The We Like to Move It crew presents:
That's a good one.
And now even bigger.
But that one got off nicely.
Merciful mercies, what is taking so long?
Sorry, Majesty, just securing these balloons onto your...
Super comfy pamper time floaty throne?
Sure, let's go with that.
All right, let's get the pampering over with.
Oh, yeah, baby. Thrashy-thrashy.
That's right, groom me.
Groom me like you mean it.
Give me all the grooming you've got.
Only one set of hands is fitting to be touching the royal feet.
And that is...
the hands of the King himself.
There, it is time to be beholding
the shiny clean and perfectly polished
royal...
Not the minty fresh King feet.
You have all been called here to dig a royal proclamation
from King Julien himself.
30 peanuts says this is about his feet.
- Make it 40. - Deal.
From this moment, that is happening now and on,
those who touch the King's feet, which are mine,
will be punished most savagely.
I drew that. I did.
- Oh, jeez. - Oh, man.
No feet?
Well, that's five minutes of our lives we're not getting back.
Until I get my time machine fully functioning.
Wait, this is a serious proclamation that I am proclaiming.
Look, it is posted right here on the plastic volcano.
And anyone who dares to be touching my beautiful feets,
shall be banished from my kingdom.
- Forever! - Ever, ever, ever.
- What are you doing? - Echoing you for dramatic effect.
Nice, I like it.
Now, go to rebuilding my super comfy pamper time floaty throne.
And make it floatier and super-duper comfy.
Banished forever?
- Forever. - Ever, ever, ever.
Must not think about feet.
Must count sheep.
Sheep!
One, two-nien,
three.
Feet, Mort.
Must count feet.
Not the feet.
But I must touch.
That's good. Much better.
What in the feets are you doing?
I... Wait, you have to... I...
You, you, you
are hereby banished from my Kingdom
forever!
Ever, ever, ever... What? Wait,
do you meant that Mort is exiled for eternity?
Forever or for eternity. I'm flexible.
But the no feet-touching law must be of zero tolerance.
You cannot escape us, Mort.
Hug us.
We need hugs.
Get away!
Go away!
I heard about the whole foot banishing thing.
- And if there's anything I can do... - Trust me, cure me, fix me, save me.
Whoa, okay, I'm an otter, not a miracle worker.
But I do know someone who takes the hard cases.
No, Marlene,
we're not accepting new recruits at this time.
Come on, have a heart.
No, thank you. Besides, Mort wouldn't pass our psych screening.
How Rico slipped through is still shrouded in mystery.
Mort really isn't that bad, are you, Mort?
Okay, yeah, he is that bad.
But that's why he needs you. You're the only one who can help him.
You are a role model.
You are a natural leader.
Well, guilty as charged.
Me... Help me.
Sad eyes, fall in now.
Recruit, I'm gonna mold you like a lump of wet clay.
Yeah, have fun with that.
Oh, goody. I'm wet clay.
What's that, Mr. Foot? You want a hug?
All right, hug then...
If you must...
If you insist on hug.
Did... I... do... good?
Say it with me.
They're just feet, not love.
What's that? You want a hug?
No, no hug for you.
Say "please."
Sure is empty around here without Mort.
- Yes, and quiet. - Quiet, quiet, quiet...
I do not miss him one little bit.
Your Majesty, you don't really mean...
I am not hearing the "bfff".
Without the "bfff",
my super comfy pamper time floaty throne will just sit here,
and be a stupid chair
on the ground.
No, no hug for you
or you.
Don't look at me like that. All right...
When I find the wise acre who took my shoe,
I'm gonna...
Quickly. Prolonged exposure could contaminate the entire sector.
This is for your own good, Mort.
I want to hug it. But I shouldn't.
You'll do more than hug it, recruit. Rico, engage.
Enjoy the feet... bad.
It worked!
Bad feet.
Sweet foot!
Hug this!
He's violent... but cured.
Like a Christmas ham.
He is 100% lemur-foot-phobic.
He won't even be touching his own toes.
Skipper, look.
Help, I am in need of helping.
Gaing altitude at the current rate, and given the cross wind,
I project the balloons will be punctured
in 22.6 seconds.
Hot dog! Ringtail's in trouble.
Suit up, men. You too, private.
I'm Private!
He's private number two.
I like number two.
Operation "luft balloons"... is a go.
What? Hot, hot, hot. Help.
Cheese and crackers! Struggling will just make it worse.
I cannot hear you over my frantic and panicked struggling.
Hold still.
Almost got you.
I got you.
What is with the stopping? Yank me into safety already.
King Julien feet... bad.
What?
Feet good.
Please, I never thought i'd say this, but touch my feet!
Grab them.
The boy will never touch Julien's feet again in his life.
Hug my feet. Squeeze them.
He is 100% lemur-foot-phobic.
Mort, love them.
They're just feet, not love.
Feet!
- This is about feet again, isn't it? - Déjà vu.
We tried to make Mort foot-phobic, but we failed.
Ironically, if not for our failure,
Julien would be sleeping with the hot dogs.
- Dead. - Exactly.
That's not failure.
That's redefined objectives.
Right.
Attention, people.
I am hereby decreeing
that my new no-feet-touching decree
is a decree I am un-decreeing forever.
Ever, ever, ever.
What?
Okay, fine.
I officially thank Mort for saving me, welcome back to the Kingdom, bla, bla.
I'm home!
Not the feet.
Fine, I shall be permitting one hug.
How bad could one hug be?
It's bad.
Bad, bad, bad...