Stuttgart, Arkansas is known as the "rice and duck capital of the world." I shit you not.

The yearly event is a duck calling contest. The main street closes down for carnival rides, a booth where you can buy bags of fried okra, a beauty contest and a stage where local hunters are given the opportunity to show off their quacking skills with the use of a small, hand-held, beautifully sculpted and shellacked duck-caller.

This town has always been keen on the duck theme. The radio station is called "KWAK." Restaurants, like the "One-stop," sport restroom signs that read "Drake" for men and "Duck" for women.

And Stuttgart is a nesting place for a whole flock of strange ducks. The retarded, panty-less woman who fans herself with her skirt during church services. The man with the boil-covered head. The handsome, brooding, tragic young drunk. The snake handlers. The girl that time forgot. The bitter taxidermist. Beagle boy. And a whole passle of revival tour, Bible-thumping, evangelical preachers