We hardly spoke as we ate breakfast--Millie made scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee, wearing a floor-length terry robe, and we ate in virtual si...ence. "More coffee?" I asked as I got up to get mine. She just shook her head. We were finally done. "Time to go, baby," I said. She nodded again and padded off to the bedroom, shoulders slumped. I began packing the car with the few things we'd need. A blanket, too big and thick for her to wrap up in, but perfect for lying on the beach; a big. " Oh Fred, you're such a sissy," cried Wilma. She reached for the seashell telephone to call the Rubble residence."What the fuck is this?" bellowed Scott.Boadie glared over at the bassist. Scott appeared to be delusional, scowling at the humorous delights portrayed by the Flintstone characters. The bulky drummer watched Scott, rather than the screen, slowly gathering a logical link between the experiences related by Brent and then Terry. And now, possibly, by Scott.Scott's interpretation of. More

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