Bought at a New York auction, the poop in question originally shot out of a dinosaur butt around 130 million years ago. Today it looks like a large driveway rock. I bet if you turn over the one on its left, you will find a little compartment that hid the key to Grog's apartment -- a great CNN asked him "Why?" And I found his response deep and worthy of contemplation. To quote CNN, "Tsengas bought the dung in hopes of motivating his employees and using it as a marketing tool by displaying it at the company's booth at trade shows."
I wonder if the former part of this quote means he will threaten to throw it at employees who don't do their job properly. This would motivate me. I can't imagine dodging poop rocks tossed by a cranky retired patent genius angry that I'm not processing online orders fast enough. I'd be afraid to see him coming around the corner of my cubicle, using the stretchy part of an old stethoscope or something operational and pharmaceutical-like to hurl Jurassic poop rocks at me because I've got a record-breaking game of Tetris on my monitor instead of Wilma from Montana's latest order of Pick-Up Bags [4]. He might go off, whipping that coprolite at me with the fury of a Viking Berserker, and then I'd be sorry. I'd have a hell of a time explaining the dent in my head to the company HMO; I doubt fossilized poop injuries would be covered. I'd awaken from a slight concussion to find him sweating and enraged, standing over me, with that stone poopy piece cradled in cracking surgical tubing and dripping in blood. My blood. His breath would come in harsh, ragged gasps, his chest heaving, and he'd say, "Play Tetris on your own time, asshole."
And then I'd know:
Any man willing to pay a grand for some old poop means business.
[3]hiding place, because no one wanted to pick up fresh dinosaur poop to see if the extra key to his apartment was under it.
