Crap-Ass Crime Flashback. Reggie and a pal take a hit off one of Cosby's crack pipes before being interrupted by the doorbell. When they open it to find a Chinese food delivery guy, they promptly cover him with a sheet, beat him with a cinderblock, and then sit down to bump fists and eat moo goo gai pan over a rapidly expanding puddle of blood. I mean, really. What the fuck? Who writes this shit? And more importantly, who supplied the seventies-vintage Betamax camcorder they filmed it with? Anyway, he's Prisoner #01R-934, Reginald Rawls. Convicted January 10th, 2001; aggravated assault. Sentence: Twelve years. Up for parole in four. Reggie ends the scene by using Mortimer The Marker to doodle a mustache and big eyebrows on the unconscious Chinese guy. Heh.
Back in the present, Reggie is complaining that telemarketing and bookbinding "ain't exactly the kind of prison life you hear about on the street." No, that would be spooning and ass-swastikas, wouldn't it? He and Keneniah are joined in their pod by Crackhead Cosby, who appears to be under some sort of drug-induced delusion that these two still care what he has to say. Oh, sweet, naïve Redding. If there's one thing I've learned from my day job, it's that the surest way to lose a friend is to force them to make outbound phone calls. Well, that and also how to minimize Internet Explorer when the boss gets too close, but that particular lesson isn't really relevant to the plot at hand. When Redding insists that the boys return to the call center out of gratitude for the protection he's given them over the years, Reggie sneers and responds that they were nothing but foot soldiers "running pudding pops and shit." A dejected and lackey-less Redding heads from there to the laundry room, where he meets with Pancamo and Urbano and offers to let them variously "squash," "weaken," or "demobilize" his old crew so as to force them to return to his loving bosom. Ooh, sneaky. Watch him jiggle! See him wiggle!
And speaking of inane rhyme scheme, here's Poet, working out on the heavy bag and proving that he's even dumber than Redding (assuming such a thing is even possible, of course). Reggie is desperate to get back to the glory days when the pudding pops flowed like wine, and the only work he had to do was hoisting the occasional cinderblock whenever he felt like a midnight snack. Poet, however, preaches patience, even in the face of Pancamo's provocations. And then he disses Omar. Hee! I knew I liked that fool for a reason.