UNREMITTING FAILURE: Flintstones Theory

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One day, over in Jersey, Murray caught a talking fish. He was going to throw it back but when he heard it talking he took it home and put it in his bathtub. The fish swam around in Murray's bathtub and talked a blue streak. Murray's wife didn't like the fish until it complimented her shoes and told her where she could get the same pair for half of what she paid. The fish knew lots of stuff. In fact, late that night when Murray got up to take a piss, the fish told him how he could rip off his company and not get caught. The fish had inside dope that dazzled Murray, and while Murray told the fish to shaddup and let him piss, when he went back to bed and thought about it, he had to admit that the fish's plan was what was commonly called foolproof. The next morning Murray confronted the fish. Murray said, "Who are you?" and "How do you know all this stuff?" If a fish could shrug, that was what this fish did: he shrugged. "It's just stuff," he said finally. "You know, information I pick up, swimming around." When Murray got home from work that day, he quizzed the fish further about his plan. The fish talked freely. Murray sat on the toilet lid and listened. The fish knew his stuff.

"Do not tell me!" bellowed the fat man. "I do not want to hear about it!"

III

When stoned, Blankenship, the security guard, liked to explain to Donkemeier, his fellow security guard, also stoned, what Blankenship, a deep thinker, called his 'Flintstones Theory." It was a simple theory. Take Fred Flintstone. Flint equals fire equals civilization; Fred was a Promethean fire bringer, the representative of civilization. Now take Barney Rubble. Rubble, chaos, destruction, death. Together the two friends negated one another, which was why all their well-laid plans for self-aggrandizement always came to nought. Blankenship, stoned, could expand on his theory for hours. Slate, a writing implement: he was organization man. Donkemeier would throw up his hands. "You're whacked, Blankenship! I like the Flintstones as much as any normal American, but you're whacked!"

Late one night, shit it must be three in the morning, Murray's in the bathroom with the fish, the lights are off, and they're whispering. They're arguing, but they're whispering. Murray is whispering. The fish is whispering. And Murray's saying, "I can't do it!" And the fish, who is always moving, turning lazy circles in the reservoir of Murray's bathtub, suddenly stops his incessant movement and says, in a voice that almost scares Murray, it's so calm and certain and dead, "It's the only way, Murray. Otherwise, the plan don't work. You've got to kill Blankenship."

"Do not tell me!" bellowed the fat man. "I do not want to hear about it!"

Blankenship put the joint down and turned dully around. "Hey, Murray," he said. "Whatcha doing, working late?"

"Something like that," said Murray.

"Hey, I ever tell you my theory about the Flintstones?"

"As a matter of fact, you have," said Murray.

"What do you think?" said Blankenship.

"I think I'm Barney Rubble," said Murray.

VII

Down at the precinct, later on, the fish sang like a canary. "I was just messin' with the fella!" shouted the fish. "I didn't think he'd be crazy enough to go through with it! Hell, I liked Blankenship! He had this theory about the Flintstones..."

VIII

"Do not tell me!" bellowed the fat man. "I do not want to hear about it!"

The fish hailed, originally, from Brooklyn. When he was a kid, his pops used to take him to Dodgers games at Ebbets Field. One afternoon Gil Hodges hit a homer, a real epic, it practically landed in the fish's lap. He'd have snagged it, if he'd had arms.