Though the Flintstones and The Jetsons obviously both sprung from the loving loins of Hanna and Barbera, the assumption was that George Jetson and his family lived millennia after their stone-age brethren. Nobody likes to think about it, but really, when The Jetsons takes place, Fred and Barney in even little Bam-Bam are long decomposed, their mineral remains harvested for production of whatever the hell sprockets are. Everyone assumes that The Flintstones are in the past and The Jetsons are in the future -- but what if instead, the Jetsons are in the future and The Flintstones are in the future after that?
As Cracked and others have noted, the theory adds up. Take the official Flintstones/Jetsons crossover movie; the plot centers around Elroy Jetson, who attemps to create a time machine to travel to the future. A technical error occurs, mostly because George lets his six and a half year-old son mess with the laws of time and god damned space, and the whole family is thrown into what looks to be the prehistoric past. Here's where the theory comes in: What if Elroy actually succeeded, and the world of Bedrock and beyond is actually the future's post-apocalyptic double-future?
Remember, The Jetsons already sort of do live in an apocalypse. Their homes are built high in the sky, towering far above the toxic, irradiated earth.
See, all the stuff that happens in the Hanna-Barberaverse is more or less plausible as long as you consider that they take place years from now. Could some no-good teens team up with a genetically altered shark with a speech impediment? Sure. Given enough time, anything can happen. Jabberjaw could evolve into Space Ghost, for all we know.
But that's the problem with the Flintstones; we assume it's in the past, but that doesn't explain the dinosaurs around every corner, or the fact that technology is based around animal enslavement.
It only makes sense that, as time wore on, the wealth and class divide would split humankind. When it came for the rich to fuck off into space on their saucer houses, the Poors' only recourse was to take refuge on the ground. What they found was a miraculous new world full of bizarre creatures, cultivated by years of radiation and a human-free environment. Without the resources of the 1%, the world's remaining humans utilized these wondrous creatures to do menial tasks for them, and there you have the Flintstones universe. Hey, it's a living.
Everyone can agree that there's something... off about Kramer. I mean, yes, he's the neighborhood's lovable crackpot, but for the most part he's an enigma. Beyond the adventures with Jerry and the gang, nobody has any idea what Kramer's private life is really like. There's no explanation for his wacky behavior besides that he's just Kramer.
Unless he's a pothead.
Think about it. Kramer is always busting in on Jerry's apartment unannounced, scavenging for munchies in the fridge. He's a fiend for conspiracy theories and is generally paranoid about anything and everything. And Kramer's harebrained schemes make a lot more sense when you consider the fact that he's mega-baked 24/7. Hell, who else but stoner parents would name their kid Cosmo?
It goes deeper. Not only is Kramer a pot fiend, but he's also a dealer. It's one of the only explanations that would make sense of his ability to afford an apartment in Manhattan for years without a real job; he can't be raking in much dough while being on strike from H&H Bagels for the last decade.
Kramer would need a supplier, but we already know his hook-up: Bob Sacamano, the mysterious friend of his that goes unseen for the entire series. Looking at Kramer's wacky escapades with Newman, it's safe to say that the two are in cahoots; you just know they're getting high on their own supply. How else could you justify this?
Taken together, it appears as though Kramer is much like his video-bootlegging friend: A legitimate businessman. Well, a businessman.