"More" is Secret Code for "Cinnamon Lollipops"

Day Three in the South: I got it in my head to load the Sugar Baby and Gretl in the car and go in search of a playground. There was a state park nearby, so surely, I figured, there must be some sort of amusement to entertain them. Typically something like this would be well marked, but apparently they don't want strangers visiting their public spaces, so suffice it to say, we got a little lost. Oh sure, maybe I shouldn't have taken the dirt road versus the paved road, but the sweet Siren call of banjos seemed to be beckoning me. In any case, we eventually got back on the right track and found a wimpy playground that consisted of a slide and two swings. On the way, however, I saw this: T-Bone and Sallies BBQ Bologna Log. While I'm always on duty scouting for candy, I can also be found stringing for Hops & Chops. Let me just say this: when the wee ones and I walked in, we were apparently interrupting something important, because the people gathered around the poker table in the back stopped their drinkin' and smokin' and talkin' and stared us down. Yikes. There'd be no bologna log for us, apparently. I feared for our lives (particularly when the Sugar Baby decided to lay down on the floor and start howling), so we bought some Mello Yello and high-tailed it outta there. But I couldn't let it go. So the Baron and I ventured out the next day and I sent him into the store to do my dirty work. As I sat in the car, I noticed a poster that advertised pre-mixed Budweiser and Clamato juice. Can you think of a more heinous combination? This, too, seemed like a perfect fit for Ms. Chops' blog, so I gathered my courage and walked in. What did I find? The Baron and T-Bone having a lovely conversation about the bologna log. Unfortunately, there wasn't any to be had that day; he'd sold out early in the morning. But he explained how he takes a log of bologna, grills it, then smokes it for three to four hours. The Baron didn't quite get it. He thought it was some sort of barbecue (as in the pulled pork kind) that was somehow smashed into a bologna log. Anyhow, I couldn't find the beer/tomato juice concoction either, but at the counter there were homemade lollipops.
"One of these, please," I squeaked out.
"Go ahead, take it," said the tattooed-and-teethless but seriously nice T-Bone. Awwww, yeah, he made me feel mean and Yankeeish. I put the pop in my pocket where it got all soft and sticky in the midday heat, and later that night I unveiled it. We each took a lick (hey, we're family, what can I say?!) and decided that it was actually a darn good lollipop. It was hot cinnamon. As you can see from the picture, Mr. Goodbar was breaking the eleventh commandment: Thou shalt not covet thy spouse's candy.