Dam, Fozworth, Dam.

Fozworth was a beaver. He traveled from stream to stream building dams...not out of instinct or duty but just for the hell of it. He liked building dams. He never stayed too long in one place. While he was wherever he was, which was usually Utah, up there in the Wasatch Mountains, he built some of the finest dams that ever a beaver built.
“Dam,” Rodney, a beaver who was looking for a new place to set up, said surveying the work, “this is one hell of a dam.”
“You like it?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s yours, I’m off for Flaming Gorge.”
“That’s a long ways off.”
“I don’t give a dam.”
“You just did.” They laughed like idiots for over half an hour.
On the way there Fozworth had to cross I-80.
A truck sent him flying more than 50 feet. When he came to, he was on the beach at the edge of the world. The Lion Heart was dancing up a storm and it started raining. Mad Max was on drums. Loopey Looise was on the tambourine. There were babes of every description there, including beaver babes. “Dam,” Fozworth said eyeing up one in particular.
“Hi,” she said. “My name is Brenda.”
Fozworth spent a week partying there.
The Lion Heart noticed him after three days, but saw he was having fun there at the beach at the edge of the world and let him be.
“Commit to one stream and one beaver mate,” the Lion Heart said sternly.
“Screw you, bubb.” Was Fozworth’s first thought but he said, “How bout this one?” nodding at Brenda.
“What say you?”
“Love to.”
The Lion Heart picked them both up and cast them off the beach and over the ocean where they splashed into the midnight sky.
When Fozworth awoke Brenda was standing over him blocking out the sun.
“Flaming Gorge it is then,” she said smiling.
Fozworth shook his head trying to clear it; all he managed to say was “Dam.”