Poor Barney. All around him was the languor of static Mayberry. He could not be still, though. He wanted something to always be happening. He wanted to make something happen. Sure, his schemes and eruptions of nervous energy led to hilarious and preposterous circumstances.
But Barney wanted something to happen. Barney could not sit still while the clock of being ticked sluggishly through the molasses of normality, the dullness of tradition.
In that sleepy town of Mayberry, Barney Fife -- conjurer of sheer situation, impresario of revolutionary theater -- pried open moments onto event, expanded metaphysical space for absurd possibility.
Barney -- heroic jester, tragic agitator!
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