Jacques the Beaver stood over the body of his wife, pale (for a beaver) and shaking. His tail in particular was shaking so hard that the sound of it was like a blastbeat. The sound of it striking the frozen wood of his dam echoed in the dark and silent Canadian pine forest.
Jacques stood, an hour later, at the head of a beaver-sized wooden table, in the Beaver Lodge under a craggy, massive oak tree near a waterfall. He, like the rest of the beavers convened there, wore a black suit and sunglasses.
They spoke in low voices for an hour, but you wouldn't be able to understand them because they are beavers, so no attempt will be made here to record what was said because it was all in beaver-talk and that shit is crazy.
One by one, the beavers filed out of the Lodge, and disappeared into the murky depths of the forest, in different directions, but unified by a single thought... Revenge!
Several hours passed, and the camera moved to another part of the forest, where Dane the Hunter of Beavers leaned against a tree, smoking a pipe and twirling his luxurious mustache.
Suddenly, he saw a beaver peering over a stump, not ten yards away. Dane put his pipe down and picked up his twin Barettas, and so missed the beaver giving him the finger.
Also, Dane happened to be wearing a trenchcoat and fedora, which is the traditional attire of beaver hunters everywhere.
The fedora had a button pinned to it, emblazoned with a Canadian flag with a red slash over it.
As Dane approached the stump, suddenly he felt the ground beneath him shifting, and then he was falling. His last thought before his body was impaled in ten separate places by giant wooden spikes was "Dongs."
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