The problem writing “The Death Of An Opinionated Turd” is reducing the long list of candidates to one.

How such titles pop into my head I’ve long given up troubling myself over.

Midterm elections in the USA and Brexit in the UK, with all the political grandstanding and mishegas from the EU in Brussels, and wannabe prime ministers in London make for an abundance of choice. Throw in a few from #HimToo for good measure.

As ‘flash fiction’ has exploded thanks to social media, smartphones, and ‘time poor’ readers looking for brief diversion, it’s not like you need the book-length incisive insight of Gore Vidal on pretense, delusions and darker human failings. Or Truman Capote or gonzo Hunter S. Thompson (when they were sober enough to even see a typewriter, let alone use one) to pour caustic ridicule over all and sundry in magazines and journals.

In fact the ‘message’ is the tweet. The title IS the flash

The reader reads in whatever they want. What life has programmed them to read in. So TDOAOT could end up “Cat On A Hot Tin Roof” meets “A Streetcar Named Desire” “In The Heat Of The Night” in Paris, Ohio.

As Elvis said in ‘Fun In Acapulco’ . . . “If you lend me a dollar I can buy some gas. And we can go for a little ride.”

Gas and flashes in the night were cheap then.

Meanwhile the truly fearless will venture to PARIS DEEP : A young widow. An apprentice bookbinder half her age. A secret apartment in Montmartre few have the courage to visit. And those that do, never leave the same.