This piece was written for the Six Sentence challenge, with the prompt word of ‘handle’.
Extracts from Bob Dylan’s ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ in italics.
I’m on the pavement, thinking about the government, the secret government of alien reptile paedophiles that rules the world, except it’s not a secret any more because Q-anon told me on their secret internet, the one that’s not controlled by the secret government of alien reptile paedophiles that rules the world.
Look out, kid, it’s somethin’ you did (God knows when) but you’re doin’ it again, writing things people disagree with and getting deleted and becoming the worst sinner of all, a living old white man.
You don’t need a weather man to know which way the wind blows, especially when it blows out the candle of knowledge because some people prefer the black hole of ignorance (I’m looking at you, Karen).
Don’t follow leaders, watch the parkin’ meters because when the money runs out, they’ll tow you away to the nursing home of Hell.
Twenty years of schoolin’ and they put you on the day shift, making even more crap that they convince you that you need that ends up in landfill.
The well of science and rationality is running dry; the pump don’t work ’cause the vandals took the handle.