My Husband Wants to Eat Rocks, and I'm Not Sure I Can Stop Him

The Dogwood Festival is an annual conglomeration of both the dregs and anomalies of the locals around here. 

Women walk around with sleeveless shirts so stretched you can see their 30-year-old bras. The men, too. 

Kids...kids just don't realize that the entire thing is  supposed to be an economy boost for the town and tug their parents' arms for deep fried butter.

Deep Fried Butter -- It's a real thing.

People come out and sell strange things, eat diabetic-coma-inducing food, and put their children on rides.

Vendors bring out their best, overpriced items and glare at you from within their hovels.

Then I saw this:

He is obviously named Billy Bob, and he costs way too much. Not only that, but the toad behind him looked enormously happy at the view of Billy Bob Cock-A-Freakin' Do's sad, yellow cloud butt.

This made me not trust the toad or Billy Bob, because I instantly knew that they were in cahoots together and would probably wake up and pee on my face in the night.

James and I walked by a booth selling scented rocks. Bright, florescent and floral smelling rocks. I’m not even sure what you would do with Hawaiian Punch Scented Rocks. I would be afraid that someone would try to eat one, which my husband actually did try to do (no joke).

James: Can you eat these?

Old Man Selling Rocks: No.

James: Can I eat one?

Old Man Selling Rocks: No.

James: Then what's the point?

Old Man Selling Rocks: They smell good. You put 'em in your house.

James: But then I would want to eat them, and I'd probably forget that I couldn't, so I would. I'm pretty sure that I don't want florescent poop or Hawaiian smelling burps. Wait...that sounds awesome. That is EXACTLY what I want.

Old Man Selling Rocks: [stares]

James: I mean, they look like giant pop rocks, which everyone loves...oh my gosh now I want pop rocks.

Me: Honey, we need to leave. I think his wife is getting out a shot gun.

James: But...I want pop rocks.