The gruff voice of Charlie Nickles comes to life over the pitch black screen. Closed captions roll along the bottom of the frame for the hearing impaired: however, these captions will likely prove inaccessible to the illiterates that litter the Brotherhood of Baddies.

THWAP

The camera opens on a close-up shot of an axe barreling down upon a block of wood placed atop an old oak stump. The steel edge of the axe’s blade cuts cleanly through the wood block with resounding force. The cut wood falls to the ground in two evenly sliced pieces. A new block of wood is placed in it’s spot.

THWAP

As the next block of wood is cut the camera pans out slowly, revealing more and more of the axe’s jet black handle. The calloused hand of a white man is gripped around the axe’s fiberglass handle. A new block of wood is placed on top of the oak stump as two newly cut pieces fall to the ground.

THWAP

The camera zooms out once more as a third block of wood is split apart. We see a cabin in the midst of a large forest in the background of the shot. A few wild birds fly across the top of the screen. Standing next to the oak stump with an axe in hand, we see none other than Charlie Nickles looking like a real trailer park lumberjack. His plaid jacket looks unwashed, stained with mustard and cigarette ash. Charlie’s plain white t-shirt and baggy blue jeans look as dirty as his jacket. A black ski mask hangs haphazardly out of Charlie’s back pocket. A dozen or so split pieces of wood surround the stump. Charlie raises his axe above his head before bringing down on the old oak stump with incredible momentum.

THWAP

The axe buries itself into the oak stump. As Charlie releases the handle the axe stays perfectly in place. Charlie grabs a large netted bag from behind the stump and begins the arduous process of placing each piece of split wood into it. The setting sun casts long shadows across the ground as the light breeze carries leaves from a nearby tree across the frame.

After a minute or so of picking up the wood, Charlie’s netted bag is full. He grabs the last split block off the ground and roughly forces it into the bag. Charlie groans as he lifts the bag over his shoulder and begins walking to the cabin set about forty feet back. Charlie’s step is a just a bit slower than normal, clearly impacted by the dozen or so pieces of wood slung over his back.

Just as Charlie steps up to the door of the cabin and reaches for the handle the camera slowly does a 180, somehow moving straight through the sidewalls of the cabin to grant us a shot in the opposite direction. The door creaks open as we see Charlie LoveNickles walk into the interior of the cabin with a small bed cradled in his arms. Brotha C is decked out in a full neon get up, complete with tie dye ring apparel and a neon bandana. The small bed held against his chest seems adequately sized for a large doll at best. It seems to be hand crafted, as evidenced by the shoddy workmanship and excessive placement of nails along the frame. The bed has been spray painted hot pink. A white tiara has been drawn into the bed’s headboard.

Didn’t think you’d be seeing Brotha C again, did ye’, Thundah?!

But I got something for you Knuckles. A present, made by yours truly!

You gave Brotha C the gift that keeps on giving. Shit son, you’ve offered your television championship up on a golden platter to your main man! I always knew you were my best little ho. So I figured Brotha C oughta give his best ho a special treat!

I mean shit, you took some great care of big pimpin’ in that little rumble we had in the dance hall. You and all your goons, oh they sure made me look good! Flying over the top rope like ballerinas for your big homie. That’s funkadelic, baby.

Now now, I know you’re wondering, Brotha C, why the fuck do they call ye’ LoveNickles? But bitch, pipe the fuck down and let the pimp lay down the law and explain some shit to you without all your stupid fucking yapping. They call Brotha C LoveNickles cause my love stick is as thick as a roll of nickels and I’ve got all the coinage you could ever need, baby!

But shiiiit, we all know Brotha C. We love love Brotha C! He’s a pimp, oh fo sho, but we ain’t here to talk about big pimping! We came here to celebrate you, Thunder Ho!

Celebrate your reign as champion, as short-lived as it may be. We’re here to celebrate your selflessness, your willingness to give that belt up to a better man. Your absolute inability to compete with the cream of the crop. We’re here to celebrate the life, and impending death, of one of our favorite hos!

So please, lil’ Thundy, sleep well and rest in peace.

Charlie LoveNickles holds the bed out, extending his arms so that the camera can get a good look at the terribly made princess furniture.

Your bed has been made, lil’ Thundah! Now all you have to do is lay down in it.