02x27 - The Mailman Cometh

[bunniefuu]

[grunting] When this is over, I'm through with writing letters of any kind.

Yeah, dangerous, huh?

Fred. Oh, Freddie boy.

[grunts] Stop that, Barney, will you?

Trouble, Freddie. Much trouble. King-sized.

Or, rather, cop-sized.

Stop nudging me. Just keep an eye peeled for cops.

You just said the secret word, Freddie.

What? What secret word?

C-O-P, "cop."

Barney, your voice is... changing!

[laughs nervously] Nice day, officer.

[horn honking]

[whistles]

[siren wailing]

Looks like a professional paint job, Wilma.

That do-it-yourself painting kit was worth all those trading stamps.

I'm going to put on two more coats.

If my sinuses hold out.

[whistles]

Mailman!

The mail! The mail!

What's with Fred? He's so excited.

It's the notice from his boss, he hopes, about the annual raise in salary.

What's the big fuss then? Fred gets his raise every year.

All the other employees have already received their notices in the mail.

I see.

Suppose Fred doesn't get that raise this year. Would it upset him?

[Fred] No, it can't be!

That answer your question?

Believe me, Mr. Flintstone. I'm not holding out on you.

That notice from Mr. Slate has got to be there. It's just got to!

I checked, but no notice. Sorry.

You're sure? Positive? Scout's honor?

Sure, I'm sure. Help yourself. Take a look.

[Fred] It's gotta be there. It's just gotta!

Anything wrong, Fred?

I don't understand. Just plain don't.

I got a raise every year. Why not this one?

Don't take it so hard, Mr. Flintstone.

Yeah, Fred. Maybe next year...

Ta, ha!

Thanks for cheering me up.

[muttering]

Fred, Betty and I are going shopping, if you don't mind.

Mind? Why should I mind if you spend a couple of bucks?

I'm not busted exactly. We got everything.

Give or take a few payments.

You didn't let me finish.

If you don't mind helping yourself to lunch. The icebox is full.

You're darn right it's full. I don't need old Slate's raise!

But why did he single me out for no raise this year? Why?

Fred, maybe... Yeah?

Maybe you lost your temper with Mr. Slate at some time.

Me? I never lose my temper! Never!

You ever catch me losing my temper?

You? [giggles] Ridiculous.

There.

Fred. There you go again!

Again? All I said was "Fred." That's the trouble with you.

You're always sneaking up behind me and yelling "Fred!"

I'm sick of it! Sick, sick, sick!

Why, why, why? I think Fred's a nice name.

You wouldn't understand.

[door slams]

What's he sore at me for? It's not you, Barney. It's himself, his pride, being the only one who didn't get a raise this year.

Yeah, poor guy. I'll go out cheer him up.

What are you doing, pal? Throwing darts?

No, I'm riding a bicycle on the ceiling.

That's funny. It looks like you're throwing darts. [laughs]

[laughing snidely]

I'm just trying to take your mind off your troubles, Fred.

Say, that resembles Mr. Slate. It's him, all right.

Barney, you have an open mind. The openest.

Do you think Mr. Slate deserves my loyalty after the way he treated me?

Well... You're right.

It would serve him right if I quit, right, Barney?

Quit your job? Exactly.

Just let old man Slate try and find a guy who can do the job the way I did.

Sure, Fred, but... And while I'm resigning...

I might as well tell old Slate what he can do with his old job.

You don't mean... A letter.

I've saved up a long time to tell that guy off.

This is gonna be a real doozy.

I don't know what I'd do without your advice, old pal.

Somehow I don't think I deserve all the credit for the decision.

Fred, all those things you're calling Mr. Slate, do you think they let it in the mail?

This is mild compared to how I feel about him.

"And not only do I think you're a cheapskate, Mr. Slate, for chiseling a devoted employee out of a raise, but I am quitting because you are a no-good, mean, despicable, insufferable skunkasaurus."

Now, how shall I end it?

How about "Love, Fred Flintstone"?

What?

In case you want Mr. Slate to give you a reference for another job.

I don't need any help from that pebble-head.

Fine thing. You pay taxes like crazy and there's never a mailbox around when you need it.

Oh, there's one over there.

Excuse me, Mac. I got to drop this air mail letter.

Contact.

But, Fred, how about your job?

Wilma? How will you explain quitting to her?

I'm not worried about that, pal.

You're not?

Nope. I'm sure you'll think of something. Me?

You should have no problem making Wilma understand.

You're a very convincing man. Is that so?

You made me realize that a man should have pride, respect for himself.

Is that so?

I hope I remember all those things when I have to convince Wilma, too.

Delicious, Mrs. Flintstone. Super yummy.

You must let Mrs. Slate have the recipe for this, uh, this...

[Wilma] Mastodon in aspic. Yes. Delicious.

Uh, can't you stay just a little bit longer, Mr. Slate?

Fred should be back momentarily.

And he'd be thrilled that you, his boss, took time to come here personally.

Mr. Flintstone, Fred, is no mere employee.

Not at all, Mrs. Flintstone.

The fact that he didn't raise a fuss when because of a bookkeeping oversight he wasn't notified of his raise in salary is proof positive of that.

Well, I must be off. Bye, now. Bye, Mr. Slate.

I just can't wait to see the expression on Fred's face when I tell him he got his raise.

Mr. Slate must think an awful lot of Fred to come here in person to tell him.

I know, Fred, but somehow I don't feel responsible.

I really didn't talk you into writing that letter to Mr. Slate.

You didn't talk me out of it, either. So?

That makes you responsible for whatever happens.

Come on. Wilma's home. [Barney] Good. I think I'll go to mine.

Where's your courage, your get-up-and-go?

It got up and went.

[humming]

Hello, Fred. Barney. Do I have news for you.

We have news for you, dear. I mean, Barney has. Don't you, Barney?

Wilma, I, uh... That is, he...

That is, well... It's about that raise from Mr. Slate.

Oh, then you ran into Mr. Slate when he left here?

Slate? Left here?

He couldn't already have received the letter.

Letter? What letter? Well, uh...

[stammering] Letter...

Let her finish, Barney.

What's this about Slate being here, Wilma?

To apologize for the bookkeeping mistake and tell you that you're getting the raise.

Gee, Fred. That's wonderful.

You must be awful proud.

The boss coming here to give you the good news in person.

Yeah. I guess I was wrong about Mr. Slate.

He's swell, not a bad guy and...

[both moan]

What's happened? Anything wrong, Fred?

No, nothing. Barney and I, we're just going for a stroll.

Down to the mailbox. Mailbox?

Fred Flintstone, are you trying to keep something from me?

[Fred] No. From Mr. Slate!

Still a few minutes before they pick up the mail. I'll have to work fast.

What are you gonna do, Fred?

Get that letter out of there. That's what.

I can't touch anything yet.

That's the trouble with these mailboxes. They make them too deep.

Yeah. You ought to write a letter to your congressman and complain.

When this is over, I'm through with writing letters of any kind.

Yeah. Dangerous, aren't...

Fred.

Freddie-boy. Stop that, Barney, will you?

Trouble, Freddie. Much trouble.

King-sized, or rather, cop-sized.

Stop nudging me. Just keep an eye peeled for cops.

You just said the secret word, Freddie.

What secret word? C-O-P. Cop.

Barney, your voice is changing!

[laughing]

Nice day, officer.

Not for you it isn't, sonny, unless, of course, you can come up with a convincing lie about why you're tampering with the government mails.

I'm not tampering with the government mails, officer.

Right, Barney? You ain't? I mean, you ain't.

He just mailed a letter, and the reason his hand was in there was because... Don't tell me. Let me guess.

He forgot to wave bye-bye to the letter.

Get that arm out of there pronto!

[yells]

Now get out of here, and don't let me catch you at this again.

Yes, sir.

Is the cop gone yet, Barney? Duck. Here he comes.

The coast is clear now, Barney. Let's go. Okay.

[yelling]

I don't get it. I better lay off that health food.

Coast is clear, Barney. Come on, work fast.

But if I'm caught, it will mean 20 years for me.

You're younger. You'll still have time to enjoy life.

Reach it yet, Barney? Not quite, Fred.

Now, Barney? How about now?

Good. I can touch something. Hold it there, Fred.

Uh-oh. The cop. Quick. Out.

Out.

What's the big idea, Fred? Shh. Cop's back.

I thought I told you to scram.

Why, officer? Is it against the law to lean on mailboxes?

It's not in the regulations.

Well, good day, officer. I hope I'm not keeping you from your rounds.

No, but I'm keeping my eye on you.

Coast is clear, Barney.

I can't tell which is yours. It's dark in here.

Oh, fine.

Here, Barney. Now you can see.

Okay, Fred. I'll have your letter in a jiffy.

Quiet, Barney. The man in blue's here again.

Good day, Mr. Mailbox Leaner. Having fun?

It's the only way to lean.

Anything wrong? No, just a little calisthenics.

Fellow must keep fit, you know.

You always exercise in front of mailboxes?

Doesn't everybody?

Do you smell smoke? Me? No.

There it is! Smoke from inside the mailbox!

Could be one of those fan letters to a movie star.

Some of them can be pretty hot, you know. [laughing]

There's a fire in there!

You better get some water and put it out, officer.

Yeah. Be right back.

That was close. Hurry, Barney.

Okay, Fred. There's a lot of letters to go through.

[officer] Out of the way. But, officer...

The mail, it might burn up. That should do it.

What's the big idea? I just, that voice.

It came from inside the mailbox.

Exactly where I threw it. Huh?

I'm an amateur ventriloquist. Ventriloquist?

[Barney sneezes]

Gesundheit. [Barney] Thank you.

You're...

Somebody in there, probably trying to steal the mail.

He might be dangerous. I'll stand guard here while you get help.

Thanks. I'll never forget you. I wish you would.

Hurry now, Barney, but fast.

Pardon me, sir. Huh? Oh, the mailman.

What happened here? The strangest thing.

I know. You dropped that letter in the box and forgot to let go.

Happens all the time. [laughs]

I'll take that letter.

Well, now you've done it.

Had the letter in your hand, and now it's on its way to Mr. Slate.

[whistle blowing]

The cops. Come on.

He's in there. You sure?

A mail crook! Come out, you, with your hands up!

Don't move, you. We've got you...

He, he's gone. Yeah, and I'm going.

So help me, Riley, one more of these goofs, and you'll be pounding a beat at Far Rockaway!

No.

No, no, not that.

[Wilma] Breakfast is ready, Fred. Out of bed. Today is workday.

It won't be for me when Mr. Slate reads that letter.

Come on, Fred, or do I have to yank you out of bed?

No!

Fred, it's half-past. What are you doing in bed?

Shivering. I don't think I can go back to work ever.

I'm sick. Isn't this rather sudden?

It's a sudden disease. Instant pneumonia.

I think I'm gonna die. At least I hope so.

Stick out your tongue. Come on.

Your tongue looks all right.

That's not what's sick. It's the rest of me.

Wilma, there's something I gotta tell you.

Yeah? Wilma, I...

Close the door. I feel a draft.

Now, don't move and stay in bed. I'll fix you some nice brontosaurus broth.

It'll make you feel better. Good morning, Wilma. Where's Fred?

In bed. But he'll be late for work.

And me, too. It's his turn to drive.

He's not going to work, Barney.

Slate's already gotten it. Gotten what, Barney?

Uh, didn't Fred tell you? Tell me what?

[stammers]

Nothing. I'll go in and say goodbye to Fred.

Maybe Slate won't fire you, Fred, if you explained.

After all, nobody's perfect.

You happen to remember the things I called Slate in that letter?

Brother!

Morning, Mr. Wilcox. Is that all the mail for us today?

Sorry, Mrs. Flintstone.

But we mailmen just deliver, don't write it.

Just deliver, don't write it.

Sorry. This is the one your husband sent out the other day.

It was sent back for insufficient postage.

Oh?

Two cents, please.

Maybe Fred has some change.

I suggest you tell her the truth.

Not while I can keep coming up with believable lies.

Fred. It's Wilma.

[moans]

Gosh, Fred, you sound worse.

[moans]

I am worse. Feels like Spanish flu.

Could be. His teeth sound like castanets. I'll call a doctor.

I'll be all right. All I need is rest.

And you'll be getting plenty of that from now on.

I'll call Mr. Slate and tell him you won't be coming in.

Never mind. He must know that now since I'm not there already.

What are you looking for? I need a few pennies.

Be my guest. Thanks, Barney.

Maybe you better get to work, Barney. Nothing you can do.

I can help you worry. That I can handle myself.

Here's Wilma.

Who was that at the door? The mailman.

He brought back the letter you sent yesterday.

He did! My troubles are over!

Yabba-dabba-doo!

Fred Flintstone, you shouldn't be out of bed. You're a sick man.

Not anymore, honey. Not anymore.

Where is that letter? On its way to whoever you sent it to.

That's what those coins were for. Insufficient postage.

[shudders]

You did it.

You're always putting in your two cents. I didn't realize.

That's your trouble. Never realizing!

Oh! Now I am sick. Move over. I'm sick, too.

I demand to know what this is all about. Now!

Wilma. Darling, gorgeous, beautiful...

Now.

Well...

Any help will be appreciated. It was like this, Wilma.

And that's the whole, miserable truth. Wilma, please forgive me.

That letter, Fred. You're sure you left nothing out?

No, I called Slate every nasty thing I could think of.

If there's one thing Fred learned as a sergeant in the Army it's a vocabulary.

You don't hate me or stuff like that, do you, Wilma?

How can I?

You're the same stubborn, unthinking, quick-tempered mule I loved and married.

Aw, Wilma, that's the nicest thing you ever said to me.

You kids will be all right. Fred's lost jobs before.

Yes, but never one with a raise.

You better get to work, Barney. No use losing your job.

I'm taking the day off. You're gonna need a friend today.

Thanks, pal. Say, I may have to borrow carfare.

To look for jobs, Fred? No, to pick up my unemployment check.

Any idea what you're going to say to Mr. Slate, Wilma?

No. But I just have to get Fred's job back somehow.

You're not going to lower yourself to beg and plead to Mr. Slate?

That's a silly question. Of course I am.

Did you ring, Mr. Slate? Yes, Connie.

I'm Alice, Mr. Slate.

Oh! Oh, uh...

Can't see a darn thing without my glasses.

Where are the pesky things, anyway?

In your hand, Mr. Slate. Huh?

Oh! Yes, yes, of course.

Uh, which hand, Alice?

Ah! That's better. Now, to read the morning mail.

Come in.

Ah! Mrs. Flintstone. A pleasure to see you.

I hope I'm not interrupting something important, Mr. Slate.

Oh, hardly, Mrs. Flintstone. Always have time to chat with the wife of an employee.

You mean, Fred, is he still with you, Mr. Slate?

Naturally. Now, what's on your mind, Mrs. Flintstone?

Then you haven't read the morning mail, the letter from my Fred?

The dear boy wrote me?

Probably a note of thanks for his salary raise.

Must be around here somewhere. Ah, ha! Here it is.

From Fred Flintstone. This is it.

Uh, uh...

This is it, all right.

First thank-you letter an employee ever sent me.

The lenses of my glasses are so fogged up, I can't see through them.

Oh, let me wipe them, Mr. Slate.

Oops!

That wasn't what it sounded like, was it?

I'm sorry, Mr. Slate.

Now, now, don't fret, Mrs. Flintstone. I have another pair at my residence.

I just can't wait to read your husband's letter.

To hear... Then why wait?

I'll read it to you right now. Well!

Thank you, Mrs. Flintstone. My pleasure.

[clears throat]

"My dear, wonderful, kind, big-hearted marvelous Mr. Slate."

Well!

It starts off sort of flattering, doesn't it?

It gets much more, uh, flattering.

"You are more than a kind, just, lionhearted employer, Mr. Slate.

You are a, uh, beacon, lighting the way to a better understanding

"between your employees and yourself." Mm!

Fred, Wilma's doing what she thinks is right.

And Betty agrees or she wouldn't have told you.

I'm not gonna let Wilma get down on hands and knees and plead my case to get my job back. I got pride.

Besides, it might not work. Exactly.

That ain't why I'm going to stop Wilma.

"And in conclusion, Mr. Slate, may I thank you for acting as a shepherd to us, your flock, and leading us forward in safety and trust.

Yours with the greatest admiration, respect, and eternal gratitude, "Fred Flintstone."

Beautiful!

I've never been so understood by anyone as by your brilliant husband.

Fred just wrote from his heart, Mr. Slate.

Wilma, I... Oh, heh, Fred, we were just discussing...

Your letter to me, Flintstone. Interesting. Very.

Not what I ever expected.

Uh, uh...

You mean he knows? Exactly how you feel about him.

Mr. Slate, it was written before I had time to think.

For only a little thought, my boy, you did terrific.

Yeah. Didn't I?

The part about me being the shepherd of my flock here.

Shepherd? You captured the real spirit of my attitude towards my employees, Freddie-boy. The real me.

Yeah. You write so beautifully, Fred.

It was a pleasure for me to read the letter to Mr. Slate.

Oh! You read it to him, Wilma.

After she happened to break my glasses. Accidentally, of course.

Of course. Uh...

We'll replace them, won't we, Fred? Out of my raise in salary.

Fred has to get back to work and so do you, I'm sure, Mr. Slate.

May I have Fred's letter, Mrs. Flintstone?

The letter? You want it?

I'd like to frame it as a memento of one of my employees' esteem.

Ha, ha. Yeah, uh...

Of course. Sure. Here you are, Mr. Slate.

-Oops -Don't tell me.

Sorry. Guess I'm, well, heh, butterfingers, you know. Yeah.

May I see you to your car, Mrs. Butterfingers?

[laughing]

Wilma!

Wilma!

Come on, Wilma, open the door!

Wilma!