Samuel L. Jackson decides that he needs to go reset the main power switch to fix all the crap that Newman fucked up. I think you know what that means. It’s HOLD ON TO YOUR BUTTS NUMBER TWO.
When Samuel L. Jackson doesn’t come back from his butt mission, Laura Dern decides it’s time to hold on to her butt and go find him. She and Richard Attenborough have this exchange:
Richard Attenborough: It ought to be me, really, going.
Laura Dern: Why?
Richard Attenborough: Well, I’m a…and you’re a…
Laura Dern: We can discuss sexism in survival situations when I get back.
ROAST HIM, DERN.
While Laura Dern runs to the switchy-hut (I am literally an engineer), the hunter man attempts to give her cover from the marauding velociraptors. It’s the perfect job for him, seeing as he is the world’s number-one expert on how to not get eaten by velociraptors. He immediately gets eaten by velociraptors.
Over the walkie-talkie, Richard Attenborough gives Laura Dern instructions: “You’ve got to pump up the primer handle in order to get the charge. It’s large, flat, and gray. Like my penis.”
Laura Dern manages to get the power back on, but not before being attacked by a raptor and snuggled by Samuel L. Jackson’s dismembered arm.
Hey, hey, Samuel L. Jackson, MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE HELD ON TO YOUR ARM.
Meanwhile, the raptors are chasing the kids around the kitchen (you guys, Alejandro has to clean all that up!), and they would have gotten so eaten if they hadn’t come across science’s number-one most effective dinosaur avoidance tool: the ladle. (Laura Dern never goes anywhere without her dump gloves and seventeen ladles.)
Everyone is almost safe, but they just need to fix the computer so they can lock the raptors out. The hacker child runs over to help. Fortunately, it is a UNIX system (and/or Microsoft Entertainment Pack Fuji Golf), and she knows this.
Blah blah blah run from the raptors some more, and then OH SHIT, T. REX COMES IN AND SAVES THE DAY AND EATS THE RAPTORS AND IT IS RIGHTEOUS AS HELL. Keep this metaphor with you always—it is very useful when you have more than one problem at once. Sometimes you have to let the T. rex fight the raptors.
RATING: 10/10 DVDs of The Fugitive.
No Toucan Will Ever Make ME Have Sex!
Welcome to Africa! It’s the crack of dawn, and some motherfucker is singing REALLY FUCKING LOUD. I don’t speak Zulu, but I believe the lyrics roughly translate to “WAKE UP, ANIMALS, IT’S TIME FOR A BABY LION’S BIRTHDAY AND NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR HANGOVER.”
Rhino is like, “Whut.” Antelopes are like, “Whut.” Meerkats are like, “Is this guy GD serious.” Cheetah is like, “Let me walk up this hill for a better view of you waking me up.” Birds are like, “Yo, really?” Mom giraffe is like, “YES, you have to go to the birthday party. It’s my boss’s kid.” Baby giraffe is like, “BUT WHAT KIND OF PSYCHO HAS THEIR BIRTHDAY PARTY AT 5:00 A.M.!?!?” Leaf-cutter ants are like, “Sorry, man, couldn’t get the day off.” Elephants are cool; they love a party.
They all gather around this big rock with a lion at the top. The lion is named Mufasa. This krazy baboon climbs up there and hugs Mufasa like they are old bros, which probably would not happen. Then this woman-lion is like, “Look over here, baboon, I’ve got a baby!” And baboon is like, “JACKPOT!” So the baboon rubs some jam on the baby and then throws dirt in its face, and then he dangles the baby off the edge of the rock with some Michael Jackson blanket-head realness. You know, LIKE THE WILD ANIMALS DO IN AFRICA.
Meanwhile, this kiss-ass toucan goes to visit another lion named Scar, Mufasa’s no-good brother, who’s just chilling in a cave nursing his wasting disease. The toucan’s mad at Scar for missing the baby-dangling jam ceremony. Scar eats the toucan. Luckily, Mufasa comes into the cave and is like, “Do not eat my toucan, please; I need him for blathering and ineffectual childcare.” Scar’s like, “FINE,” and spits him out.
The baby lion is named Simba. Mufasa takes him up to the top of this rock and is like, “See everything? That’s yours.” Because someday Simba will succeed Mufasa as king…of…Africa?
I don’t really understand how this form of government works. First of all, they leave out the part where Mufasa just FUCKS ALL THE LADY LIONS. Because that is definitely part of the deal. But second of all, what are Mufasa’s administrative responsibilities? And why should the zebras and the antelopes trust him to look out for their best interests!?!?! If, once per day, Barack Obama killed and ate three of my cousins, I’m not sure I’d have stayed a registered Dem through the whole administration.1
Oh, but don’t worry. Mufasa has some bullshit explanation for why it’s okay to eat their constituents: “Everything you see exists together in a delicate balance. When we die, our bodies become the grass, and the antelope eat the grass.” Yeah, um, you sure the antelopes are cool with that? I mean…the elephants and the zebras also become the grass. Couldn’t one of them be king, seeing as they’ve never killed and eaten a single one of their subjects? I just feel like the grass to murder ratio is a little off in your leogarchy.
Anyhoo, Simba goes running back to Uncle Scar (remember when you were too young to know which uncles were creepy?) all braggin’ about how he’s going to be king of Pride Rock someday. This is a sore spot for Scar, who really, really wants to be the king because he LOVES LION BUREAUCRACY, I guess. So then he decides to just murder Simba and resume his position as Mufasa’s number two. Say what you will about Scar, but when the dude has an idea, he commits. Simba isn’t just a baby, he’s a KITTEN. Can
