The Flintstone Caper

“I think we should go in there and stick his hand in warm water,” Walter said. He was dressed in a Fred Flintstone mask for children six to eight years old. So was I.

I looked up into Fred Flintstone's face until Walter pushed his mask up so I could see his eyes and know how serious he was. His eyes were huge and alive and very, very serious. He tightened his lips together like you do when you're on the very edge of erupting into hysterical laughter and you can't afford the attention.

I pushed my mask up as well. “You have got to be kidding,” I stated quietly and calmly. I couldn't look him in the eyes so I looked past him at the party of passed-out-costume-clad strangers sitting on couches and chairs, lying on the floor, and curled up on tables and counter tops everywhere throughout the fraternity house.

“No. Pete! I'm not kidding.” His eyes grew bigger and his lips began to quiver along with the rest of him.

“Let me understand... You want to sneak into the bedroom of your ex-girlfriend's new boyfriend and stick his hand into a bowl of warm water so that he pisses all over himself and his bed and your ex-girlfriend?”

“Yes!” he said in a hissing whisper. “We've got to do this!”

“We are not doing this. This is not funny.”

“This is absolutely funny!”

“What if he's awake? What if he's--”

“He's asleep! Look at this place!” He turned around with his right arm elongated like an MC revealing the next showcase. There was not one person in sight that was even semi-conscious.

“Well, it is a little bit funny,” I said lowering my mask down slowly over my face.

-298 Words-