Talkin’ Smack: Handbasket


Is it getting hot in here, or is just me? Someone needs to crack open a window. Throw these words through the glass. Let in some fresh air.



Pump the sky full of car exhaust.

We can risk it,

all we have to do is tax it,

enjoy the ride—

We’re going to hell in a handbasket.


Weatherman was just exaggerating,

while icebergs are still melting.

You’d have a different opinion, perhaps even care,

If you were drowning like a polar bear.


Turn on the television.

Numbers were just an illusion.

None of it will ever matta,

Emails proved researchers falsified scientific data.


Just like a Styrofoam cup, don’t mind wastin’ it—

we’re livin’ on a disposable planet.

Don’t you dare spill water or a tear…

…it’s gonna get real fuckin’ hot in here.


Temperature is gonna be off the charts,

when the atmosphere is clogged with nasty cow farts.


We’re not gonna fry or freeze. Some say it’s better than ever.

Those people need to shut their mouth until they learn the difference between climate and weather.


Not gonna get rid of classic cars.

Were gonna terraform our next-door world,

so we can drive on Mars.


We need to find a new way to change the channel,

invest in Elon Musk’s solar panel.


Don’t worry.

This is all just a natural phase.

This is the way it’s supposed to be.

Pack your bag. All you have to do is flee.

Never leave your cave,

you’ll burn in the immortal heatwave.

What are we gonna do when the wind catches fire?

One thing’s for damn sure…

…ain’t nothin’ gonna be saved by a dumbass or climate change denier.


When there’s no more ice in Antartica,

all we’re gonna say is, “well…duh. Read the thermometer.”

Can’t call me an alarmist or liar…

…when the ocean boils like a Mcdonald’s deep fryer.

Not like it matters. No need to give a shit.

We’re going to hell in a handbasket.


Don’t have an alternative plan.

Now you can’t relax and get a tan.

When there’s no longer a beach or coast,

the only option is to burn like a piece of toast.

Too late. Can’t figure it out. Don’t try to plot.

Step outside,

you’re gonna get a suntan,

if you like it or not.


Don’t offer an apology. Blame it all on outdated technology.

No more grass in the pasture. Blame it all on that green bitch,

her name is Mother Nature.

No one invented a solution since The Industrial Revolution—

kid’s future will be cooked in the heat of our past pollution.


When Earth changes the rhythm of the seasons,

feel free to pick your excuses or reasons.

But for now,

no need to give a shit,

we’re going to hell in a handbasket.




Talkin’ Smack: A Little Something for Everybody



Published by FlyTrapMan

I have no idea what I'm doing.

4 thoughts on “Talkin’ Smack: Handbasket

  1. Sharp and brutal words, Fly! You do make your point (get it; “sharp” words… lol). I especially liked your witticism here: “kid’s future will be cooked in the heat of our past pollution.”

    Cool graphics with the loose leaf paper and scribbly font!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Yes, sadly, I have to agree with you…most do not want to even think about it , let alone change their ways of doing things, prefer to leave that to others..why bother…SAD, so sad. Excellent piece of writing Mr FLY.

    Liked by 1 person

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