The Flintmobile

A car in the loosest sense of the word. No engine. Nothing under the hood. Powered only with the courtesy of Fred’s two feet. It changed from episode to episode, too. Sometimes it was two seater, sometimes it had four seats. Sometimes a convertible, sometimes hardtop. That’s one hell of car. It can shape shift!

I always wondered how the hell this car worked. I guess it used the skateboarding theory of motion. You use your feet to get it going up to speed and then you coast a bit off the momentum. But my child’s mind (oh, who am I kidding, I thought about this more when I was a stoned teenager than any other time) had so many questions about how Fred and his fellow Bedrockians were able to make their car go.

First of all, they were barefoot. Didn’t they get blisters on their feet? And what about rocks and pebbles and gravel in the road? . Wouldn’t that cut their feet up? Wouldn’t the skin on their feet peel every time they tried to brake? Hell, there should have been blood all over the streets of Bedrock from cut up feet. And if Fred had to power that thing every day with just his own physical force, why was he so fat? You have to figure that getting the car in motion enough to get to the quarry or the lodge was quite a bit of exercise each day.

Also, the wheels. They were just two stone cylinders. How the hell could the car make turns with solid wheels going across the front and back? If you take close look at it, I don’t think it was built with axles that could make those stone tires turn quite enough to work the car right. The way the log things are set up on the side would prevent anything more than a slight turn of the wheel. Plus, the log thingamajig doesn’t look like it’s held together too well. That should have come flying off when Fred went too fast or attempted to turn. The car should have rightfully fell apart at least once every day, leaving Fred and Barney scattered across the Bedrock Highway amidst broken Flintmobile parts, just waiting for the Elephant ambulance to come get them.

See, the elephant car thing makes a lot more sense. Sure, it was a bit slow but, realistically, it was feasible to use for travel. More feasible than a shoddily built car powered by the feet of a tie-wearing caveman. Plus, it only cost peanuts to keep an elephant working.

What? Like you didn’t see that coming. -M

turtle loves it when a plan comes together

What a weird day. Waking up to weird shows that you aren't used to on a daily basis starts to warp your mind. Leaving your TV on at night is always like a gambling throw in Las Vegas. Sometimes you crap out when you wake up. Snake eyes. Sometimes you roll the perfect "Twelve the Hard Way" (Yes, I know that makes no sense but I was talking about prostitution there, not Craps.)

So, since I am usually awake much later than anyone else in the fucking world, I watch some weird shit. When I do wake up, I am on the couch and my dog is on my bed. I look around and wonder what I have to do on here this week before the cigar even hits my lungs. Turn the stereo on and wonder what time it is.Fuck. Four in the morning. Sure. Four in the morning works for some people. It works for Michele cause she can talk to me from the East Coast but fuck, man, TV at that time sucks. No Little House. Just ads. I crapped out. Michele asking me what we need to do today, bright eyed and fucking bushy tailed and me not even being able to get out my morning piss yet.

You ever talk on a cell phone while smoking a cigar when your eyes are barely open and have to explain why you just yelled "ouch!" cause an ash from the cigar just fell on the tip of your penis and is burning your pubic hair?

Try explaining that when you just woke up. It comes out more of something like "Oh fuck!" "What???" "Oh.... nothing"

Admitting to someone that you burned your pubic hair at four in the morning with a cigar is like going into your first AA meeting. It's hard to admit you have a problem and you sure as fuck don't want others knowing about it.

Back to TV.

Fuck. Something has to be on. I'm losing Michele in about 10 minutes so I have to find something on. Something has to be on this damn TV. The music starts and I know I have found it. I rolled a seven today.

We decided to talk about cars and I found one.

And the nicotine was just soaking in.

The A-Team Van

Well fuck yeah. Now we can talk. A black van with a stripe down it filled with convicted war criminals that escaped Vietnam and prison to help people with their problems and wear a lot of gold while doing it. It's like this story was written by god himself and brought down to the people by Moses.

1. Thou shall only blow tires out with weird looking guns
2. Thou shall not forget about anyone in a mental institution for any mission
3. Thou shall always tranquilize the driver of the van cause he is scared of flying
4. Thou shall have a cool looking van
5. Any driver of thy van needs to wear a lot of gold
6. Any driver of thy van needs a mohawk
7. Thou shall smoke cigars as much as possible
8. Getting the insane guy in thy van is not up to you. Cause fuck, it seems to happen every week anyways
9. Thy should be able to make any device to get out of any situations with a rubber ball and house hold bleach
10. MacGyver will steal your ideas on #9 and end up in hell for doing it.

So I don't know if this is a post about going to hell, starting a new religion by gathering ex-Krishnas and sending them to the airport for donations or the van itself.

I'll stick with the van tonight cause the "A-Team Seven Point Plan To Take Over The World One Piece Of Gold Chain At A Time" is already in process. See. I'm a thinker. By the end of the year, airports will be filled with guys wearing a lot of gold asking for change with a big black van parked in the "No Parking Zone" waiting to be whisked off as the sound blares out of the car. Leaving the insane guy back at the airport and the driver of the van half sedated on some sort of barbituates we snuck in his "Happy Meal."

He hates planes.

My plan will work.

But the van.

Man that van was cool.

Packed with rebels and angry people. With Mr. T driving! To tell the truth I could always give a fuck less about the story line. Gangsters taking over your neighborhood or having trouble with the retarded kid not being able to hit the piñata at your kid's 14th birthday party? Fuck. Call the A-Team. Shit. If they couldn't get that kid to hit the piñata at the party, they will shoot his parents tires out with the funny looking guns and drive to their next assignment. The kid would hit the piñata in the end, but not after the A-Team made a "Piñata Busting" device out of cornstarch and some ordinary toothpicks.

Then drive away in their van.

With the driver half sedated cause they were near an airport.

My plans for world domination with my A-Team cult will be coming together shortly. Soon you will all start to see more mohawks and gold chains. More vans and more people asking us you to join us and our pursuit of a van driven nation with at least one crazy a day to break out of an institution so he could dress like a girl to help out some people who found us.

The A-Team Cult

I just need to get a driver license first. - T

So these were our cars of the night. Sure some of the reviews sounded more like Jim Jones with his perfect plan on moving to South America and others were just complete trainwrecks. Drink the Kool Aid and join FTTW.

Oh.

And tell us, what your favorite car was that defined a movie or tv show?