One degree, two degree, three degree, four…There are more degrees around than you can shake a stick at.  In fact, some people try to shake their sticks at degrees and some people even try to shake their stick after receiving degrees.   I like to shake my stick, if I can find it, at the change in degrees.  One minute it is one degree and then, before you know it, the next minute it is some totally different degree.   There seems no degree of stability at all when it comes to any sort of degree.  I am not sure what angle to take on this whole issue of degrees.  Seriously, are there smaller portions of degrees we need to be concerned about?  What would a freshman think about this concept?  Do they have any fresh ideas to bring to bear on the subject? Better yet, what about a sophomore? What about those other classmen?  If they were without class they would have no degree in the end.  Where would that leave them? What is of most concern is the degree of latitude allowed when considering degrees.  Some contend that degrees should be discrete, while others want to give degrees a large degree of freedom.  Personally, I think that we should be free to determine the degree that best suits us and enjoy that degree when we can find it.  After all, the degree to which we subjugate ourselves to the totalitarian concept of degree discrimination is the degree to which we allow ourselves to be without degrees of lenience.  No degree should be allowed to vary by that amount.

~ Bob Zaboo

Contrary to what Pink Floyd had to say, lunatics, a polite term for crazy people (or, I suppose, crazy creatures of any sort) do not like to sit just on the grass or in the halls.  They like to recline in all sorts of places.  You can find them in department stores, driving their cars home from work after a long and boring day at the office, directing traffic, giving speeches, winning and giving away money and prizes, and configuring computers and other mechanic devices.  You can also see them running in front of cars travelling at high speeds.  No, the cars are travelling at high speeds, not the lunatics; although, both possibilities could be true depending on the circumstances.  Crazy squirrels have been seen running along high voltage electrical wires just trying to get to the other side of the road.  Personally, I cannot vouch for squirrelly people doing the same; although, this too is possible but unlikely.

The bottom line, or top line, if talking about high voltage electrical wires, is that loonies can be seen in almost any normal walk of life.  I know for a highly theorized fact that the world of politics is a cacophonous orchestra of ridiculously insane ideas.  Then again, what human endeavor is not such a spectacle?  Walk or drive down any street, enter any building, go to any school, attend any church, witness any occurrence, or travel to any entertainment event and the same thing will be seen, or felt, or heard, or witnessed.  Lunatics are everywhere.

~ Bob Zaboo

Once there was a poem that didn’t have any rhythm or rhythm or reason.  It was because my mother had made me do it.  It is a concept that cannot be defined.  It is everything.  It is the quintessential culmination of absolutely nothing wrapped up in a bunting blanket and laid in the snow.  Mother did not know any of this when she first took me on as an apprentice.  She, innocently, thought she was making a baby into a human.  She forgot that a baby starts out as a human long before it even begins to look like a child.  Children on the other hand are small, literally carbon copies, of what they will become in later years right up until the time they stop becoming anything and start unbecoming behavior and start the slow and awkward process of becoming absolutely nothing except a scattered pile of dust in some scenic turn out on some forgotten, triple numbered, desolate highway.  As a side note, for dust to actually become dust, it takes a great deal of time without the intervention of chemicals or gasses to speed up the process.  Most of this is inconsequential anyway.  My mother said that it is ridiculous to try and speed up the process of becoming something other than dust and ludicrous to slow down the process of eventually becoming dust again.  She says we are all on a similar path from here to there.  She also says that most of us, if not all of us, do not know where here or there is.  I have no opinion on the subject since I always do what mother tells me to do.

~ Bob Zaboo

In each of us is the capability of being really stupid and funny.  Most of us can do the stupid part without much training.  The funny part takes a lot more work.  It is paradoxical that funny takes a lot of work but work is not all that funny.  Does this make sense to anyone else or am I completely alone on this idea?  Anyway, in order to fine tune your sense of humor you must first see thing in a light that is not so bright but bright enough to see things even when it is dark or foggy either outside or even in your mind.  Speaking of minds, it is impossible to totally use your mind when attempting to be or find things funny.  Part of it has to come from within.  Emotions play a hugely significant role in recognizing hilarious things.  Consequently, unless you can feel the merriment in things there is little point in trying to actually create funniness and humor.  Some people like dry humor, just like they like dry martinis—shaken not stirred.  Others enjoy a remark that hits them in the funny bone, which, again, is not all that funny.  Trust me; I’ve hit my funny bone and other bones enough to know the difference between genuine pain and a humorous twang.  So, as a favor to all of us, both the serious and cantankerous, please don’t attempt comedy, even though it is a built in part of the human psyche, until you have learned to appreciate the complexities of making fun of important and serious issues or, at least, until you have learned the baby steps necessary to make things half-ways jocular.

~ Bob Zaboo

Jimmy Hendrix was ahead of his time.  Actually, he was also a head.  I’m not sure about now, because he died a while ago, but he still might have a head.  Luckily, I don’t need to know any of this and neither do you.  What is important is that Jimmy Hendrix played the electric guitar.  He strummed and picked it as if it was a sleazy, stringy, unwashed woman.  That’s probably why he sang the song, written by Bob (not thee Bob and not me), called “All Along the Washtub.”  Although, after playing intensely at a concert, based on videos that I have seen of these, I would say that Jimmy Hendrix, himself, needed a bathe in a tub from time to time.  Well, maybe Bob did too, for that matter.   Of course, sometimes, for that matter, so do I and everyone else that I know to have listened to Hendrix tunes or watched him on a video or television.  Once I saw a film of Jimmy Hendrix pouring gasoline on his guitar and lighting it on fire.  He then played some song on it.  It might have been the Star Strangled Banner but of this I am uncertain.  Needless to say, Hendrix didn’t get good gas millage that night and the repair job probably cost him a fortune.  Of course, he probably made a fortune pumping out those screechy, visceral tunes that he did.  All I can say is that Jimmy Hendrix has become a local hero and important in other parts of the country as well.
 
~ Bob Zaboo

Monty Python were a group of unusual comedians that came across as being quite strange and, in a word, different.  Actually they were often completely different.  The television show of the same name, by the same group of comedians, was so outrageously different that they often had to announce that they were going to do something completely different—and they did, often, without much fanfare.  Cartoons portraying little things float across the screen eating other little things were quite common in the many episodes that millions of people forced themselves to watch even though they could have been out getting their nose hairs trimmed or accomplishing some other useful errands.  The television series was on during a time that most people forget about, which is to say it was during a time of history that most people would like to remember but often cannot.  Part of the reason for the above stated memory loss was due to practices of the time and part is due to the passage of time.  Few participants in the events have enough money to find out the real reason and most just ignore the implications anyway.  Monty Python was typical but not much like other British comedy of the time and even since that time.  All sorts of quotations are used from the series.  Spam is a common one, although I’m not sure why people are worried about cheap, greasy meat that comes in a tin can that has a little key that you use to fold back the top.

~ Bob Zaboo

Put in a little strangeness and toss with too much cola.  Blend this with a lack of spice, too much salt and only enough pepper to make them sneeze once in a while.  Sneezing is good for geeks because it helps them clear their minds.  You must chop up a couple of indiscreet documents, slice in an abundant amount of extremely weird humor, dice in a couple of off-colored comments about the opposite sex, and then fillet a far from politically correct excerpt from more than one comment about the operating system that the other geeks use.  This combination brings out the sweaty moisture of the dish.  Nothing should be washed too often.  It is traditional to leave all outer remnants of each component of the fixings unclean and even odorous.  Sugary sweetness must be avoided at any cost.  Vinaigrette, consisting of mistyped musings, completely misunderstood rants, and acronyms that mean something different to everyone who uses them, should be added to curb any inclination for this dish to be anything but sour and depressing.  It is important that any live ingredients be far from lean.  Actually, the less movement accomplished by the main ingredients, from cradle to grave, contribute to a meal that is much more consistent with general expectations and stereotypes.  Of course, anything can be used and will be used when this mishmash is generated from dark corners of homes.  Then again, these home grown varieties are the best examples of the bland but appetizing phenomena known as geek salad.

~ Bob Zaboo

What say you to the news that the mountain is now a valley?  It has come to the attention of local politicians that before the rise in temperature nothing was the same as it is now.  Since the temperature has, in turn, dropped, it is now, more than ever, apparent that nothing remains unchanged unless it changes from being to not being.  In this case, it is better to understand everything than to be put in a temple where moths grow in the darkness rather than in the light.

The man by the white pony never saw the crack in the blog.  He was too impatient to see through the concrete into the dark recesses of yesterday.  How did he manage to eat all those petunias?  Never, in the short history of nothing, did such a thing ring of skepticism.  Afterword, all the man could say was that he would rather be smothered in peanut juice than fly from Los Angeles to the outer wrapping.  He was foretold and fried with bright red high schools.  Cheering him on was a chorus of fish.  They jerked up their flashlights but never rattled their corn stocks.  All-in-all, it was a spectrum of continuums that never quite felt the pressure of underwritten mosaics.  Still, sooner or often, trees never find the truth unless they specifically pace on their throttle.
 
The people could not sweat enough to make any headway.  Therefore, the ape men continued to verify their surroundings.  All they hoped for was to crush the refrigerator before it collapsed into a worm hole.

~ Bob Zaboo

"How many times," thought the flinterbinger, "must I see this kind of thing?  I’m a simple creature with the need for simple creature comforts.  I don’t need a lot of paper because I have no bum to wipe and I don’t need a lot of television commercials because I don’t have any money with which to buy a single solitary item.  I need the sun, a bit of pollen to whiff as it floats by in a mild breeze.  That is especially nice when it comes up the valley from the ocean."  "I’ve never tried to understand," the flinterbinger continued to mused, "why that feels so good, but it does.  I’ve never even tried to figure out what I think even though I do occasionally partake in that activity—when there is nothing else to do.  Of course there is usually something else to do.  One of my favorite pastimes is to look directly into the sun as it passes over.  That can take quite a few hours and I can do that every day that the sun is not blocked by all that white stuff.  I could have just as easily done this in the ocean itself but my ancestors decided long before I was around that the water was getting too crowded.  Little did they know how crowded the land would get, but that was many, many years ago and I blame them not for making that choice.  Still, it is nice to whiff the pollens that have come by way of the sea."

~ Bob Zaboo

The trees had no say in this at all.  They had been wondering what all the noise was, but, because they were unable to actually leave the spot where they were planted, were unable to look just beyond the knoll to see what was happening.  They could sense something was wrong—terribly wrong.  The tallest of them tried to peer above the ridge but was unable to see anything except the unusual swaying of the topmost branches of all of the trees on the other side.  One by one, the crown of each tree shook, then leaned to one side, then disappeared entirely.  Then the foreign noise would start again.  The tall one could not think what this sight might imply.  It had been going on for days.  First, the noise was all that was heard.  When it started, the action was much too far away to even summon much attention from this sector of trees.  It kept getting closer until, at last the tall one could get a small glimpse of the destruction.  Destruction it was.  There was no doubt about that.  Although trees cannot scream, they certainly give off vibrations.  The vibrations coming from all of the trees that were in the area where the noise, strange shaking, and motion were coming from were of pure fear followed by nothing.  The trees in this sector had never experienced other trees sending messages containing nothing.  It was loathsome and horrifying.  If only it could be understood.  If only something could be done to prevent that noise from coming their way.  They were just trees.  What could they do?  Although they didn’t know it, there was nothing they could do.  They were doomed to local extinction.  This was an extinction that they could not fathom.  Interestingly, the creatures causing these phenomena could not understand the implications either.  Neither the trees nor the noise making creatures knew that, in the not too distant future, both species would cease to exist.  The entire planet would be occupied by non-thinking, non-feeling organisms or perhaps by nothing at all.

~ Bob Zaboo