We don't need no stinkin' badguhs'

I had decided to start a lumber company, because after years of building many many phallic objects, I decided that out of all the things I was good at, I was an expert at woodworking.
I realized that the first thing I would need was workers, so I searched the globe for a group of beavers, because I figured they were almost as skilled as I in the woodworking business. After weeks of searching, I found an able group of male beavers attempting to woo their female counterparts by slapping each other with their "flappers" in Buchanan, Virginia. I asked the beavers if they were interested in the job, but before I got an answer, I was slapped 38 times in the face, which I assumed meant, "Attend our meeting tonight." I was oblivious to what the meeting was about, but I decided to show up anyway, because I was desperate for workers. I was surprised to see that I was over four feet taller than the rest of the meetings attendees, though I never could figure out why this difference existed. Anyway, after 2 hours of listening to unrelenting beaver "flapping", I realized I was at a BUA (Beaver Union of America) meeting. Once I heard the word union (indicated my 3 flaps), I jetted out of there, knowing that a union would only kill my company.
Knowing the beavers were out of the question, I almost lost hope. I ended up turning to the badgers, figuring that since their name sounded similar to beavers, they must be good at everything a beaver is good at. I found some prettyboy badgers up in Paris, Texas, and they were more than I could have asked for. They worked for months in an assembly-line, and my company was soon one of the top lumber companies in America.
It wasn't until I raped and videotaped my sexual acts with Betty the Badger that things started turning for the worst. The badgers stopped all working, and filled my shoes with their fecal matter on 23 occasions before I confronted them about it.
I asked, "Why must you guys stop working? I know raping your woman was wrong, but she doesn't seem as moody anymore, does she?"
Apparently this wasn't the right thing to say, as the badgers looked as if they were about to attack me. Bill, who was the pack's natural leader, stepped forward and said, "It shall come to this. We will have an art contest, as that has always been an ancient ritual of the badgers. If you win the contest, we will begin working again and treat you as our master. If you lose, you will be beaten and killed by us. You will have 3 weeks to come up with your best work."
I accepted their challenge, and immediately began taking art lessons. After seven different sessions, I decided I was ready to paint my picture. I bought all of the top art supplies that all of the professionals use, and finished my work.
The day of the judging was upon us, and here is what the two sides came up with:

The Badger's Entry:











My Entry:










Needless to say, the badgers were stunned. A whip-crack with their whoopy tails, and the badgers were done. The badgers bowed down as soon as they saw my work, as they knew that my entry was unbeatable. Not only did I beat them, Jimmy Hoffa rose from the grave (Below the 50-yard line of the Meadowlands) to high-five me. o/\o HIGH FIVE.