I don’t even know what to title this one

fred flinstone let out a sorrowful “what have i yabba dabba done…” as he stood above barney rubles mangled corpse. if only his t-rex oriented home alarm system had not alerted him to an imposter entering his home. how could fred ever anticipate his best friend among us this entire time lay with wilma flinstone. no amount of tasks performed could fix the primordial voted ejections that lay before them.

part of him always knew. part of everyone knew. they just didn’t want to look. it’s not like they could just call an emergency meeting and put this to a vote. this is evolution. barney was making love to fred’s wife. she was getting fucked. this redhead was hot for barney, and the love for fred died many sinking moons ago. but that doesn’t mean fred didn’t feel. he felt a lot. he hurt too.

fred carried his former best friend’s, his brother’s corpse to the tar pits. he wondered if only for a moment if he should give some final words. may ruble be damned. he had his chance to confess, before fred flinstone’s pet sabertooth tiger mauled him to death after plowing wilma’s stone-age pussy. what was set in stone, was just that, stone. their bond would meld into the black nothingness that lay at flinstone’s feet.

he dropped barney’s body into the tar pits, watching the scorched hot bubbles burble around his decaying body. the frying flesh let out twisting pillars of smoke. Fred dried his tears, and made the journey back to his house in his improbably designed rolling stone car, seriously how the fuck does this shit function. wilma was waiting at the door, for their reckoning. she shed crocodile tears as fred held her in his arms.

not crocodile tears like the expression, literally, a crocodile was crying on her behalf, it was their lawn-mower. wilma was holding it because gender norms during the paleolithic era weren’t progressive. however, did you know crocodiles haven’t evolved in like 80 million years???? that is because they mostly live in florida. wilma started to shake as she knew what fred was capable of. she knew where barney was. she knew why her kitchen appliances were all apex predators.

Fred held wilma close as Betty Rubble walked down their drive way, or stone roll way, what the fuck ever, everything in this dumbass prehistoric world is just a pun. Betty had bam-bam in her arms, who was clearly a caveman-baby with unbelievable superham strength. Betty tossed bam-bam into a bush before descending down to the doorway of their former bestfriend’s, hoping this would be a sign of peace. this would be her undoing. she needed exactly that. the right to bear-arms. Betty, Barney’s wife, who was much hotter than him. she asked….

“where is barney…??”

“I…. Betty… I didn’t wan-”

“where is barney, Fred? where is your best friend? where is the caveman I love?? the father of my children? where is he, fred?”

“him and wilma….”

“I already know, fred. it hurt me. it hurt me too, you weren’t the only one, but i still loved him. where is barney? where is the man I love so much?…. where is the man i spent our honeymoon together with amongst the mammoth caves?”

“Betty… you don’t want to know. Just take Bam-bam, and lea-”

“WHERE IS THE MAN THAT WE BOTH LOVED, FRED???!!” Betty screamed out with warm hot bursting tears in her eyes, that shook Fred, reminding him of the bubbling tar her lover had dissolved in only hours before.

Fred Flinstone looked up to the jurassic crimson red sun setting just beyond the horizon. He cracked open his front door, and grabbed his club, patting it against the palm of his hand. his rippling shoulders hung heavy as the weighted club now extend forward– ready yet again for its purpose. to club (it’s literally in the name, bozo).

he had to tie up loose ends. this wasn’t about his own anger anymore. this wasn’t about his whore wife. this wasn’t about bam-bam. this was about survival. there was one more task yet to be completed. he walked over with leading footsteps that dragged like iron, and caressed it across wilma’s back as his sunken head slowly rose up to meet his former brother’s lover’s eyes…

“forgive me for what I must yabba dabba do….”

#dont #title

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  1. fred flinstone let out a sorrowful “what have i yabba dabba done…” as he stood above barney rubles mangled corpse. if only his t-rex oriented home alarm system had not alerted him to an imposter entering his home. how could fred ever anticipate his best friend among us this entire time lay with wilma flinstone. no amount of tasks performed could fix the primordial voted ejections that lay before them.

    part of him always knew. part of everyone knew. they just didn’t want to look. it’s not like they could just call an emergency meeting and put this to a vote. this is evolution. barney was making love to fred’s wife. she was getting fucked. this redhead was hot for barney, and the love for fred died many sinking moons ago. but that doesn’t mean fred didn’t feel. he felt a lot. he hurt too.

    fred carried his former best friend’s, his brother’s corpse to the tar pits. he wondered if only for a moment if he should give some final words. may ruble be damned. he had his chance to confess, before fred flinstone’s pet sabertooth tiger mauled him to death after plowing wilma’s stone-age pussy. what was set in stone, was just that, stone. their bond would meld into the black nothingness that lay at flinstone’s feet.

    he dropped barney’s body into the tar pits, watching the scorched hot bubbles burble around his decaying body. the frying flesh let out twisting pillars of smoke. Fred dried his tears, and made the journey back to his house in his improbably designed rolling stone car, seriously how the fuck does this shit function. wilma was waiting at the door, for their reckoning. she shed crocodile tears as fred held her in his arms.

    not crocodile tears like the expression, literally, a crocodile was crying on her behalf, it was their lawn-mower. wilma was holding it because gender norms during the paleolithic era weren’t progressive. however, did you know crocodiles haven’t evolved in like 80 million years???? that is because they mostly live in florida. wilma started to shake as she knew what fred was capable of. she knew where barney was. she knew why her kitchen appliances were all apex predators.

    Fred held wilma close as Betty Rubble walked down their drive way, or stone roll way, what the fuck ever, everything in this dumbass prehistoric world is just a pun. Betty had bam-bam in her arms, who was clearly a caveman-baby with unbelievable superham strength. Betty tossed bam-bam into a bush before descending down to the doorway of their former bestfriend’s, hoping this would be a sign of peace. this would be her undoing. she needed exactly that. the right to bear-arms. Betty, Barney’s wife, who was much hotter than him. she asked….

    “where is barney…??”

    “I…. Betty… I didn’t wan-”

    “where is barney, Fred? where is your best friend? where is the caveman I love?? the father of my children? where is he, fred?”

    “him and wilma….”

    “I already know, fred. it hurt me. it hurt me too, you weren’t the only one, but i still loved him. where is barney? where is the man I love so much?…. where is the man i spent our honeymoon together with amongst the mammoth caves?”

    “Betty… you don’t want to know. Just take Bam-bam, and lea-”

    “WHERE IS THE MAN THAT WE BOTH LOVED, FRED???!!” Betty screamed out with warm hot bursting tears in her eyes, that shook Fred, reminding him of the bubbling tar her lover had dissolved in only hours before.

    Fred Flinstone looked up to the jurassic crimson red sun setting just beyond the horizon. He cracked open his front door, and grabbed his club, patting it against the palm of his hand. his rippling shoulders hung heavy as the weighted club now extend forward– ready yet again for its purpose. to club (it’s literally in the name, bozo).

    he had to tie up loose ends. this wasn’t about his own anger anymore. this wasn’t about his whore wife. this wasn’t about bam-bam. this was about survival. there was one more task yet to be completed. he walked over with leading footsteps that dragged like iron, and caressed it across wilma’s back as his sunken head slowly rose up to meet his former brother’s lover’s eyes…

    “forgive me for what I must yabba dabba do….”

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