"All I'm saying," Sam repeats for the fourth time, with a sloppily emphatic gesture that has Dean moving his own beer back for safety, "All I'm saying is that it seems very unhygienic, and I wouldn't expect you, of all people, to think it was a good idea." He leans back in his chair, listing a little to the left, and folds his arms in a way that's probably supposed to look resolute but just reminds Dean of when he was a teenager sulking over driving privileges (or rather the lack thereof).
"All good sex is unhygienic," Dean counters, peeling the label off the bottle in short, soggy strips. "That's part of what makes it fun--it's the good kind of mess."
Sam frowns, and Dean can almost see the booze-soaked gears turning slowly inside his head. "Okay, but what exactly would you be eating?" is what he finally comes up with, and when Dean frowns back at him because the answer to that is obvious, he makes another emphatic gesture that would have beer all over the table if his bottle weren't mostly empty. "No, I mean, what's it made out of? 'Edible' covers a lot of ground, y'know? And if it's wearable *and* edible, it's gotta be, like, what--fondant? Not like it's going to be pie crust, even if you really wish it was."
"Okay, point," Dean finally admits, because Sam has him stumped there. "But give me a minute, I'll come up with something."
Sam grins at him and slouches all the way down in his chair. "You mean you're going to Google the reviews and see what it's actually made of."