and Mr. Buddykins loves him back, don't you? Don't you?"

"How dare you handle Mr. Buddykins in such a manner!" yelled Scar.

"Please," said Sarafina, "it's just some old doll." She took it from Mufasa, and immediately its head popped off. "Oops."

"NOOOOOOOOO!!" Scar fell to the ground. "Mr. Buddykins!" He looked up at Sarafina. "How could you do such a thi—uh-oh."

In short, the day ended with Sarafina's gain of the record of the longest distance to punt a lion. And with Scar in traction.

oOo

The next day dawned bright and early. It had an insufferable habit of doing that kind of thing. For Scar, it was merely another Sarafina-less day. But she would expect him to try again today. He couldn't try today. Better to put his efforts on something more practical.

Killing the damn thing.

"The damn thing" being Mufasa.

To appreciate Scar's frustration in the task, you must know the history of it. Ever since Scar was told that Mufasa was to be king and not himself, he had plotted his brother's untimely demise. Scar had tried everything: the most insidious poisons, the most subtle ruses, the most dangerous traps. Nothing worked, it seemed. Even after having poisoned the waterhole with black shade, a poison so deadly that (because of the liberal amounts used) killed off a third of the animals who drank from that waterhole, left another third blind and deaf, and left yet another third completely insane.

Mufasa had merely complained about the inability to put the "wild" in "wildcat" that night.

The longer Scar tried it, the more he became convinced that Mufasa was blessed with immortality. Or (this was the more obvious option) he was really already dead, but his brain was simply too stupid to realize it.

But now he had a plan. One that would work this time. One that was destined to work.

Plan Muffin.

It was a poor name. But it was typical of the minions that Scar was forced to work with. It made much more sense once the listener actually knew the entire plan. You see, the plan involved luring Mufasa into the Elephant Graveyard and ultimately his demise in one of the rather special skulls. The skull, you see, had been home to what was considered one of the greatest hyena leaders there was. She had one attribute that didn't quite fit her image for, a pet bunny, which she spent all of the time she could spare with.

Guess what its name was.

That's right, it was Buns.

Unfortunately, Buns died a "horrible" death at the hands of another hungry hyena, whose name happened to be "Muffin." So the skull received the official name of "The Lamentable Site of the Killing of Muffin," or in local slang, "Muffin."

And the skull would soon have another victim added to its list, if Scar had anything to say about it . . .

oOo

"Mufasa, please hurry, you have to help me!" said Scar, running to his brother. He stopped dead as he saw what Mufasa was doing.

Mufasa unglued his face from Sarabi's. "What is it? I'm a little busy."

Sarabi turned Mufasa's face back to her. "Not yet you're not."

Scar watched the two lions for two seconds before the dry heaves began.

oOo

"Mufasa, please hurry, you have to help me!" said Scar the next day (you didn't think anyone would stay there for that, do you? No sane animal, anyway).

"What is it?"

"Hyenas! Oh, you have to help me Mufasa!"

"Is it because your little stick limbs aren't helping you again?"

"I've told you, I am fashionably thin!"

"Oh. Right. So what's that about hyenas?"

"I, uh, need you to help. You see, I'm this close to, uh, getting them to leave the Pridelands for good, yes."

"But what do you need me for?"

"DEATH."

"What?"

"I mean, protecting my, uh, person. I would go myself, but I have this terrible, terrible disease right now, and I need someone to go in my place."

"What disease?"

"Um . . . chicken—liver—cancer—itis?"

"Gasp! That sounds awful!"

"Yes, I know, dreadful, I can barely stand the pain. So if you could go over there to the elephant graveyard, the hyenas will just take you into the—meeting room and everything will be made much better."

"You can count on me, little brother!" said Mufasa, hugging Scar.

"GET OFF ME! Uh, I mean . . . the pain, you know. From the disease."

"Gasp! Did I hurt you?"

"You don't need to say 'gasp.' Now the hyenas said you needed to get over there as fast as they can, or the deal might be off the table forever. And we all know how much you hate those hyenas, right?"

"I'll get 'em for you, Scar," said Mufasa, flexing his physical muscles, which were, quite frankly, the only ones he ever had.

"Just don't hurt them until after the negotiations are completely over."

"Alright, little bro." Mufasa stalked off. "They'll regret the day they ever decided to start living days."

"Mufasa."

"Yes?"

"The Elephant Graveyard is that way."

"Whoa, how do you know that? You just blew my mind!"

"How nice. You wouldn't believe how easy I'm sure that is."

"It is? Wow, you just blew me again!"

"Mufasa?"

"Yeah, little bro?"

"Just stop talking and start walking that way."

"Sure thing."

Scar watched the lion strut proudly off to the hyena graveyard. It would all be over soon, he realized with glee. Never again would he be bothered by an idiot waking him in the middle of the night asking him if it was wrong to feel pretty when wearing female underwear.

oOo

"He's coming!" one hyena hissed to the others. The other hid quickly, some running deeper into the Graveyard. "Oh, hi, Mufasa!" the hyena called out.

"I have no time for this chit-chat," said Mufasa with an authoritative wave of his paw. "Take me to your leader."

"Of course. Just follow me, douche."

"What was that, underling?" Mufasa thundered.

"I'm sorry, douche sire."

"Much better."

oOo

Scar watched Mufasa being led into the skull from a safe, well-hidden distance. Yes, this was it, he'd finally be rid of him, finally, heeheeheeahahahahahah! Oh, oh, I think I've got a cramp I'm laughing so hard, haha! Hahaha—oop!

With that final noise, Scar fell through a pile of bones, which were apparently placed to conceal a shaft that lead down into the ground. As Scar well knew, all of the holes in the Graveyard led to one place only.

oOo

"The meeting is right in here," said the hyena.

"In that hole?" asked Mufasa.

"Yep. Just go on in."

"Oh, if you say so." Mufasa took a step forward and stopped. "What's that boulder doing there?"

"What boulder?"

"That rather massive one that appears to be supported on the side of that hill by that small wedge of bone, which if knocked aside could easily let the boulder roll freely through that skull over there?"

"Your eyes are playing tricks on you. Get in the hole."

"Sure, just one sec." Mufasa turned and whacked the hyena into the hole with his rear. "Oops. Hey, I'll be down in a second," he called down after the hyena. He ran up to the boulder (he had been taught it wasn't polite to keep others waiting) and poked it. He ran back down to the hole. "Hey, the boulder's real! I'm just gonna check the bones!" He ran back up to the boulder and poked the wedge hesitantly. It popped loose easily enough. He ran back down to the hole. "Hey, I checked the wedge, too; it's real! I was right about that boulder thing—"

"You idiot!" Mufasa turned to see a hyena emerging from the skull that the boulder was on a collision course with. The hyena's eyes widened as it suddenly realized right where it was. "OHMYGAHHH!"

oOo

Scar immediately realized that he was headed toward his imminent doom. It was impossible for him not to, with his massive intellect. He slid through his underground tunnel, and was thrown up in the air into pitch-black darkness. He hit the ground with a solid whump, just in time to hear either the scream of a dying animal, or one who had come across a rather angry member of the female side of the species during her "time." Both were almost the same, Scar reflected.

The thought was pushed out of his head as the rumbling of the boulder bought forth the realization of his impending doom. He hunkered down, curling up into a little ball, just as the boulder suddenly crashed through the top of the massive skull, taking off the top of it. By a fluke chance, the now-squished hyena had created enough of a bump to send the high-speed boulder flying into the air, nearly missing the skull altogether. As it was, Muffin merely suffered a lobotomy.

oOo

"Oops," said Mufasa. "Uh, he did it."

oOo

Scar looked up after a few seconds, almost unable to see anything. He instantly realized one thing: he was alive, wondrously alive, gloriously alive—

"Well what do we do now, boss?"

"I guess we'll have to kill him ourselves."

Scar's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. "Wait a second—AUUUUUGH! Oh, God, the PAIN! AH! AH!" Snap! "Oh, sweet Je—" Riiiiiiiip! "EeeeeeYAARG! Oh, GOD—wait, what are you—no, not that, don't put that there, it's far too large—YEE-AAAAH!!"

oOo

"Hey, Scar, we finished the guy—" The hyena stopped as he saw Mufasa standing near the entrance of the Elephant Graveyard. "Wait, what are you doing here? Aren't you dead?"

"Nope."

"But—if you're here, where's Scar?"

"He's back home. He's got chickenlivercanceritis."

"You idiot, he asked us to kill you! Now where is he?!"

"He probly in ur base. Killin all ur dudes."

The hyena growled. Nothing but idiocy of this scale could have brought lions and hyenas' forces together. He turned to the other hyenas behind him. "Well, if we didn't kill him, who did we get?"

"Uh . . . boss, I think this is actually—"

"Little brother!" Mufasa leapt forward and hugged Scar. "What are you doing out here, and like this? And why are you crying like a little girl?" Mufasa looked at the hyenas. "So help me, if you—"

"We didn't do nothing."

"Well, that's good. You have no idea how demeaning it would be to have to reward you for saving my little brother. God, I'd hate that. So, anyway, I'm just gonna take him home, he really needs to rest. He just wanders off sometimes; who knows what's in his little head." Mufasa grabbed Scar's mane in his jaws, and casually flipped Scar up onto his back. "See you guys later."

In short, the day ended with Mufasa still unbearably alive. And with Scar in traction once again. Fortunately, however, the TLK storyline was saved the next day, by the arrival of a little thing called "heat."

oOo

A/N: Now, if you want this to be continued and be more than a oneshot, I'd like to know. I have a few ideas, but I don't know how well this went over. So, R&R.