Barney Rubble: What An Actor
There was a time in my life when I lived about 5 minutes from where I worked. For those of you reading Dogs On Main Street it was in my luxury rats-nest apartment that was 27 steps away from the gas station-convenience store.
Living so close to where I worked was important because if I timed it right I could be at my kitchen table eating a few salami sandwiches as The Flintstones theme music started.
Yep...as a 25-year-old man my number one quest was to catch the Stones on a daily basis.
I'd like to say it also saved me time as I could clean the place up on my lunch break, but I didn't clean a whole helluva' lot...until I became a husband.
Anywhoha...
My favorite episode of The Flintstones was the one where Barney made counterfeit money in his basement and Fred did everything he could to try and keep his bosom buddy from passing the fake bills.
Why don't they put that show on Net Flix?
I thought of all this when I read the story about a woman here in Buffalo who was trying to pass a counterfeit twenty at a local McDonald's. She tried to slip it through as she waited in the drive-thru lane and when the nosy, bitch clerk figured it out, the lady took off without her change or the garbage food they serve.
And she forgot all about the camera.
The cops busted her and the lady got her picture and name in the paper.
Where the hell was Fred when she needed him?
Yet I often wonder what one of those bad bills looks like. Is it something they do on a home computer or on a photo copier?
Barney used a hand crank machine of some sort, but he also wore a bookie hat and a eye patch, I think.
(We all know that Barney was a terrific actor - he played the shit out of that part).
Yet doesn't your heart catch a little when you hand a cashier a big bill and she holds it up to the light or scratches it with a marker?
What if you had gotten duped and received a bad hundy, and then were accused of passing it?
That would suck, right?
I always tell the clerk that I made them at home. I told one young clerk:
"I made it this morning, like Barney Rubble."
"Who?" she asked.
The younger generation doesn't know Barney Rubble...
...that is the real crime, right there.
Living so close to where I worked was important because if I timed it right I could be at my kitchen table eating a few salami sandwiches as The Flintstones theme music started.
Yep...as a 25-year-old man my number one quest was to catch the Stones on a daily basis.
I'd like to say it also saved me time as I could clean the place up on my lunch break, but I didn't clean a whole helluva' lot...until I became a husband.
Anywhoha...
My favorite episode of The Flintstones was the one where Barney made counterfeit money in his basement and Fred did everything he could to try and keep his bosom buddy from passing the fake bills.
Why don't they put that show on Net Flix?
I thought of all this when I read the story about a woman here in Buffalo who was trying to pass a counterfeit twenty at a local McDonald's. She tried to slip it through as she waited in the drive-thru lane and when the nosy, bitch clerk figured it out, the lady took off without her change or the garbage food they serve.
And she forgot all about the camera.
The cops busted her and the lady got her picture and name in the paper.
Where the hell was Fred when she needed him?
Yet I often wonder what one of those bad bills looks like. Is it something they do on a home computer or on a photo copier?
Barney used a hand crank machine of some sort, but he also wore a bookie hat and a eye patch, I think.
(We all know that Barney was a terrific actor - he played the shit out of that part).
Yet doesn't your heart catch a little when you hand a cashier a big bill and she holds it up to the light or scratches it with a marker?
What if you had gotten duped and received a bad hundy, and then were accused of passing it?
That would suck, right?
I always tell the clerk that I made them at home. I told one young clerk:
"I made it this morning, like Barney Rubble."
"Who?" she asked.
The younger generation doesn't know Barney Rubble...
...that is the real crime, right there.
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