Enod fell and smacked his forehead on one of those giant metal nails keeping the railroad tracks secured. The rails weren’t far from where he lived with his brother Bilpie and sister Martha in a cabin in Montana. In a photon second, he experienced his first awakening, and the idea of plasticizing cow turds glowed in his mind immediately.

The bump on his head did not subside.  

He collected and stored the dried remains and found a market for his idea in highway gift shops. His sister Martha had given him the plasticizer for his birthday. He called his company —The Last Shout.

Ideas to accentuate the business woke him at four A.M. every morning. He diversified, plasticizing the last shout of chickens, elk, bear, and of course, himself. He gave the creations names, like Noah or Barbalon. It was a living. The bump on his head did not go away. It began to grow.

One night he dreamt of dinosaurs.

Determined, each day he went out to dig. In the heat of the summer, in a lonely canyon, he found his dream—Rex. Highly excited, he stumbled his skull into the beast’s cranium. Enod experienced his second awakening.

The bump on his head bulged larger and stayed that way. With pick and shovel, and brush and gentle blowing, he uncovered what he was most after, Tyrannosaurus Rex’s fecal remains. He plasticized the enormous turds before the archeologists could infiltrate the site. Those kooks could have the bones; Enod wanted the real treasure. The aftermath. The last shout.

The Tyrannosaurus poop was in limited supply, of course, but Enod was resourceful. Martha and Bilpie helped. They amplified the small cache of ancient swank by making computer-generated posters of Rex gooching out a truckload onto a busy street. Enod took the giant turds on tour. He made molds and sold mock turds made of plastic or rubber. Kids ordered beds shaped like Rex’s turds. Every bed came with the caption, “You can sleep as sound as a turd tonight.”

Rubber Rex’s designed to extruded brown Playdough brought new meaning to young people’s lives. The butt of every toy read, “The Last Shout.”

After Christmas of that year, because of his silly success with turds, Enod and his kin became millionaires.

But no one ever suspected that Enod had also become an intellectual freak with a horrendously high IQ due to his awakenings. He wrote papers, was peer-reviewed and became the top authority on turds in the world. An archeologist in Australia called on him to identify a mysterious fecal deposit found in the desert.

Enod and Bilpie left Montana for Australia, where Enod found a very simple turd he could not identify. In a faint, he fell backward and knocked his noggin from behind.

The bump on his forehead receded, and suddenly the whole matter of turds was foreign and ridiculous.

Bilpie scooped Enod up, and returned him to Montana, where he and Martha bang Enod on the forehead every day, waiting for the third awakening.