It's a wonderful rock, and the Postmaster General just adores it. They grab it with both hands, fingers squeezing it tightly. It's clutched to their chest for a moment before set on the table, and--

Oh. They're stamping it. Again and again, red ink smearing on the rock. The word approved is layered so many times as to become incomprehensible, and then they hum, a thoroughly pleased noise.

Yay, rocks!