Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises Presents…Panama’s Propositions

[***EDIT: As I forgot this earlier, I'd like to go on the record as officially starting the Alpha Chapter of NWDGASATC (Negroes Who Don't Give A Shit About Tom Cruise). Our first order of business?? Banning him from every got damn black function. I don't get it. Why is he at EVERY BLACK FUNCTION. Shit, wasn't Garth Brooks enough...at least he had some soul!?!?! We're accepting applications now for more city chapters which also includes a "Fuck Tom and Katie, I like Pacey" bumper sticker!***]

The BET Awards were last night.

I watched them.

I don’t hate myself this morning for watching BET. In fact, I was, dare I say, entertained. Hell, even the commercials advertising the BET Awards were entertaining. Will and Jada are funny as two monkey’s gyrating on a merry go round together and made a great hosting team. And with Will throwing in white folk jokes all night long, well, I might have to call this award show a…success.

But of course its BET, so there were problems, which I’ll get to that later. BUT, as stated, the actual show was fine, save a few lackluster ass performances. Actually, just one lackluster ass performance:

Mariah Carey.

Good God.

I know SOMEbody got cursed out backstage after that piss poor exhibit of vocal craptasticness. She sounded like she mailed that performance in from Vallejo or somewhere, and had a big breasted chubby faced clone just stand there and mouth the words. She fought throught it and all but damn…Mike Tyson put up a better fight when he got his ass beat two weeks ago.

[***Sidenote: Admit it, wasn't Omarion's performance good??? Everybody was hating...but I learned ya!! The boy can dance his ass off. This makes me think that he and Usher need to have a dance off. I'm not saying that Omarion would beat Usher, I do think he'd give him a run for his money though. Also...did anybody notice that the chick from the "Touch" video somehow miraculously grew an ass for this performance? I was informed that it was because she had heels on which I guess adds some curvature, but I can't even watch the "Touch" video because her nosatal offends me so. What, was she the only video hoe available in Hollywood that day so you just settled??? Huh, Omarion?? Huh???? Sheesh.***]

[***Another Sidenote: Though the awards show was cool, we STILL got to do mo' better about who we nominate for awards. Good gotdamn. Anthony Hamilton, who released an album in September 2003 is still getting nominated for shit?? For real?? Kanye West STILL gets nominated for Best Gospel Song for "Jesus Walks". Somebody needs to be fired for this. Or at least dangled from a building Big Red style until they get the shit right. ONLY NOMINATE MUHFUCKAS WHO WERE RELEVANT IN THE LAST FISCAL YEAR. QUIT NOMINATING KANYE WEST FOR GOSPEL ANYTHING. THE NIGGA CURSES IN THE DAMN SONG, AND I GIVE A SHIT THAT ITS A QUOTE.***]

By the way, if you don’t get the Big Red reference, never ever speak to me in real life.

One particular performance though, brought to light a problem we have in the black community. John Legend performed “Ordinary People.” It’s a great song and he offered up a good vocal performance. Then all of a sudden you realize that somebody is still singing but John Legend’s mouth isn’t moving. What the shit?? Oooooooh…THIS nigga.

Dammit.

The lights come up and there he is in all of his head bobbing, longhairded glory: Steveland Morris AKA Stevie Wonder. Now I know its damn near blasphemous to speak ill of Stevie Wonder, but for real…

…can somebody retire this nigga’s jersey or something?? And while we’re at it, can somebody retire Smokey Robinson’s jersey too??

My people, these two negroes are proof positive that sometimes we just don’t know when to throw in the towel. I ain’t saying that Stevie can’t perform anymore, but just don’t sing. Shit. You sound like ass ducks…waddling ass ducks. You too Smokey. That falsetto ain’t so hot with age now, is it?? And since I’m pissing people off right now…I’d like to go ahead and say that I hate that damn “What The Fuss?” song.

AND…

…y’all niggas can’t tell me Stevie can’t see anymore. You see him doing the dance routine up there??? He only does that head bob thing now because that’s what we expect. Stevie can see. He had a coordinated routine!!!! He even hit that little, “i’m hard and still in prison” stance at the end of the performance, which looked less like he was hard and more like he was 4. But it was a good try.

This is a trend with our peformers though. They don’t know when to just lay down the gauntlet. I’ll admit, music today isn’t what it could be, but that is no excuse to feel the need to save us from ourselves when you don’t sound that good. For the record, Stevie Wonder never had the best voice.

Let me say that again for all you delusional people out there.

STEVIE WONDER NEVER HAD THE BEST VOICE.

But now it just sounds worse.

You know what…as entertaining as he is, this goes out to Maurice White of Earth, Wind, and Fire too. Ron Isley…fuck it…all old men singers. Most of the women can still blow. But to the old fogey ass men singers:

Just stop. Enjoy your riches and the legacy you’ve built and shut the fuck up.

Really, this is our fault, the younger generation of music lovers. We’re afraid to tell our elders that they can’t do something because they are the reasons we do what we do. Well, no more. Today, I say let an old person know that they can’t wear bodyshrits anymore, or short skirts, or sing, or swim, or eat a steak. Tell them the truth!!!

My people…it’s time to be honest and admit that some of our entertainers just don’t have it anymore. If we don’t do this, we’ll be doomed to twenty more years of Stevie’s crackin’ ass voice. Though I will say, Stevie does have one of the most stellar music careers so I guess he deserves SOME leeway. HOWEVER…I shall not be moved.

It’s time to retire the jersey old fogey’s everywhere!!!

Let it go…

And because there is just no better place to say this. GOT DAMN!!! Destiny’s Child (or as Will called them…on stage…Beyonce and ‘nem) gave LAP DANCES to Magic Johnson (who is one big nigga), Nelly (who has some shiny teef), and Terrance Howard (who is like the coolest light skinneded actor ever…LIGHT SKINNEDED NEGROES UNITE!). And Terrance Howard looked FOOOOOCUSED. I bet Jay got a little nervous. Terrance Howard got more work nowadays than hoes on Metropolitan Avenue in Atlanta, or hoes at Hunt’s Point in the Bronx. Either way, to Destiny’s Child, for not being too bougie, even Michelle’s ass, to give lapdances on national TV…I salute you!

***As a nice little segue and proof positive into what I’m talking about today, read this short little article here on CNN.com: DC Police Chief’s Car Get’s Stolen. Got to love crime!!!!***

Summer has finally hit and if you live in any major city in the United States you know what that means!??!?!!!!

Yes…a spike in crime! For all you bohos that don’t live in cities where as soon as it gets warm women start wearing less and niggas start robbing, shooting, and just actin’ a damn fool at record levels, let me explain how it works. In the winter, it’s cold. Crime tends to decrease because well…it’s cold and cold is a barrier to being outside because see el Negroes, we’re a tropical people. Women wear more clothes so niggas ain’t exactly showing out AS MUCH. But when it’s hot, oh hell yeah, it’s on like popcorn (which is a dumb ass saying, but I didn’t make it up). Folks spend more time outside loitering, blocking the entryway to my building, or have more flexibility to go robbing folks since they don’t have to worry about subzero temperatures chapping their asses. You see, heat makes us want to be outside, which means we spend our time outside, talking shit, hanging…then pissing eachother off and shootin’ eachother. It also means we like to go joyriding. But alas, many of us are broke and don’t have cars. So what do you do??

Car jack somebody!!! It’s so spectacular…YES!

I live in PG County, Maryland. This county is the richest majority black county in America, followed by DeKalb County, Georgia. There are lots of well to do black people with lots of nice houses and all that fluffy shit they say when trying to convince people to move into PG County. That’s all well and good, but what they forget to tell people is that PG County ALSO houses all the niggas that moved out of DC and took they’re bad ass kids with them who still think they live in the hood. Thing is, they don’t move to the nice neighborhoods. NO. They move to my neighborhood which is right over the DC line. You get to live in Maryland and act bougie yet maintain that lovely DC aura of crime and violence.

[***DISCLAIMER: DC really is a nice place. The whole city isn't wrought with crime and violence at all. However, being black, I tend to always end up in places that have higher crime rates than your average bear. Maybe I just love the hood, fuck if I know. MLK BITCH WHAT!!!!!! But if you are from DC or PG and take offense to what I say about your lovely city, well kiss my ass and tell your fuckin' cousins to quite stealing and robbin' people and quit shooting up my neighborhood, fuckin' ingrates. Thank you! ***]

The other day I was watching the morning news as I prepared for another productive (I’m soooo lying) day at work. The PG County police were making some statement because apparently crime was down in every other district in the DC area except…well, guess where?

Go ahead, you can do it!

If you said PG County, Maryland, give yourself a pat on the back and go tell white people you’re smart. In every major criminal statistic, PG County had seen at least a 30% increase from the same point last year. Rapes, up 31%; murder, up 58%; assaults, up 37%; and the whopper, robberies, up 127%. (Some numbers may be off slightly due to my liquorfied memory). And my neighborhood, not to be outdone by any of the other crime centers in PG, has definitely done its part to make sure those stats are firmly rooted in reality. The police presence has increased, and I don’t mean patrols, I mean chases. At least 4 days out of the week an ambulance, fire truck, or police car comes barrelling down the street and I’m being really conservative on that. There have been days when el PoPo’s have come through at least twice a day. Granted, I live on a major thoroughfare, but damn. Like I said, my credibility is skyrocketing up in this bitch. If I release an album right now, I don’t even HAVE to get shot with my neighborhood stats. Not to mention the increased Blood (yes of the Los Angeles gangland variety) presence in the area, which is honestly somewhat perplexing to me because for real…where the fuck are the Crips??? I honestly think there needs to be some kind of one for one thing going on. I blame The Game for this shit. Nigga blows up now there are fuckin’ Bloods everywhere on the East Coast. Not that I’m advocating for gang violence here, I’m just saying fair is fair.

But I’ve digressed.

Needless to say I’m moving…into DC. Now that doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m going to be seeing a decrease in the violent activity. It just means that all those lovely lessons I learned about observing my surroundings and looking out for niggas will be just as necessary except in a different location.

[***SIDENOTE: You know, my neighborhood in Maryland really ain't SO bad. It's just all those random acts of violences, gunshots, and manhunts that occur that make it seem like you could film a gangster movie there. For the record, since I've lived there, we've only had 2 manhunts. So folks get robbed or carjacked in broad daylight...where DOESN'T that happen??? I'm just saying, they keep the grounds looking quite pristine! ***]

All of this information brought up a discussion I had in one of my classes in school called Foundations of Social Policy. During one of these particular classes, a discussion on neighborly relations came up and the professor asked why people tend to know their neighbors less nowadays than they did in prior eras. My hand shot up and I brought up the issue of trust. I offered that its hard to trust people when you’re concerned that they might rob your ass (not in those words of course). The professor seemed a little put off by my response and informed me that people’s fear of crime is actually worse than actual crime, and that most neighborhoods don’t have nearly the crime or crime-like behavior to warrant any trust issues. So I kindly shut the fuck up then fell into deep thought. Then it hit me…

…that’s some white ass thinking right there.

[And yes I know it ain't ALL white people who think like this.]

I looked around as all the other students thought nothing of that statement. I’m like…fear of crime is worse than actual crime??? Everywhere, kicko??? Like, for real?? Get the fuck out of here with that. I know that in my neighborhood shit goes down. Nobody’s surprised when a murder happens over there, because for real, murders happen there. My roommate’s car got jacked TWICE from our PARKING LOT. Somebody was murdered-ARSON style in my own neighborhood. And I KNOW I don’t live in the worst zip code in PG County or the DC area.

I got to thinking about that whole notion and realized that it must be nice to be white and have some money. You can think shit like, actual crime isn’t that bad, and be totally right. Even in the NICE ass neighborhoods in PG County, there have been murders. Cuz niggas go there to rob the rich people. These people in this class all go home and don’t concern themselves with crime and shit, and yet, I think about it whenever I hear gunshots pop off or see the cops flying down my street. The more I thought about that, the more it pissed me off.

This dude basically told me that my perception wasn’t a reality. Umm…though I can understand that logic a lot of times, sometimes bucko, you’re right on target. I wanted to say so badly, umm, Professor, I have to disagree, because I live in one of those neighborhoods that you probably won’t be visiting to do any “research” on, but for real, shit goes down over there dunny.

And yet, nobody cares, at least the white folks anyway. I’ll give them that they don’t know individual stories. Hell it was grad school so they might assume I’m currently living or have lived well since most of us (el Negroes) don’t make it to grad school. But really, they can sit around and tell a black person that fear of crime is a figment of his imagination. Tell me that though I live in a county where every crime category goes up, its all in my head.

Da hell??

I hope to one day live somewhere that I’m making up the ideas of gunshots, and not actually HEARING them. Hell, I hope that where I’m likely moving too (assuming this damn credit application goes through, I always feel so violated with these things) it’s a little less hectic.

All I know is a white man offended me that day by telling me that my fear of crime wasn’t founded. Yet I’m the one who has to be worried when somebody’s coming to visit me as I hope they don’t have to deal with the ignant muhfucka’s sitting outside my building who don’t even live there. Or I’m the one who comes home at 3am in the morning to see a group of 8 dudes sitting in the park across the street from my building, being loud, hoping these folks don’t feel like testing me. I guess in that instance, my fear does propel me to be on guard in CASE these niggas decide to get gully…but still, based on past experiences, isn’t that a legitimate concern?? Cuz sometimes, just sometimes, shit does go down.

And all the other students just didn’t get it.

Must be nice to be white.

“Y’all got a problem his name’s Panama…”

I’ve been blogging for a little over a year now and it’s been a lot of fun. I’ve met some great people, had some great debates, yadda yadda yadda. Hell, I’ve enjoyed it enough to want to keep doing this and it’s gotten me some actual jobs leading to published articles in some places, all off the strength of what started out as just wanting to talk shit with other friends who have blogs.

So all in all, I’ve enjoyed it immensely. But you know what I really enjoy??? Take a stab at it, OJ style!!! Don’t know?? I’ll tell you…

…what I really enjoy is computer couraged muhfuckas who step into my muhfuckin’ establishment talkin’ shit or coming at me sideways because they have a computer screen to give them the anonymity a true bitch would need in order to get their opinion out to the general public.

Yes bitches, today I’d like to talk about those commenters who come through here and think they can talk to the kid in any kind of which a way, which a way, which a way, any kind of which a way. (Bonus points for anybody who can tell me what song that came from!!!! The bonus points won’t get you shit, but hey its the thought that counts.)

[***DISCLAIMER: It's been so long since I've done one of these I almost forgot how. Ah yes, I remember. To anybody who takes offense from the words that will be expressed her, kiss my ass. If you are a fucked up commenter, kiss my ass. If yo' mama is a fucked up commenter you and her can kiss my ass. I don't care if I know you or not...kiss my ass. Thanks for playing!***]

Over the course of this blog bonanza, I’ve gotten into some debates with people who for some reason or another think its okay to REALLY come thru here and be condescending, assume I don’t know shit about what I’m talking about, or just be a plain ole dickhead. And you know what???

I love that shit.

When you bitches come thru thinking you can talk shit to the Killa, I honestly love it. One because I love to debate. If you knew me and my friends you’d know its what we do. For no reason…just because we can. Anything is a potential debate and no holds are barred. Everything is fair game. This is why I don’t mind when you bitches come thru cursing or saying dumb shit. For one, I’m smarter than you.

Let that sink in. In fact, go ahead and re-read that last sentence.

*singing Christopher Williams “Promises”*

Oh shit, did Panama just make an arrogant comment???

Hell, did Panama just refer to himself in third person???

Fuck yeah I did. I do it all the time. So what makes any dumb ass really think that telling me to get over myself is a good idea?? But you know, what, folks do! Via email and thru the comments section. See, the funny shit about that is…you keep coming back. The same people who tell me to get over myself and quit being so damn arrogant cuz I really ain’t shit keep coming back. Sure, you change the name you comment under but dumbass…stats tracking comes WITH WEBSITES. And when you have the best internet stalker in the game on your team there ain’t nobody that I can’t find.

Computer courage, I swear.

Then let’s take it to the actual educated fuckups. So, really, I like when folks feel the need to comment on the many topics I bring up, be it agreement or disagreement. I’m just glad folks are coming thru reading and they think enough of what I’ve written to offer an opinion.

But why, if there is disagreement, does ANY JACKASS think its okay to insult my intelligence or think they can get away with saying something fucked up like I can’t respond??? No really…please, any of you fucked up commenters, please offer a reason!!!

*waiting*

See, the problem with that logic is this. This is my muhfuckin’ establishment. Which means that no matter what, I will get the last word. The bigger problem is that I relish exposing you dickheads as the faux smart bastards that you are. I respond to comments in kind. If you disagree with some of my shit and do it in a civilized manner, that’s great. I’ll do the same. But if you come thru and start talking shit like you can “help me out” or say some shit like “I need to wake up” or “don’t know what I’m talking about”…well bitch, thanks for playing, because you just woke up a sleeping killer.

“…don’t make me expose you to the folks that don’t know you…homie I know you well…”

Like really, you think that commments are going to make me change my opinion or realize the error of my ways?? You must be on that glue. See, what let’s me know that you don’t know shit or are just a bitch with a computer is the fact that often times you leave the name Anonymous, or a bogus email address or some shit. A real muhfucka would own their shit. But nope, you bitches just giggle and shit when making up clever names and emails that I won’t figure out aren’t real. Or hide behind some shit like, IhatePanama@hesajerk.com. What kind of ho does that?? And this is not a ho in the sense of having a pussy, but a pussy having no gotdamn sense tryin’ to push me.

Bitches.

See, me, I’m not a bitch, so what really makes you jackasses think that I’d just read your comment and realize that you’ve gotten the best of me, put my tail between my legs, and run. You need to get off that sauce. Especially when you say dumb shit. And oh yes, folks say dumb shit often.

[***Sidenote: I'm only trying to be nice here by not calling out specific people, though I could easily point out folks who have said dumb shit over the year I've been blogging. Call it benevolence, but I just don't want to call out you individual bitches who don't know how to act and think that I really take what you say to heart...if anything, you give me fuel that I need for the fire to burn and it's burning and I have returned cuz I am...Panama bitch...read it and die.***]

Sometimes I don’t know if the folks that come thru espousing their inner dumbass are just playing. Often times I consult with folks before I decide to complete a public roasting. A lot of times, I am stopped by well-intentioned good hearted people who say that I should just let something ride…for the kids and the future and shit. Because most times, I want to just rake ignant jackasses over the coals in HOPES that they respond so we can keep proving who the ignorant person is.

“…a wise man told me don’t argue with fools/cuz people from a distance can’t tell who’s who…”

You know, in most cases that would hold true. Except in this case, you idiots are at my muhfuckin’ establishment talkin’ shit so folks KNOW who the fool is.

And in case you were wondering, that means you, bitch! Just thought I’d help you out in the event you weren’t smart enough to figure that one out.

So word to the wise for all those jackasses who are souped up on that HTML brand Vodka and will choose to come through here or anybody else’s site and act like yo’ mama’s a bobcat or eats rocks, OR hell, even on this post, and talk shit, just be prepared for a public roasting because I’m not worried about what you say or what you think and if anything, it just gives me something to do during the day.

And because I’m a jackass, and since I’ve been using Jay-Z lines through this whole post I’ll end it with this last quote…

“…all you little commenters throwing shots at the Killa, you only get half a bar…fuck y’all niggas…”

Thanks for playing!

Welcome to another edition of Fucked Up Things People Do Or Say!

Most people don’t even know about the first installment from way back in June so as a refresher feel free to revisit, Old Time Killin’!

Today’s adventure brings us to the streets of Washington, DC, where just over a few hours ago, Panama Jackson did something that was FUCKED UP!!!

*crowd gasps*

I know I know…its SO out of character for him. Let’s have a look see at what happened shall we?? Yes, let’s!

Scene: Southwest Washington, DC, 150pm

Panama Jackson has just left Quizno’s after devouring a Mesquite Chicken Sandwich with some Honey BBQ potato chips and some hot ass Mello Yello which is said to cause major shrinkage.

As Panama peruses past peddlers and potholes, he comes across his favorite homeless guy. This is a guy Panama sees on a daily basis and offers any loose change he has to him whenever possible.

They’ve built what some would call a repoire. Let’s listen in on the conversation!

Homeless Guy: Here he comes! You da man…You. Da. Man!

Palaced Panama: No…YOU are the man!!! I’m trying to be like you!!!

*Panama drops his head in utter shame and disgust as he has just told a homeless man he’s trying to be like him*

Homeless Guy, maybe not hearing Panama, just continues to smile and keep it moving!

Ladies and Gentlemen, this has been another edition of:

Fucked Up Things People Do Or Say!!!

First and foremost, I’d like to give a shoutout to everybody who sent me birthday wishes and greetings! I really appreciate that. It’s like we’re all one big happy family except I’m sexxier than everybody else.

[***Sidenote: To all those bastards who want to leave me comments and shit telling me to get over myself, call me a jerk, etc, in my muhfuckin' establishment, allow me to clear my throat for this...FUCK YOU! Why don't you just die?? Thanks for playing!***]

So you know I couldn’t just do a party any old regular style. That just wouldn’t be Panamanian. Or maybe I mean to say Panamaesque. Hell, who knows…that just wouldn’t be my style. And after the last DC Bloggers outing I had to redeem myself after the Rip Van Winkle impression I pulled.

Liquor is a helluva drug.

Anyway, so my big 2-6 found me in Boston, Massachusetts, a city that I’ve always felt was like the white version of Atlanta. You know, a city where white people run everything and it being the perfect spot to if you’re young and white. Well that perception hasn’t changed, but the city of Boston is actually pretty nice. There are definitely more black people there than I had given it credit for. In fact, I assumed there were like 4 black people there, which is a stretch but el Negroes are there in full effect.

[***Another Sidenote: I used to have this theory that the further up the East Coast you went, the more unattractive the women became. Face it, New York is home of the 6. (Feel free to dispute me on this, my lovey nubian sisters from NY...however, after extensive research and building a statistical model using STATA to test this theory...I'm right!) However, Boston has thrown off my theory in its entirety as I've seen some very attractive women there...not that the monsters don't exist, but Boston has some fine women. So...since folks from NY think life started and ended there, we'll just say that the East Coast ends in NY and my theory will remain in tact. NY is home of the 6! Thank you! All hate mail can be forward to my email.***]

Why did I chose Boston for the celebration?? Well, there are two main reasons: 1) my good homie Blackmartha, was graduating from Hell, and I wanted to be supportive; and 2) my lady friend lives in Boston. To me that kills two birds with one stone and me and my boy Francis MH are constantly taking trips. In fact, let’s do a quick rundown since last August: Atlanta, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Huntsville (AL), New York City, Huntsville, Atlanta, San Diego, Boston, Philadelphia, and back to Boston.

I get around.

Overall it was a great weekend but nobody cares about that. So we shall skip straight to the birthday celebration. Without further ado…

Panama Jackson Presents…Boston, Bitch! The Birthday Celebration Timeline At 26

I’m going to do this timeline style. Being as it was 5 days ago, I’m going to be making up some of these times. Shall we begin?? Yes, let’s!

June 3, 2005

Midnight: In the Shawmut Hotel chillin’wondering why we ain’t out at a bar or something.

1201am: Head out to find a bar with black patrons in Boston.

1205am: Lost cause.

1215am: My boy Francis MH gets hit on by a prostitute named Savannah who runs an escort service. Apparently her and 5 of her friends will do anything he wants for $100. Francis gives Savannah his phone number. Good times.

1am: First birthday phone call.

102am: Second birthday phone call. I’m still not asleep so I ain’t mad…yet.

2am-4am: Too many muhfuckas callin’ me for my birthday while I’m sleeping. Ass monkeys!

730am: Start to wake up to prepare to go to MIT’s graduation, mother calls.

735am: Father calls which is weird since THEY LIVE IN THE SAME HOUSE AND NEITHER OF THEM HAD LEFT FOR WORK. My parents are weird.

745am: My sister calls from my parents house…I’m seriously wondering why they ain’ just coordinate this better.

915am: Me and Francis MH head to MIT for the graduation.

It must be said here that Blackmartha provided the absolute most detailed directions to any locale I’ve ever been given. Hell, she even mentioned an old white man sitting on a bench at 943am and wouldn’t you know, dude was there sitting there on the bench feeding squirrels, pigeons, and gila monsters.

1030am: Graduation starts and we’re sitting in some satellite location watching it on closed circuit TV. Hmm…some white people are taking pictures of the projection screen like they’re actually at the ceremony.

1032am: Sleeping.

11am: Still sleeping at the graduation.

12am: The damn graduation is still going on and somebody just got a BS in freakin’ WRITING!!! From MIT??? Da hell???

1230am: Blackmartha gets called. I wake Francis up we watch her walk across the stage. We walk the hell out. Obligation COMLETE.

This is getting boring, let’s skip to the fun part.

10pm: We get to the High Bar at 200 High Street. Talk about not being able to find a place. There were two people with us from Boston who had NO FUCKIN’ CLUE where the club was. Now the flyer advertised an open bar from 10-11pm. So yes were were one of like 10 losers there at 10pm. The bitch wasn’t even open. THEN they put a damn $25 price tag on the window so folks. So let me get this right?? You got an open bar from 10-11pm but you aint open at 10 AND you upped the price to $25?? I better have a good time…

1035pm: We get inside and head straight to the bar. Only Well drinks are free. WELL…we better get to drinkin’ fast before 11pm rolls around!!!

1037pm: Round One of the Tequila Monologues!!! Now, at the club is me, my lady friend (LF), Francis MH, LF’s Friend, and Blackmartha (BM). Now apparently, BM isn’t a drinker. The rest of us are. She doesn’t want to take shot. Peer pressure is a bitch!

1039pm: Round Two of the Tequila Monologues!!! Well apparently we created a drunk cuz now BM is ASKING FOR SHOTS!!

1043pm: Round One of Vodka and Cranberry Shots!!! Somebody (BM) is drunk already. How do I know this?? She pulled me to the side and said, “Panama, I’m drunk!”

1047pm: Round Two of Vodka and Cranberry Shots!!! I think we lost somebody here on taking shots, but I’m not sure. Francis heads to the dance floor to check out the women of Boston who were in full force.

Gets a tad blurry here, but more shots might have been consumed.

All in all we ordered at least 20-25 shots and spent 5 bucks apiece!! Good times.

11pm: Blurred dancing and sweating ensues. It’s hot as the fuck up in this club. I swear I saw Satan run out talking about y’all niggas are hot!!

1130pm: Oh shit is this the Whisper Song??? Hellz yeah…just wait til you see my OOOOOOOOOOH.

IN ALL ATTEMPTS TO REGAIN THE CROWN AS THE MUHFUCKIN’ KING AND REDEEM MY POOR DISPLAY OF DRUNKEN DEBAUCHERY AT THE DC BLOGGERS HAPPY HOUR…I LAID IT DOWN ON THE DANCE FLOOR AND DIDN’T FALL ASLEEP ONCE. THIS ALSO AFTER CONSUMING AN INCREDIBLE HULK, AND ONE MORE DRINK THAT I’M COMPLETELY OBLVIOUS AS TO WHAT IT WAS CALLED.

Midnight: It’s a whole lot of freaknasty dancin’ going on up in here!! I’m glad I’m apart of it. Francis MH is getting felt up by every woman in the place. I can’t take this nigga NOWHERE!! Who the hell is this with her hand on my ass??? Oh its LF…

1202am: Oh shit…I lost my bracelet. Still must lay it down on dancefloor.

1205am: Dudes in the bathroom talking about the Heat-Pistons series. With all the women in the club, these are clearly the lame dudes.

1210am: BM found my bracelet on a speaker. Folks in Boston are so nice. Return to laying it down on dancefloor. Must not let Usher down!

2am: Club shuts down. In all my sexxiness I’m still the flyest muhfucka in the place even sweated out. OH SHIT…that chick sweated out her perm…can you say RE-TOUCH!

202am: Where is BM?? Oh there she is…why she walkin’ like that?? LF looks like she’s straight, but damn, she’s wobbling a little too.

210am: BM is talking and giggling a lot. Yep, she’s drunk as fuck.

220am: We’re walking to I don’t know where…just walking. OH SHIT…BM just walked into a DAMN WALL!!!

221am: “BM, you really shouldn’t be hugging this wall like that…it doesn’t have arms to hug you back!”

225am: Francis MH and LF are talking and giggling. Did I just hear the word “monkey”???

230am: Francis MH is giving LF’s Friend a piggy back ride. Looks like they BOTH having fun with that shit. Hmmm…

245am: Back at LF’s place. Francis MH and BM go into Store 24. Apparently BM was hugging poles and got pissed that fake flowers were not emitting any form of aroma. Drunk nights rule!

3am: Everybody retires to the respective rooms and heads to sleep.

So that was pretty much my birthday night, give or take a few details that just don’t need to be shared with the general public. I’m telling you when I get down with the debauchery, I get DOWN with the debauchery. The rest of the Panama Jackson Appreciation Weekend was great being as I was with folks that I really wanted to be around.

There was a lot of drunk fun…A LOT of drunk fun and lots of undetailed information that must forever remain in the vaults (that seems to be a theme with events I’m apart of) but the big 2-6 celebration was great.

So for the record books in 2005…

…Boston, Bitch!

*I’m doing this early since I don’t know how to manually set my posts to pop up on a timer and cuz I won’t be at work. I’m on my way out of town…again. I get around like ‘Pac, Lewis & Clark, and Pope John Paul II.*

June 3, 1979.

This is the day that something happened that would change the course of history. On this day, the clouds parted and birds chirped.

On this day, the world was introduced to something the Lord made.

On this day in 1979, Panama Dontavious Jackson was born in a small village in Panama; the country, not the beach in Florida.

So it is with much love, peace, and soul, that we here at Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises bestow upon our CEO the honor of having a day named after him. June 3rd is hereby known as:

National Panama Jackson Appreciation Day

On this his 26th birthday (and as he speaks in third person like he isn’t typing this out as we speak), shower him with your love, adoration, and any and all gifts that your heart desires to bestow upon him.

*coming back to reality*

For real, there were times when I wasn’t sure if 26 was an option, much less 22. I know that may sound strange to some folks that know me but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

Sadly, I haven’t reached Tupac levels of notoriety as of yet, but Jay got his real boost at 26, 50 Cent got his real boost at 26, and John Witherspoon was well into his 40′s or 50′s before I even knew who he was so here’s hoping that 26 is a good year.

To all of my Gemini’s out there, Happy Zodiac Sign.

Everybody have a drink on yourself in the name of Panama Muhf***in’.

And I’d like to send a shoutout to my mother for being around for all 26 of my birthdays and an extra special fuck you out to anybody who will think its cute to call me between the hours of midnight and 4am like it happens every year to wish me a happy birthday!

Sincerely,

His Royal Sexxiness on His Royal Birthday

Panama Muhfuckin’