My 1990s-2000s Output, with an Incongruous 1920s Postcard

Oh Sheila, December 6-8, 1998

(She’s) Barely Legal, July 3-5, 1999/September 21, 2000/June 2-3, 2023

Government Propaganda (Rated PG), March 12-13, 2001 (revised March 17, 2001)

The Cosby Show and the Obvious Truism, June 24, 2002 (slightly revised June 2, 2023)

Goofy Ban? Mickey-Mouse Baer?, July 2-3, 2002

Flash Fiction #122 (Exactly 122 Words): That’s My Brand

“Y’know, the GOP could kill everyone who votes Democrat. And the Dems in charge, they’d do nothin’ but yawn and continue playing Candy Crush on their phones.”

“What have you got against Candy Crush?”


“Then why—”

Any game. The Oregon Trail, whatever. Y’wanna know why the Dems in charge wouldn’t care if their base got wiped out?”


“Because they don’t care about nothin’ except keeping the rich happy.”

“Just like the Republicans, yeah yeah, I get it.”

“No you don’t. The Republicans don’t even pretend to like you. The Democrats, they gotta pretend, ’cause that’s their brand.”

“Then that makes you a super-Republican, ’cause you hate everyone.”

“No. I hate everyone ’cause I have a brain. That’s my brand.”

Copyright © 2023 by David V. Matthews

March 9, 2023 (revised a little March 10, 2023)

Goddess Help Her

Time for another incongruous illustration.

Following the Supreme Court’s Dobbs decision, Hannah tweeted that she had never told anyone other than a few close friends this, but three years earlier, during her freshman year of college, she’d had an abortion during her tenth week of pregnancy, her first pregnancy, and that she considered choosing to undergo that health-care procedure the best decision of her life, because that decision prevented her from having an unwanted child and more likely than not making that child’s life miserable because the child would have symbolized Hannah’s thwarted ambitions, resulting in, despite Hannah’s best intentions, sheer loathing of said child, not to mention sheer self-loathing; now Hannah could finish college and pursue a career and care for any wanted children she might someday bring into the world.

After that tweet, however, her brother Logan somehow found out which clinic she had used. He then sued the clinic under Texas law—she lived in Austin, he in Abilene—for performing an abortion after six weeks. He won his case, receiving a ten-thousand dollar reward, as the law allowed, and helping drive the clinic, one of the few that still performed abortions in that state, out of business, though by the time the clinic closed permanently, she had stopped speaking to him, had even blocked him on social media, though after their father’s funeral in Abilene, standing alone by the grave, the first time they’d seen each other in eight years, she did mutter “Hey” to him. Without exchanging a greeting, Logan told her nothing personal about that abortion stuff, he had never really cared one way or the other that she’d terminated her pregnancy, and he still didn’t care, but he’d needed to pay off the rest of his pickup truck loan, totaling ten grand coincidentally enough, a pretty good pickup, no mechanical issues unlike his previous trucks, plus the finance company had kept harassing him, even threatening to sue him. Sorry.

She found him more reprehensible than ever but, Goddess help her, for the first time since the lawsuit, also sort of sympathetic. He never could budget his money. And as she knew from personal experience, sticking to a budget in this capitalist economy posed myriad difficulties.

Copyright © 2022 by David V. Matthews

November 7, 2022

Flash Fiction #114 (Exactly 114 Words): Keep the Troops Motivated

Another wildlife-related incongruous illustration.

“Wanna know why we lost in Afghanistan?  We didn’t bang enough hookers.  If we banged any.  I don’t think they even have hookers there.  When you invade a country, you gotta keep the troops motivated.”

“What about Vietnam?  I saw Full Metal Jacket; we banged plenty of their hookers, yet we still lost.”

“Not really.  According to Noam Chomsky—”

“Who’s he?  A pimp?”

“No, a political writer.  He said we actually won in Vietnam, ’cause we made it an example.  Fuck around and find out.  That philosophy kept us in charge around the world, long as we had hookers.  But now—I doubt Afghanistan’ll ever get a Starbucks or even a Taco Bell.”

Copyright © 2021 by David V. Matthews

September 12-13. 2021

Flash Fiction #113 (Exactly 113 Words): Take Your Plane to Work Day

As we ate organic chicken taquitos in the employee dining hall during lunch, my coworker Brynn asked me if I planned to attend “that thing” commemorating the twentieth anniversary of 9/11.

I couldn’t resist. “You mean take your plane to work day?”

Brynn laughed. Then I think that bitch complained to HR, just as I think she’d complained when I’d joked about fundamentalist anti-trans nutcases. No sensitivity training this time, though—the company fired me, after those federally-enhanced unemployment benefits had expired. So much for the publishing business. Perhaps I had a death wish, saying anything around her. But I had gigantic balls. And I still do. In your mama’s mouth, ha ha.

Copyright © 2021 by David V. Matthews

September 10, 2021

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words Exactly) #74: Drama

Kacy’s left-wing radical sister Kerrie told her three months ago “Trump doesn’t give a shit if you die from coronavirus.”  Things went south from there.  The sisters haven’t spoken to each other since, not that Kacy minds.  She has enough drama in her life, starting with her eight-year-old son Austin’s pathetic performance in school.  The teachers think he has a learning disability, though he’s certainly learned how to avoid work, and how to hit people up (including even his father, her asshole ex-husband number two) for money.  Perhaps Austin has a bright future with the Democrat Party.  Suck it, Kerrie.

Copyright © 2020 by David V. Matthews

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #69: Christmas in April

Jenkins Winthrop, from Caldune Petroleum, joined other fossil-fuel company CEOs for a meeting with the president in the Oval Office. That night, over dinner at his mansion, Winthrop told his lover—the Energy Department’s social-media representative, Stewart “Stewie” Pringle—that under Trump, the coronavirus pandemic means “fuckin’ Christmas in April” for Big Oil: gigantic tax breaks, gigantic grants, suspended EPA rules, and nothing for renewables. “What a surprise, ha ha,” Winthrop said.

“Did you practice social distancing at that meeting, ha ha?” Pringle asked.

“Yeah, and I hoarded fuckin’ toilet paper too, ha ha.”

Face masks. Sanitizer. Endless days off.

Copyright © 2020 by David V. Matthews

No Mo’ MoDo (I Mean It This Time)

Considering I have several Everests of unread books to tackle (someday, Christina Stead), perhaps I shouldn’t spend time hate-ish reading Maureen Dowd’s column every week.  By “hate-ish,” I mean perhaps I revere MoDo for the success she’s enjoyed despite—or more likely because of—her snarky insubstantiality.

And if you want snarky insubstantiality to the extreme, dudes and dudettes, check out her latest, Dowdier-than-usual column, “A Meme Girl Mash-Up,” in today’s New York Times.  The very first sentence, which mentions Tina Fey and Mean Girls, gives us Dowd’s trademark celebrity name-dropping and pop-cultural referencing.  Two sentences later, Dowd opines “Politics has never been filled with so many mean girls[,]” thus displaying her misogyny; she always depicts non-masculine traits as unfavorable.  However, her “bitchyyy lunch table” comprising Mitch McConnell, Rudy Guiliani, and other nasty, male and female Republicans who worship Trump the “Queen Bee” did surprise me, since she almost always disparagingly feminizes Democrats, including Hillary Clinton, who behaves either unwomanly or too womanly.  Not to worry, though—Dowd soon enough designates the Democrat Mike Bloomberg as a wanna-bee.

And also not to worry, Dowd then hates on Hillary, criticizing her for, during that presidential debate, not calling out the Donald for his stalking-esque behavior (though if Hillary had called him out, do you think Dowd would have reacted favorably?).  By the time Dowd notes that “Trump…is now scratching Bloomy’s eyes out[,]” the retrograde gender attitudes will make you feel like chasing a blonde, busty secretary around a desk.

Copyright © 2020 by David V. Matthews

Flash Fiction (a Hundred Words or Fewer) #52: AOC XXX

My favorite website, Pornhole, posted a video today called AOC XXX, featuring a woman identified only as AOC, an Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez lookalike with a huge rack and a thick Puerto Rican accent: “I have a Brrrown Nude Deal for jou!”  Wanting to discover if the human race has justified its existence, I paid $14.99 for the privilege of watching the lookalike fuck lookalikes of Bernie Sanders, Nancy Pelosi, and Donald Trump, all three played by much younger thespians.  Sorry, human race, don’t mean to sound reverse-ageist, but you still suck.  At least I have new material for my nonexistent memoirs.

Copyright © 2019 by David V. Matthews

February 16, 2019 (revised February 21, 2019)