A most unexpected crossover event

Plus, the disappointed Malaysian Boba Tea-loving criminal

(Good Wednesday to you. Stay tuned this week for an email about upcoming changes, all of which are for the better, and which mean more value for you, the Valued Paid Subscriber.)

In keeping with the old column’s parameters, I’m holding the Monday and Friday installments to 800 words. This is for the better; I don’t want to get flabby just because there’s no limitations on length. (That privilege is reserved for The Bleat.)  Some outtakes from the bank anxiety piece, with explanations.

I had to write out a check the other day, and thought “well, best get out the slab of stone and the chisel,” since it felt about as archaic as a bank deposit at Bedrock First National.

I am not a fan of the Flintstones, because I am a grown up. I was a fan of the Flintstones, because I was a child. Even then, though,  things bothered me - the ubiquity of the rock-based nomenclature, the way the rear axle on Fred’s car was not held in place by any bracket, the way people ran around the house and the same table and chair repeated four times. I haven’t seen the cartoon in decades, but found myself seeking out a particular episode on YouTube because I was looking up an actor and found he’d done an ep.

What I found, as they say in clickbait, SHOCKED ME, and no, this is not Fred and Barney smoking Winston cigarettes. Ready?