Absurdity is always relevant.
Without it, life is simply a tour of all the same hedges rushing by your car window at thirty-five miles per hour. Sometimes you need to stain the fabric of time. Sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind and do something that makes no real sense in the context of everyday life.
Sometimes you have to bite the bullet and buy a Plush Fred.
A visit to the theme park just outside our door put us into contact with a Hanna-Barbera gift shop. On a quick run through, something caught our eye. Amongst the numerous t-shirts and gag gifts were a full compliment of plush dolls. Scooby-Doo and Fred Flintstone were, of course, available. However, it was the oversized wire mesh bucket filled with plush replicas of Fred from the Scooby-Doo show that really drew us in. It was absurd, not just that they had Fred available in plush form, but they had so many Freds available for immediate purchase.
If you cannot figure out why something is happening, slide yourself into position and wear Fred's shoes for a while.
You can leave the store, but Fred simply won't leave your mind. You become obsessed, not with Fred, but with the reasons for his existence. You cannot resist, you must return and purchase a Fred of your own or you will slide back into the creeping malaise of a cyclical existence. Fred is the bump in the road that keeps you from drifting off to sleep behind the wheel of life's station wagon. For a brief shining moment, there is something that doesn't belong in your life. Eventually it will become absorbed into the fabric of your life, for people will see Fred is just another component that now belongs, but for a while it will glow like a beacon of hope that absurdity can keep hope alive.
Fred is an oasis. No Fred is an island.
Approaching that counter, there is a smile on your face that the sales clerk just doesn't understand. You feel a bit odd, but she sees you as just another customer buying merchandise. She looks up as she rings Plush Fred into the cash register and remarks "These are three for twenty-dollars. Did you want to get two more?"
Surprised at this new absurdity, her suggestion that you might have reason to own three Plush Freds, you step back for a moment. You shake your head and tell her one will be just fine. Building an army of Plush Freds in your living room is taking it just a bit too far. Absurdity is usually best in moderation.