There was Bugs Bunny, who would (generally) never go out of his way to pick a fight - but if anyone messed with him, he would administer a serious beatdown. “Of course you know this means war!”
There was Dudley Do-Right, who despite a general air of cluelessness, always defended the honor of his sweetheart Nell while fighting for Truth, Justice, and the Canadian Way.
There was Popeye, a member of our armed services, a student of the Sweet Science of fisticuffs... and a man who understood the value of proper nutrition.
At one time or another, who among us has not felt a hot flush of Donald Duckian anger... or of Daffy Duck-style ridiculousness? And breathes there a milquetoast who cannot relate to the Ur-Milquetoast of Cartoondom, Mickey Mouse hizzownself?
Me, I never cared much for the Hanna-Barbera stable of characters, but there was one among them for whom I always felt a sort of kinship. I speak, of course, of Fred Flintstone.
I’m not sure what it was I liked so much about Fred. Patterned on Jackie Gleason’s immortal Ralph Kramden of The Honeymooners, he was - to put it delicately - a Neanderthal of the first water. Not exactly the sharpest knapped-edge flint knife in the drawer... and yet he was a solid citizen, a good and loving husband, and blessed with a prodigious appetite. All qualities I could respect. Also a tad stubborn and short-tempered, qualities maybe not to be respected, but certainly ones I had in common with him.
(I always thought Betty Rubble was more attractive than Wilma Flintstone, though. Maybe it was her bizarre, yet infectious
I liked Fred, but I never thought of myself as identifying with him... at least, not until very recently.
Here’s Fred...
...all ready for his monthly lodge meeting. Yes, Fred was a member of a Fraternal Organization, the Loyal Order of Water Buffalos - the model and inspiration for any number of similar organizations today, such as this one:
After the events of this past weekend, though, maybe I have more in common with Fred than I previously thought...
Yeah, there’s definitely some Fred Flintstone there.
6 comments:
... nice hat, sir....... twas it worth the trouble?....
Eric
I could ask you the same question, ya know.
You look like a demented Viking with a bad toupée.
My advice is to stick to the colanders...
As I find sainthood a tad boring, I would much prefer to grow horns than wings. But not if it includes a mudbath. I salute you, Sir!
Peforate that hat, and it can do double duty, y'know.
Jim
Sunk New Dawn
Galveston, TX
@Jim - Don't think I haven't already thought of that. Next year, I'm wearing a hornèd colander - I'll be the Colander-Berserker!
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