Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises Presents…Panama’s Propositions

Word to big bird!

Back by popular demand, we here at Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises are having our second rap battle. For those that don’t know, don’t show, or just don’t care about what goes on at the rap battle, here are the ground rules. If you don’t care, go light yourself on fire and sing Kumbaya.

1) Anything goes. This is not for the faint of heart. Though nobody here knows eachother all THAT well, the jabs can get pretty down right mean. Hell, if I’m not mistaken, Monk, made an acronym out of my name and called me some pretty foul things. Fuck him, by the way.

2) Don’t take anything personal. It’s all in fun and games. See The last sentence of the previous bullet point.

3) Keep posting until your hearts content. I will stop at around 5pm. Feel free to continue any throttleance of your comrades and fellow battlesters well into the wee hours and over the weekend. Me? After 5, I’ll be back Monday.

Okay, those are the ground rules. There is one last order of business before I start this off. I’ve been asked a few times about my opinion on T.I.’s new album, King, which is a very good album. Classic? Not so much. It had the potential, and after conversations with a few people, I just may discuss how he could have done it next week. Either way, in my attempts to figure out how to describe the album, I happened upon Byron Crawford AKA Bol Guevara website where he was discussing the labeling of T.I.’s album as a classic by some other writers, and he pretty much summed it up better than I could:

“As much as I hate to interrupt happy time, I’m going to have to call bullshit on this one. Both of these albums [with the other being Ghostface's Fishscale album] are pretty good as far as modern rap albums are concerned, but neither one of them is really worth more than maybe an 8 out of 10. I definitely wouldn’t refer to either one of them as a classic.

As I mentioned in the comments at Hip Hop Blogs, the last 6 tracks on the TI album are pure unadulterated shit. And it’s not like the first 12 constituted Illmatic either.”

Though I don’t think that all of the last 6 tracks are shit (with You Know Who being the exception), I pretty much agree.

Now…are you ready?

I say, are you ready??

Then let’s roll. I’ll throw out the first complimentary verse and let the battle begin.

Let me go ahead and begin the lyrical asswhippin’
I don’t care if you my blood, Imma treat you like you crippin’
and for those punk niggas who gon’ try to just slip in
I extend the middle finger salute to you bitches
I’m hoping that everybody is ready for fun and games
that’s gon’ last for 2 seconds as I dismantle all you lames
It’s a shame I got to do it, but thanks for entertaining
the thought of being more than a pawn while I’m reigning
I’m the King of these premises fuck you if you hating
you seem to think that these facts are up to be debated
I done stated in past times you dont want it with Petey Jakes
the most magnificent mofo in these here United States
I handled a few niggas before so don’t sleep
and since y’all niggas dont know history, Im gonna have to go and repeat

I’m so gangsta I just gave you 14 bars. Who you know only does 14?? Fucka 16. Just a little something to get people in the right state of mind…annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd…

Go.

[***This right here is another Panama-length entry. Reading is Fundamental. ***]

Hi, my name is Panama and I’m a hip-hop fan.

Hi Panama.

I realized something a few days ago. And I’m not quite sure how to say this so I might as well just say it straight up.

I like being lied too.

*gasp*

Yes, apparently as a fan of mainstream hip-hop, I appreciate being lied too from some of my favorite artists.

Notice I said, MAINSTREAM rap. For all of you boho’s out there who will think this is an indictment on ALL rap, please read the preceeding sentence again. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

*humming Eminem’s “I’ll Kill You”*

N.W.A. lied to me constantly, Mobb Deep lies to me all of the time…

STOP.

We have a further twist in the soap opera of Deep In The Unit. Allegedly, Prodigy, the once shining prince to Nas’ King of Queensbridge (despite being from Lefrak City), was quoted as saying:

“God didn’t save my life, 50 saved my life.”

I’m officially going on the record as saying that Prodigy is hands down in love with 50 Cent. I’m also going to go ahead and make this call: If this album tanks, Mobb Deep will be no more as I don’t believe that Havoc will be able to take anymore of the ubergayness that Prodigy is exuding regarding 50 Cent. It is causing longtime fans of the Mobb to really question their gangsta. You saw it here first folks.

Back to the lies.

T.I. lies to me. The Game lies to me. Nelly lies to you all. Ludacris lies to me. 50 Cent lies to any and everybody who will listen. B.G., Lil Wayne, etc. Well you get the point. These niggas are all lying because they continue to write all of these tales of their current street acumen and all of the weapons they travel with and the drugs they currently slang, etc.

And I am a fan.

Now granted, I don’t actually believe any of these dudes do half of the shit they claim to do. I don’t believe that Young Jeezy is moving that much snow in the hood or that T.I. is still moving snow in the hood or that 50 Cent does or Cam’ron. I don’t believe that any of these dudes has murdered anybody, with the possible exception of 50 Cent and that’s strictly due to one line on his song “Problem Child.”

“they say you can never repay the price for taking a man’s life/I’m in debt with Christ cuz I done did that twice” – 50 Cent

I’ll admit, I do question the veracity of that statement and maybe it just sounds good in rhyme. But, errrum, most rappers tell you that they WILL kill you, as in future tense. 50 says that he HAS done it. Somehow, that makes me a little nervous. Luckily he isn’t in any jeopardy of going to Heaven anyway as I do in fact believe his posters are plastered through the Great Hall of Hades as one of the biggest proponents of Hell.

But for the most part, I don’t believe most of these rappers who spend so much time trying to get us to buy into the fact that they really have that much street credibility. And I’m not saying that none of these dudes sold drugs. I’m sure that T.I. did as I’m sure that Jay-Z did. I’m sure 50 Cent did as well as a slew of other rappers. Of course, there are lots of questions about how big these “drug dealers” were as even Biggie’s own people have said that he wasn’t nearly the drug dealer that he claimed to be as he was merely dealing in selling small amounts of weed, but I do believe they were selling drugs. The way some of these rappers move, in particular 50 Cent, gives credence to the fact that their street acumen does have some validity to it. Many of these dudes do indeed have the soul of hustlers so I believe that many of them have done SOME of the things they claim in rhyme. Let’s just say that they amongst the lies they share resides some segment of truth.

But between all of the murders these rappers claim to be willing to commit and all of the weight that they claim to be moving and the fact that I don’t actually believe any of them are as big time as they claim, it just seems that I like being lied too. I mean, I buy into it as it relates to their persona on wax. And somehow, they seem to buy into their own stories enough to convince me to buy into them. And I’m not alone. For some strange reason, as far as our mainstream rappers go, with the possible exception of Kanye West, we all like to hear about how hard these dudes are and we can easily look past the fact that their entire catalog is filled with odes to drug slanging and killin’ niggas on the block.

[***Sidenote: Since there is no better place to do this, am I the only person who's about damn tired of seeing UGK, and paritcularly Bun B, on EVERYBODY'S songs? Seriously, I'm a huge UGK fan. I was a fan before many folks even knew who they were largely because I'm from the South, but facts are facts. Right about now, I'd be happy never hearing from the again. It almost seems like they have NOTHING to rap about anymore either. I used to love Pimp C and I'm starting to despise him. I guess what they say about overexposure is true, which would explain the hate for Beyonce, Halle Berry, 50 Cent, etc. I just want them to take a break for a while. Also, Houston has ALREADY begun to fall off...anybody else notice that?? A.T.L. it isn't. ***]

Now for the life of me, I can’t figure out why I’ll let this type of shit slide. The lies, I mean. Most normal people detest liars. People that will lie to you are the very people you’d not want to be around. Yet in mainstream rap, being able to convince people of your street respectability, be it fabricated or not, is paramount. If somebody found out that Kenny Rogers never had played a game of poker, well, how upset would the country music world be. Or what if the Dixie Chicks were from Canada? Or what if Guns ‘N Roses didn’t live the life they sang about. Of course, that’s an impossibility because if you’ve seen the vh1 Behind The Music on the Guns, you’d realize, them white boys and Slash were nuckin’ futs.

I guess this all ties into the very notion that even as an educated black man, respect and pride are very important. I live in a black neighborhood and you don’t want anybody to even think about wanting to mess with you. Somehow, these are the problems we concern ourselves with. So I sometimes walk around with this air of “don’t fuck with me or this might be a bad day for you”. We all know I’m as gangsta as they come, but we also all know that I purchased a Hillary Duff CD. The key is to not let anybody else know it. And I think this is a problem that is unique to the young black man experience. I could be wrong, but it seems to me that we spend a lot of time trying to scare the bejesus out of white and black people. Hell, we don’t have anything else…all we have is our respect.

Or so we say.

And maybe that’s why we like to be lied to so much. We spend so much time trying to be the dude that everybody wouldn’t want to mess with, kind of as a manifestation of our idea of self-preservation, that despite the sheer impossibility of many of these rappers claims, we see them as a lot like us, even if we may come from totally different circumstances. We’re still young black men and we share the same problems. Just like me (though not really at all), they might like snowboarding (like The Game does), but don’t let anybody look at him wrong on that snowboard or he might have to beat you down (rumored true story…when was the last time you saw three parenthetical statements in one sentence?). And I’ll have to do the same. I’m a G.

Right?

I remember during the last episode of Season 3 of The Wire, after Stringer Bell, had been gangstaliciously murdered by Omar and Brother Mouzone, Detective McNulty was in Stringer’s apartment looking through his books and possessions and he couldn’t believe the types of books String had apparently been reading. It was so astounding to him he wondered aloud who in the hell was he chasing?

I wonder if a lot of these dudes are indeed like that. They all seem to look up to Tupac and we know the intelligent hoodlum he was. I know a lot of people don’t like Tupac as a rapper, and I have my days as well, but as a person he was the epitome of the young black man so many of us wish to be. Educated but respected by all. He had the pedigree, he had the struggle, he had the ability to rise above it, and he went out in a blaze of glory. Actually, nix that last part, I’d rather go out while drinking some Kool-Aid when I’m 98.

All in all, I wonder if the reason we love being lied to so much is that because so many of us spend so much time lying to ourselves about who we really are. From white suburban “thugs” to some of the inner-city black “thugs”. Yeah the white boys get to grow out of it, but so many of us young black men still fall victim to the idea that we have to be able to be respected in the streets, at age 30.

So yes, I like being lied too. Hell, I enjoy it thoroughly. And I think I don’t pay much attention to it because in some kind of weird way, I understand.

Besides, if I want honesty, I’ll just listen to Milli Vanilli.

Oh, right.

Over the past few months, I’ve posted on a plethora of things. Yet in all that time, I’ve managed to stray away from the most important thing I can think of in life…

…me…

…and my sexxy.

Yes you out there in the crowd?

Panama, how do you do it? How do you maintain your sexy?

Excuse me, it’s sexXy…two X’s.

How could you hear that I only used one X??

I’m sexxy like that.

In all my benevolence, I’ve decided to let you, the masses, in on a secret. As was offered in the comment section, I will offer up a step-by-step booklet (for you to get) on how to get your sexxy on. And no, this ain’t no Puffy-level Proactiv sexxy here…this is that real shit the shit to make you feel shit have you in the club lookin’ in the mirror while other folks love shit.

Yes, it’s the real…sexxy.

(I will also attempt to break the world’s record for the number of times the word sexxy can be used in a single entry.)

Sexxy sexxy sexxy sexxy sexxy sexxy.

I can do that…I’m sexxy.

I wasn’t always so sexxy. No. Once upon a time, I was a regular old traffic stopping stunner. But something was missing. Then one day, it happened. I realized that hey, Panama, you are a sexxy bitch. Umm…no brokeback. My friends from college can attest to the fact that I would indeed, rebut any stupid thing I said or did with the term, “I’m sexxy.” As if that automatically made whatever I said or did worthy of note, documentation, and Smithsonian review. They were sexxy times bitches…sexxy times. And they haven’t changed.

My name is Panama D. Jackson, and I am sexxy.

And you can be too. So let’s get started, shall we?

Yes, let’s.

Panama Jackson Presents…Obtaining Your Second “X”: The Killa’s 10 Commandments to Gettin’ Your SexXy

Yaymen.

“I’m so fly with it, look how I did it…” – Kanye West, “Late”, Late Registration

“the fuck you expect, I’ve got a history…” – Kanye West, “They Say”, from Common’s Be

I absofuckin’lutely love that line. And you will learn to love those lines as well. Some see those lines as arrogance, to me, I see it as truth (for Kanye and to a slightly lesser extent, yours truly). Which leads us right into our first Commandment.

1st Commandment: Thou shalt be convincing. And not be a dickhead whilst doing it.

The key to being sexxy is getting other people to buy into the bullshit you are espousing without belittling anybody in the process. People don’t like belittlers and women don’t like littlers. My weapon of choice is comedy.

Gem For Life: You can get away with damn near ANYTHING if you make people laugh. It also helps if you don’t look like a pterodactyl.

I am an asshole. I run with it. You see, I’m not afraid to let the asshole within out. You should do this as well. As long as you don’t piss people off in the process (read: comedy) you can get a pass on many a thing because people will hopefully know that deep down inside you aren’t NEARLY as bad as you come across or realize that some of it is show. Basically, don’t try to hurt people’s feelings and make them feel like you believe you are better than them. No, you are just more sexxy. There is a difference.

Simultaneously…

2nd Commandment: Thou shalt do what the fuck thou wantsteth to do.

You see, it is damn near IMPOSSIBLE to be sexxy if you are constantly second guessing yourself or worrying about what other muhfuckas are going to think after you do something. I mean, if you aren’t bringing down a government, fuck it…make it happen, cap’n. I say a lot of stupid shit. A lot. This blog is the tip of the iceberg. If you had to deal with what my friends had to deal with on a daily basis…well, let’s just say, I’ve got great friends. Thing is, I’m comfortable enough with my sexxy to keep it moving and offering up the random tidbits of what-the-fuckedness.

For instance. Or as the French would say, for instance. You see, that in and of itself was stupid as uptight downstrokes in the rain. 3rd Commandment: Don’t be afraid to be wrong.

You know why? If you are truly sexxy, as I am, you have a built in response to everything.

Panama, son, what is 2+2?

Shiiiiiit, 847!

Dude, it’s 4.

I’m sexxy.

End game. There is no retort because it requires none. You got the answer wrong, and are okay with it. You know why? I’ll tell you why. It’s because you are sexxy. That’s why.

4th Commandment: Be wrong and randomly wrong often.

You see, having that built in line, makes life all the more entertaining. You can just blatantly do your own thing at all times and spin the answers the way you see fit. If you think that 2+2 should be 5, then dammit, make sure everybody knows that. And in the event that people refuse to accept it, make sure to remind them just how sexxy you truly are and that your sexxiness trumps all else. Things that have rhyme and reason should no longer have rhyme and reason. In fact, you recreate the status quo. And do you know why?

Because you’re sexxy. Bitches.

Number 5 should have been number 1 to me…

5th Commandment: Thou shouldn’t confuse sexxy with just regular sexy.

People tend to think that when I say sexxy, I mean that I am sexy. No, when I say sexxy, I mean sexxy. Understand?

You see how I explained that without explaining shit?

6th Commandment: If people don’t get you…fuck ‘em up against the wall. Oh wait…sorry. Thou shalt if people don’t get you…fuck ‘em up against the wall.

Of course, this rebuts that whole 1st Commandment, don’t be a dickhead thing. But did you see I, Robot? Do you remember the ghosts in the machine? Me neither, however, you can’t go around trying to make people feel better about themselves by explaining yourself all the time. Do you and someobdy will get you some of the time. Nobody will never not get you all of the time…after the hurricane. Understand that the last sentence made total sense to me in my mind. Also understand that I have no idea why it did. You see, half the time, understanding your own train of thought is a full time job.

And who wants one of those.

I understand that this commandment seems slightly arrogant. And I quote:

“the fuck you expect, I’ve got a history…”

Plus, I’m sexxy. Bitches.

Are you starting to catch on yet?

7th Commandment: Thou shalt be open-minded.

Hmm, I bet you didn’t see that one coming did you. I also bet you can’t do it like this, which is a song I absofuckin’ lutely HATE. In fact, I hate D4L with the passion of the Honda Accord. (See, once again, its okay to be random and make no sense). It is important to be openminded in life period and be willing to at least LISTEN to other people’s opinions. Hell you might learn something. For instance, if I tell you that the Arctic Monkey’s album WHATEVER PEOPLE SAY I AM, THAT’s WHAT I’M NOT, is that hot shit, you shouldn’t automatically turn your nose up and say, what the fuck is that? Is that some white shit? Yes it is…and it’s great. You should at least be willing to give it a shot. That way, people won’t think that you believe you are merely sexy with one x, but sexxy with two x’s.

Come to think of it though, the mere fact that I’m telling you means that it is gospel.

What was I saying again? Oh yes, being openminded. With great sexxiness comes great responsibility. Which means that people will come to you in hopes of obtaining a mere morsel of your sexxiness. It is important to offer precise, well-thought out, unassholish advice whenever possible. However, if an asshole comes at you sideways, it is also okay to be a total asshole to them. Once again, please…fuck ‘em up against a wall.

8th Commandment: Thou shalt be cool.

You know, this one might be hard for many a boho out there. Cool isn’t something you can buy somewhere. You either got it or you don’t got it. However, I also believe that most folks have some semblance of cool, they just haven’t been able to properly harness it. I blame slavery. And yes, that goes for white people too. Non-sequiter? You betcha bottom dollar.

The majority of the aforementioned, previously stated, I done already told you, scroll up bitches, commandments are part-and-parcel to being cool. You can’t get away with any of that other shit if you aren’t a cool person by nature. In essence, somebody aside from your mother has to like you. It helps if you don’t include family period. You must find someway to not be a spazz or someway to be comfortable enough with yourself for somebody out there to say, “Hey, you know that Panama is one cool fellow.” Feel free to substitue your name for Panama in there, unless you are a one eyed one armed flying purple people eater. In which case, substitute the name Bob in there.

Also realizing that falling asleep at a table full of drunk bloggers does not remove an X from your sexxy. It merely illuminates another way for everybody else to improve on their sexxy.

Yes niggas, it is important to get sleep.

9th Commandment: Thou shalt realize that you don’t have to look sexxy to be sexxy, you have to feel sexxy.

Just let your soul glow, just let it shine thru. You know why? It’s cuz that’s all that matters.

Actually, that’s a lie. Looking like Fred Flinstone’s big toe will probably make your ascension to sexxy more difficult than you think.

However…eat well.

And finally…

10th Commandment: Thou shalt be like Panama Jackson in every conceivable way.

I’m not just sexxy, I’m the definition of it.

They call me Panama…Panama Jackson.

You now have all the knowledge you need to go forth into the world and attempt to be obtain your second “X”. Go forth with said knowledge and change the world.

And the chuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuch said…yay-men.

Good night and good luck.

(You must also feel comfortable jacking pop culture for catch-phrases, slanguage, and Paris Hilton.)

[***EDIT (3/21/2006): I was going to post a new entry today, but an interesting comment popped up that seems to be great fodder for a knock-down drag out convo between men and women. Not sure if the comment was real in the first place since the last person who wrote as "A Us Citizen" was just calling me gay, but she did pose an interesting question. So venture to the comments and let the games begin. Ichiban bitches!***]

[***Today we're gonna start the week of topics provided by the masses. First up to bat, Barry Bonds!***]

Let’s see:

Swollen head: check!

Swollen body: check!

Ridiculously Increased Statistical Performance AFTER 35: check!

Personal Trainer supplies steroids to everybody: check!

Face it, Barry Bonds is guilty of doping up to increase his prominence amongst the tainted legends of baseball stars past.

And I, for one, don’t give a flying fuck.

It’s interesting how huge the discussion about Barry Bonds has become amongst baseball circles. He’s been guilty in the court of public opinion for years now, but if he keeps belting out homeruns on his quest for Babe Ruth’s historic 714, we’ll all still watch.

If I was Barry Bonds, when I hit number 715, I’d risk suspension and pissing off an entire nation by running the basepath with the middle finger salute up to everybody. The fact that sports reporters have clearly quit their day jobs to churn out books on the fact that Barry Bonds has used steroids speaks to the fact that, basically, folks really don’t have shit better to do with their time.

I read this on ESPN, but Barry Bonds really is like the new OJ Simpson to white people. He’s destroying America’s, increasingly colorless, pasttime. OJ went out and got him a white woman, and subsequently had her ass chop suey’d. Barry Bonds played baseball and subsequently shit all over it by taking its most beloved record, the home run record, and did it thru tainted means.

Hell, you’d think that Barry Bonds was a terrorist or something the way he’s being treated. If he wasn’t in danger of breaking Babe Ruth’s record, I don’t think he’d get THIS much hateration thrown at him. Well, that and the fact that he’s a total jackass to the press. But hell, he’s been that way since day one right?

Much like every other black person in America, I can’t help but notice how much of a free pass Mark McGwire, the All-American white boy has gotten in this entire debacle. The steroids he was publicly using were banned a few years after he broke the then home run record set by Roger Maris at 71. I don’t understand for the life of me how that muhfucka gets NO burn nowadays as having tainted the legacy of baseball. Nope…just Bonds. Major league baseball players have been using steroids and destroying the sanctity of the game for years.

So have track stars.

Football players.

Weight lifters.

Old people.

Oh, my bad, that’s marijuana which destroys the American home by having high kids run over a girl on a bicycle who is strangely riding on a busy street in front of a fast food restaurant drive thru without a parent in sight. Hell, she might have gotten hit regardless.

You know who I feel bad for in this whole steroid scandal? Jose Canseco.

That damn Jose “El Cubano” Conseco has been TRYING to get the press that Bonds receives daily. And yet, all the notoriety goes to Bonds. Conseco tried to singlehandedly bring down Major League Baseball with a book called “Juiced” detailing all of the steroid-based knowledge he could muster.

He admitted it.

He released his book and got his day in the sun.

Bonds hasn’t admitted to shit.

And we can’t stop talking about him.

Poor Jose. He even tried to holler at Christina Milian and she rejected him. His esteem must be fucked right about now.

I’ll bet Barry would love to share the spotlight with Jose a little more.

This whole steroid-Bonds bullshit speaks to America’s and the people-whp-can’ts desire to have things done our way. Barry isn’t a media darling, so we don’t want him to be the asshole who passes the Babe’s record. White people love Babe Ruth and hold him up as this paragon of athleticisim and value.

However, only black people really seem to be ones talking about the fact that had he been playing in an era where black pitchers were allowed to challenge him, he might not have been the same player. He might have, but we’ll never know.

America doesn’t want Bonds to break the record because he didn’t do it the right way. Hell, what does that even mean anymore? Who ISN’T taking some kind of supplement in sports? Everybody’s looking for an edge. I say let the steroids ride. If grown ass men want to kill themselves at 50, let them. It’s their choice.

Barry Bonds legacy might be at stake here as far as Hall of Fame voters go, but for my money, I say fuck ‘em. Crush Babe’s record. That way the legacy will be talked about forever. If he doesn’t make it into the Hall of Fame, they’ll HAVE to talk about you forever. Same way they do it with Pete Rose. Pete Rose is as central a figure to baseball nowadays as he was in his heyday. We HAVE to bring his name up every year.

Same thing with Barry Bonds. If he doesn’t get in, it will be a travesty; if he does (I think I used a semi-colon right for the first time EVER), he deserves it but it isn’t the “right” way.

Fuck ‘em all Barry.

Do just like you have been doing. Every homerun you hit will be a gigantic fuck you to baseball, America, and the people who are upset about OJ Simpson’s not guilty verdict…

…as long as you don’t kill your white wife too.

Good night and good luck!

First off, I’d like to thank everybody for the great blog topics. Next week I’ll be taking on the various topic suggestions.

Today, though, I came across this personality test so I figured, for people who would like to kill time, you might as well take it and find out your personality type. I know we all do these over and over, but fuck it, do it again.

I am King. Love me.

It’s a really short test and I think it will be fun to send around to the masses of folks you know. I’m going to post my results here and one of the write-ups. Let’s make a challenge out of this:

I’m interested in finding out how many people are extroverts versus introverts. My guess is that most people who actually blog are going to be extroverts but I could be wrong. My results have shown that I’m very much extroverted and would talk to a rock if it would talk back.

Which is true by the way, I’ve had full fledge conversations with inanimate objects…

Anyway, here’s the link to the test: The Jung Typology Test.

And here is the score for the Illustrious Panama Dontavious Jackson, Hero Extraordinaire:

I am an ENFP.

Extroverted: 78%
Intuitive: 50%
Feeling: 25%
Perceiving: 22%

I’m also sexxy, I just wanted to make sure nobody forgot that part.

Being an ENFP, also makes me a Champion Idealist. Yes bitches, I am a champion.

Here is one of the write-ups that appears with the results:

The Champion Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in accomplishing their aims, and informative and extraverted when relating with others. For Champions, nothing occurs which does not have some deep ethical significance, and this, coupled with their uncanny sense of the motivations of others, gives them a talent for seeing life as an exciting drama, pregnant with possibilities for both good and evil. This type is found in only about 3 percent of the general population, but they have great influence because of their extraordinary impact on others. Champions are inclined to go everywhere and look into everything that has to do with the advance of good and the retreat of evil in the world. They can’t bear to miss out on what is going on around them; they must experience, first hand, all the significant social events that affect our lives. And then they are eager to relate the stories they’ve uncovered, hoping to disclose the “truth” of people and issues, and to advocate causes. This strong drive to unveil current events can make them tireless in conversing with others, like fountains that bubble and splash, spilling over their own words to get it all out.

Champions consider intense emotional experiences as being vital to a full life, although they can never quite shake the feeling that a part of themselves is split off, uninvolved in the experience. Thus, while they strive for emotional congruency, they often see themselves in some danger of losing touch with their real feelings, which Champions possess in a wide range and variety. In the same vein, Champions strive toward a kind of spontaneous personal authenticity, and this intention always to “be themselves” is usually communicated nonverbally to others, who find it quite attractive. All too often, however, Champions fall short in their efforts to be authentic, and they tend to heap coals of fire on themselves, berating themselves for the slightest self-conscious role-playing.

As far as I’m concerned, this is pretty damn accurate, except for that good and evil part. I don’t really think about doing evil shit too often…unless you count crime and coming up with ways to improve on crimes or commit the perfect crime, in which case I plead the fifth.

Fif.

Cinqo.

I love my write up and all about how only like 3 percent of the population is similar. Yeah muhfucka…I like being a one and only type cat!!

Ichiban bitches!

So have at it, it’s a short test and its fun to learn more about yourself…and give up the goods. That means results here…extrovert or introvert, and do you agree.

Basically, I’m just trying to find a reason for anybody to actually comment on this post.

Good night and good luck.

Oh, and fuck Nevada for fucking up my NCAA bracket. That is all.

Good morning.

Today…is a good day. Not unlike yesterday. Or tomorrow. In fact, tomorrow will bring a better you, a better me.

However, it is so hard to say goodbye, to yesterday.

Yes, today, Panama has absolutely nothing to talk about…but everything to say.

I am an enigma.

I am also sexxy.

Love me. Love me, say that you love me.

I have a confession to make. I’ve gone and done it. Yeah, the big “it”. I’ve been avoiding it like the plague because I was afraid if I did it, it would open me up to ridicule from the masses of people who believe in me. Hell, I was afraid to disappoint myself.

Somebody…hold me.

Don’t you love how just uber-random this shit is? It’s gonna be like this the whole way through. You should keep reading though, this gets interesting in a soap opera kind of way by the time we get to the end…trust me.

If The Champ over at The Royal Youngs is a lemming (I think that’s what he said), then I’m an Alaskan anteater following little dark dots around aimlessly hoping for it not to be pepper, but for it to be the key to success and more like sprinkles.

No, I didn’t go to Starbucks or watch more BET.

I joined…

…MySpace. At the prodding of one of my compadres, I was convinced to join the newest low-income housing development in the e-streets. It’s just past Al Gore Blvd. and right next to Web Circle. I have built my home at…

… www.myspace.com/panamadjackson.

*hanging head in shame*

Honestly, this shit is quite addictive. There are just so many people on there I don’t even know where to begin looking…or hell, what I’m even looking for.

Well, what the hell are you waiting for (after me there shall be no more)?

Alright, now let’s get down to business bitches, cuz it seems that y’all just keep on trying to diss this nigga that you know that’s been down for years….

1) I watched Black.White. again last night. My hatred for the white couple is lessoning but my hatred for Carmen (the black wife) has increased hundredfold. She just annoys the flying squirrel shit out of me. I might discuss this more in a later post because the black folks are really turning me into fans of the white family. And the white girl telling the black folks that she was white took some major cajones and I’m somewhat inclined to think that she must have also told them they were on a television show because she made it back to Santa Monica from Crenshaw unscathed. It’s like she infiltrated a Black Panther base or something. Interestingly enough, it made me respect her more. And yes her mother is very naive and definitely needs to take a class or two on sensitivity training, but Carmen blew that bitch thing WAY overboard. Fuck her.

2) I hate Jade on America’s Next Top Model with the passion of 10,000 gila monsters and a gecko from Geico. And a partridge and a pear tree. We have also just seen the manifestation of the Black-Girl-Got-Hair-Now-So-She-Think-She-Fly Syndrome in Furonda who not only couldn’t stop looking at herself, but also somehow managed to increase her confidence greatly. And I must agree with Nigel, she does look like E.T. with hair…at all times.

Now for the coup de grace…

My people, my people…somebody has stolen some of my shit…AGAIN!!! AND had the nerve to be SLOPPY about it…AGAIN.

I really need to hold a seminar on how to be a better criminal, I swear I do.

If you are indeed a woman and you jack a man’s post, make sure that he does not refer to himself as a “man/dude/soul brother #2″ in a jacked work. It will bode badly for you. And apparently shit that makes into the net has some serious legs, much like Amerie in the “1 Thing” video or Tina Turner on her amazing Ike-Can’t-Beat-Me-Now Tour AKA What’s Love Got To Do With It.

I was emailed this morning by somebody who noticed the post I’d written about being on a flight with Dem Franchize Boyz being used by someone else as if it was their own story. El dumbass even said that she had just gotten off the flight three hours ago.

*chuckle*

Dumbass.

Allow me to link you to said transgression against King Panama by one Prada1.

Prada1, come on down!!!!!!!!

*Price Is Right music playing rapidly in the background while the ignant jackster runs boobs-a-floppin to the front stage*

It can be found on a message board on some site called Lipstick Alley.

Feel free to go there and check out the similarities. Also notice how I mention that I’m “not a first class dude” and somebody asks her if she is a guy to which she responds, “no she is not”.

Once more, people people people, if you are going to jack somebody’s shit…PLEASE CLEAN IT UP!!!!! For the love of all things fuscia…read the shit and clean it up!!!

Also, notice that the person who called her out, mentioned the once bloggadocious Kajuana (R.I.P.). She really was famous!

Either way, the sloppy stealing needs to cease, for real. I’m not even offended at being jacked.

I’m Panama Muhfuckin’, it’s going to happen.

What does offend me is the uber-bitchmade sloppiness with which it happens. You think I’m so small time that my work won’t even get noticed.

And that’s what hurts. Why don’t nobody love me?

I do have fans!! Fucker!!!

Those are jokes people…I’m not THAT stuck on myself. Today.

Either way, to the person who outted her, thank you and thanks for the email.

To Prada1, step your game up gangsta, you SUCK right now.

Finally, one of my boys gave me a suggestion that I think I will run with. This will either bite me in the ass, be ridiculously fun, or prove that nobody really does give a shit about the Once And Former King Panama.

So, I’d like to ask for suggested blog topics. All next week, I will post every day with one of the suggested topics that are presented. If I get an abundance of possible topics, I will keep it going for a while. If I get no topic suggestions, I will light myself on fire with a rusty barnacle and Betty Boop, pout, then take a 2 day vacation in South Central. I welcome any and all suggestions, be they funny or serious or just outrageously stupid. No topic is off-limits. Just place them in the comments and I’ll do the rest.

To recap:

1) Check out my MySpace page: www.myspace.com/panamadjackson

2) Check out the LipStick Alley Jack-Ass.

3) Offer up some blog topics…please.

“…I’m writing to show you what we fightin’ for…” – Talib Kweli, “The Blast”

“I saw a front porch swing, heard a diamond ring,
I saw a polka-dot railroad tie.
But I think I will have seen everything
when I see an elephant fly. “
-One of the ambiguously ethnic but assumed Negro crows who mocks the pint-sized pachyderm in the GOP landslide success story, Dumbo

Similarly, I ain’t never heard no shit like this.

I’m not married. But I know some folks who are. And every now and then my married friends, relatives, strangers I meet on the Metro in Washington, DC’s underbelly offer me tidbits on the splendors of marital bliss.

Of course, most people’s statement is not to get married, but one can hardly take that without a grain of salt since it usually follows an argument or disagreement that renders one person at the mercy of another.

However, one thing that I always hear from these people are that they sometimes give their spouses tests to prove their love or some other cockamamie idiocy that might backfire on them. The bottom line is, if something is too good to be true, run like hell.

Such finds us with Andrei Kirilenko and his wife’s proposal to him to have the ability to have sex with one woman per year, outside of their marriage, to ward of the temptation since he’s a huge star in Russia and Utah, his nickname is AK-47, and he likes to tell people he carries a big gun.

Okay, I embellished that last statement but I assume that if my nickname was AK-47, I’d tell people I had a big gun…only because I know that the gutter minded fuckers would go straight for the passive-aggressive perverted context as opposed to the fact that an AK-47 is actually a rather big gun and maybe, since I’m from Mother Russia, I might actually have one. Of course, I don’t think you are able to carry a concealed AK-47, or an unconcealed one for that matter, so its probably highly unlikely that he does…however, he does live in Utah, which might be vaguely reminsicent of Russia so he might feel threatened.

Simply, this would be the scariest thing your wife could possibly propose to you, not to mention the most UNFAIR shit ever, but I’ll get to that later.

Let’s start with the…hmm….

***SPOILER ALERT****FLAVOR OF LOVE****SPOILER ALERT****

On the offchance that there is ANYBODY who hasn’t actually seen the season finale of FLAVOR OF LOVE, what will follow will spoil the end for you (Grayse).

I’d like to send a congratulations out to Hoopz for (literally) winning the (gag me with a spoon) affections of one Flavor Flav. As much as I hated New York, I really didn’t see this coming. What now? The reunion show where Pumkin and New York go at it again. Good times.

So back to the scary shit. There are tests in life, and then there are TESTS. Which are similar to the first tests, except the second TESTS are merely capitalized to signify some sort of importance which means that the TESTS for which I’m referring are meant to mean something in the grand scheme of things unlike the spelling test you took in 3rd grade, naw, to easy drill sargeant too easy, I’m speaking of TESTS like when you have to pick between saving the life of your son or the 20 villagers who are 90 years old and unable to copulate without Niagra or Viagra, you know TESTS that will ultimately determine your place amongst the stars or at the very least guarantee your spot in Heaven since (don’t you love how I just ramble for no apparent reason?) Heaven is filled with people who manage to exhibit big freakin’ cajones in the face of danger and temptation which might singlehandedly have barred 4 of the living 6 original Temptations who are called, wait for it, Temptations. If you are Temptation, can you go to Heaven?

Deep.

FINALLY, we get to what I intended to talk about. So, what woman in her right mind would justify this to herself? And what woman REALLY believes that ONE additional woman outside of her would curb his appetite for new snickerdoodle?

*snicker*

A woman who wants to make sure she checks her husband and make sure he knows that she ain’t dumb. I can just imagine the conversation. Or more like, her speaking, and his thinking and trying not to show how afraid he is during the convo:

AK’s Wife: Mr. Big Gun, I offer you the chance to sleep with one woman outside of our marriage per year. What do you think about that?

AK’s: What?? *Thinking: Okay, I must be on television in Mother Russia. Is Dick Van Dyke still alive? I know they have this YouTube think going around so maybe there is a hidden camera in here. She didn’t really say that did she?*

AK’s Wife: Dah, you can sleep with one extra woman because it isn’t cheating if I know about it and I know the woman throw themselves at you despite you looking very goofy.

AK: Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat? *Thinking: Okay, I don’t know if she’s joking or not. Maybe she saw my magazines of Maria Sharapova on them. Or maybe Anna Kournikova…or maybe she saw my pictures of Keshia Knight-Pulliam…I love her….all that choclate! C’mon brain, this is a trick. There is not good way out of this. Just say thanks but no thanks and walk away slowly.* NYET!

AK’s Wife: Good Andrei…now go clean the kitchen.

You know, that was funnier in my head.

This is just unbelievable on so many levels so my advice to all men when confronted with this is to say, “baby, you are the only woman out there for me and I don’t need any other women…so no thanks for that.” In Russian of course if you can.

That was simple, but quite briefly and since I’m just tired of writing right now, let us discuss why this is very unfair.

How in the shit is he supposed to decide on which woman to sleep with? Do you just wait until December, tally up the best prospects and pick from them? I guess this all depends on who makes theirself available. I mean, if Halle Berry offered herself up, I think you jump on it. But what if say, Toni from Girlfriends, or the goofy looking chick from American Pie (yeah the bandcamp girl) or say the white ho from Hustle & Flow, offered themselves up, I think you’d have to pass and hope for the best. Needless to say, that can be stressful enough as it is.

You don’t want to blow this opportunity. Which is another pshychological mind game his wife is playing. One per year? That isn’t fair. That’s too much calculating and decision making for him to go through. He’ll combust just trying to make sure he isn’t missing out on Jennifer Love-Hewitt or Natalie Portman when he decides to sleep with Lindsay Lohan.

Bottom line, don’t trust it Andrei.

I like Orange.

Television this past week has been filled with lots of blog fodder…so today, I shall randomly discuss many of the occurences since I don’t feel like doing a post on all of them individually.

Follow me…and if you’re slow…back that ass up.

-Everybody saw the show Black.White. on Wednesday night. I’m no different. If anything this show won’t exactly change race relations, though it will give me something to laugh about. And for the record, I hate EVERYBODY on the show EXCEPT the white girl. Bruno is the standard white man who doesn’t think racism exists, the black father (can’t remember his name) has already turned into the angry black man. I think there’s a bit of lost-ness on both of their parts. The black man is so angry, I swear I saw him point to an oil spot on the road and say that it was the white man’s way of saying black folks aren’t better than a box of Wheaties. That might be confusing for some.

Me too.

Conversely, the white dude is so oblivious that they held a KKK rally in front of their house and the white dude just said they were Sheet salesmen from Sears. The boy sucks, the wives need to just oil up and fight now. At least the girl isn’t dumb enough to think that she really is going to be a black person. Also…did you see the newfound love the two white folks found when they changed colors? Man…I felt dirty just watching them as they lusted for eachother in their new skins. Somebody needs to take on THAT angle, STAT. Shit, two seconds as black folks and they were ready to get that jungle love going. And yes, junglebunny has to be one of the strangest racial slurs ever.

This show will clearly be discussed weekly while its on.

-The new season of America’s Next Top Model has started. And similar to Black.White., I damn near hate every chick on the show thus far. Except the racist white Republican chick who didn’t make it into the house. I love her. She needs a reality show quick. I want to see her in a house with Flavor Flav or Crunchy Black. Some cable exec had to be watching ANTM and realized the gold mine that she is. Questioning why any black person would work at Abercrombie & Fitch (since we don’t wear clothes like those) and THEN countering with, “I mean, I wouldn’t get a job at FUBU…” Classic. I love her. That’s how I like my racists: honest, unapologetic, and totally unafraid to expose themselves on national television while trying to CONVINCE people to give them a chance. Oh yeah, I also like my racists to not believe they are racists…that’s how you drive up ratings.

As far as the rest of the cast, they picked one helluva psychologically jacked up cast. Jade, the “bi-racial butterfly” who is so arrogant that even I hate her (and trust me, that’s saying somethign), to the Confused Asian chick, to the black woman who’s mama needs to be slapped 18 ways from July 4th, FURONDA…

STOP.

I know a lot of black folks are on this whole idea of: why must we conform with our name choices to mainstream society? We shouldn’t be discriminated against for being the creative people that we are. Well, black people, there you go. This is what happens when we decide to go that creative route. Her name is Furonda. Unless there is an African country, river, village, or juju-bee named Furonda, I assume her momma likes fur. We need to have some kind of naming Commission or something. I’ll even volunteer to head it up. If you come with a WACKTASTIC name you get the gas face, the thizz face, and Joan Rivers should be able to slap you with a used tire. Then…as an additional punishment, you are either given the name Bob (not Robert…Bob) if your kid is a boy, or Rebecca if it’s a girl, by default. No if’s, ands or buts about it.

Continued. Danielle is alright except for her teeth. She has the Tyson Beckford grill. It’s kind of like the Foreman Grill, only this one gives you a burger with pockets. Then there’s Mollie Sue…this is the current white equivalent of Furonda. It is now 2006. She is no older than say 25. What in blue thunder were her parents thinking in the early 80’s? I knew a chick in high school named Molly. She was handicapped and drove one of those scooters and used to run over everybody in the hallway. Shit….

…she’d take out your ankles in a New York Minuute. Which is something like what’s left of Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillipe’s marriage.

And Nnenna ain’t that fine…she just has a good backstory and gives good face. Which sounds like porn lingo.

-My favorite channel right now, vh1, is running their “I Love Toys” special. And do you know The Big Wheel was ranked like number 30 something? THE BIG WHEEL??? One of the most revolutionary toys ever. For the record, the voters have come up with a list of the 100 best toys and their staff of B-List celebrities are discussing them. It’s great. I’d love to work there. In fact that has supplanted, Be One of the men Halle Berry runs off, as my number one goal in life now…work for vh1.

Just a great show like all the rest of their shows.

vh1 also had the DMC Adoption special. That was heartwarming. I wonder what the over/under on the number of days before one of his newfound brothers or sister and mother asks for some money. I’m saying it took 2 weeks. Any bets?

And of course, vh1 has the Flavor of Love finale. I might shed a tear. We need more Flavor Flav in our lives.

BREAK IN THE PROGRAMMING FOR APOLOGY FROM JACKSON G. TICKLE ENTERPRISES PUBLIC RELATIONS MANAGER:

Panama Jackson would like to apologize upfront for the following transgression. The temptation was too strong and he could not stop himself. That is all. All questions and beefs may be targeted here.

-I watched College Hill on BET last night. I couldn’t resist. I didn’t even know it was coming on I just happened to be scrolling thru my channels and there it was. So I went to view it and see which HBCU was next to call their morality into question. This season, the winner/loser is Virginia State University. They even managed to get a white Paul Wall-ish dude into the house. They ran two episodes yesterday. So far the Puerto Rican chick is clearly going to be the hell raiser. She’s gone topless in the jacuzzi DURING HOMECOMING WITH A BUNCH OF FOLKS IN HER PRESENCE and got upset because niggas weren’t acting right.

Ummm…riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

Somehow, one of the dudes in the house still hangs with his 44 year old frat brother (they are Ques) who comes into a house full of 18-22 year olds and tries to holler at the women. This dude might need to be easy because he has that R.Kelly-Woody Allen look in his eyes the whole time. But this cast doesn’t seem so bad yet though the entire first two episodes were dedicated to who was going to “hook up” which is funny because apparently black folks are starting to use that term, though ironically, when one of the black folks said it, I knew exactly what that meant…fucking.

Don’t you love how I just totally misused the word “ironically” in that sentence?

Between all of vh1’s quality programming and all of these other can’t miss shows, looks to be one hell of a season for TV watching.

And I’d like to once again apologize for watching BET, but at least I didn’t watch the Lil Kim series…my hypocrisy only goes so far.

Good Night and Good luck.

Ichiban bitches.

[***I hear that there's some dude out there named Panama who writes long posts. I'm sure glad I'm not him. Ole long winded self! Yes, that means this is long. ***]

Who knew one song could cause so much intra-race controversy?

It’s been a few days since the world found out that it is, indeed, hard out here for a pimp. Three 6 Mafia couldn’t have predicted that a year ago, a song they were commissioned to do for an indepedent movie would be placed on center stage during Hollywood’s biggest night. After all, they were just doing what they were asked to do; create some original songs for the pimp-turned-rapper, DJay, to perform in the movie that pertained to his pimpin’ lifestyle.

And now, “It’s Hard Out Here For A Pimp” won an accolade that many people wish to have on their resume.

And a lot of black folks are pissed. Which isn’t surprising.

And the title of this post had little to do with anything, I just like the song. It’s by Blue Oyster Cult.

Rock on!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There have been articles all over the internet, national newspapers (more specifically, the Washington Post ran two articles that I’m aware of) on both sides of the coin. Some people are happy that they won, or think that it was good for hip-hop while others are completely aghast, disappointed, pissed, and offended.

I believe that some black folks think this is akin to “Plymouth rock landing on us…again…followed by Chris Rock, Rock ‘n Roll, and Prudential.”

You know, piece of mind, it comes with every piece of the rock.

*rimshot*

Hell, I’ve heard people refer to Three 6 Mafia’s winning of the Oscar as confirmation of white America’s love for black modern day minstrel shows.

Others hate that black stereotypes are lauded.

Well, you get the picture. A lot of black people are very upset with this.

And in some ways, I can understand…but that’s only because I’m very aware that a lot of black people care a whole hell of a lot about white people’s perception of us. Somehow, it seems that our own self-perception is tied into how white America views us.

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, black folks are full of shit.

Why do we care so gotdamned much about how they see us? Really. I want to know.

Black people are so full of concern over our image (as it was pointed out to me last night, and I can’t believe I never thought about this, but we even have the NAACP Image Awards…good God) that we hate anything that can be deemed contrary to what we would like our image to be.

Mind you, I understand the need for balance. To be honest, I’d wager that there is more balance nowadays, outside of mainstream hiphop, than there ever has been before. I can’t think of a single scripted show featuring majority black people on television that doesn’t feature upwardly mobile, well-to-do black people. Black people with degrees and businesses, etc. You know, the people like a lot of us. With the image that we want.

And you know my problem with that? It’s all steeped in how we want to be viewed by larger society…you know, white people.

How in the hell can we progress if our entire self-image is rooted in how we would like to look to white people?

And I’m no better at times. I pride myself on usually not giving a flying fuck what most white people think about me. I kind of march to my own beat most of the time anyway, so even black folks are confused. But there are times when I’m just as guilty of caring about white people’s opinions as the next person. And that is stupid.

It’s impossible to improve your own situation when you’re too busy trying to make sure you look good to a group that, for the most part, doesn’t give a shit what image you put out there. How can we, as black folks, even figure out what’s best for us as a community (assuming that any of us really do give a shit about that community thing since I figure most folks care about what white folks think because of how it might negatively impact them as individuals) if our entire goal is to make sure that white people see that some of us do have degrees and jobs.

Especially when they already know that since they give some of us jobs. Begrudingly at times, but they do.

For the most part, I manage to live my life according to my own liking. And do you know why? Go ahead…take a gander…

…it’s because I’m free.

We have a long way to go in race relations. Clearly, but last I checked, I was free. I didn’t have to live my life dictated by the whims and musings of white people.

So why do so many of us do that? Why do we try to do all the things that one wouldn’t typically associate with black. Hell…why do some folks think they have to dissociate themselves period?? I’ll never understand that.

And speaking on race relations, I find it funny that we want mainstream media, and essentially white America’s perception of us to be perfect…because don’t get it twisted, we don’t want them to have a balanced view of us, we want them to think of us as equals, but in that equality lies a want to be considered as educated people who are as successful as they are at many different ventures. Anytime we can show white folks that we aren’t all poor, we make strides to do so.

But…we also want white people to still recognize racism. It’s like we want white people to look in the mirror and say, “yes you fucked over black people, but still they rise, like the tides. and despite the slip and slides, they rise…they took all that racism and made it anyway.”

Come on…how realistic is that? We want instant gratification and recognition. It’s going to take some time. Hell, we JUST started getting into white schools almost 50 years ago. And that took a landmark Supreme Court case. It isn’t like we were welcomed with open arms, an apple, and some Mentos.

The freshmaker.

Hell, do you even realize that the entire last few paragraphs were all about our dealings with white people? And how we want them to essentially welcome us to the table? Are you still reading right now anyway?

Why don’t we care more about what’s going on inside our our communities first…then worry about what the hell else white folks think? It isn’t like racism is going anywhere anytime soon anyway. Just because we THINK that they look at us differently doesn’t mean they do does it? Or is that what it’s all about anyway…

…we just want to FEEL better about ourselves…and if we feel white folks feel good about us, then maybe we will feel good about us too.

Man, I miss Ice Cube from 1991. For all of the criticism he caught, he had the right idea. Focus on us first, fuck how they think.

This is why we can’t rise as a people, X. It has nothing to do with Three 6 Mafia. They won that award because the Academy didn’t give a shit about how we view ourselves. They liked the song. Same reason Terrence Howard was nominated for his role, because he played a good ass pimp (no pun intended).

Somebody needs to do a study on why we’re so good at portraying the very stereoypes we rail against.

And on why we care so damn much what white people think…please, somebody explain it to me.

(And on how we can keep Flavor Flav on TV for as long as possible, with a possible reality show featuring Crunchy Black as well.)

(Most Known Unknowns no longer…now white people know who you are.)

“Crunchy Black has an Oscar. We have to prepare ourselves for the fact that the world may be coming to an end.” ~ semi-incorrect words (Cruncy Black actually isn’t one of the authors or producers of the song…hence he didn’t really win shit…but the sentiment is still right) uttered by my boy The Great, shortly after Queen Latifah announced to the world that members of Three 6 Mafia won the oscar for Best Original Song.

And I couldn’t be happier. Well aside from the potential end of the world, but I had a good run.

Seriously.

Admittedly, I’m black.

Yes I know. Shocking. What that means is that much like every other black person that can read or even knows who Truman Capote was, I was a tad nervous as to what the Three 6 Mafia was going to bring to the stage last night. Nervous might not be the right word.

Terrified might be more appropos.

Honestly, I hid under my couch while they were performing. Okay, that was dumb. I don’t have a couch. I have a futon.

But lo and behold, Three 6 gave us the absolute whitest rendition of that song they could give, complete with white interpretive dancers and…fuck it, they gave us interpretive dancers period. There was actual choreography (and they thanked the choreographer on stage…who saw THAT coming?) to give the song somewhat of a more finessed feel. And it worked. I’m as amazed as anybody else, but it worked. It was a good performance. Very white (mainstream), but good.

After it was over…I made sure to look out my window to see if time had magically reverted back to the mid-1800’s. Apparently, they DID NOT set us back.

Even Taraji Henson was lovely, if not a smidge out of place in her Oscar gown. I love her. She’s so ‘hood it’s ridiculous.

To cap off the toned down performance, Taraji Henson ended the song with a run that I couldn’t find on my Hustle & Flow soundtrack for shit. I listened over and over again and it just wasn’t there. Yes, I own it. And love it.

Basically, they did what anybody put in their position would do. They made you focus on the actual song as opposed to the people delivering it.

Which is the EXACT opposite of what a good 99% of us expected.

We ain’t shit.

A damn shame how sometimes we forget that though some of these rappers seem to exude ghetto-ocity in everything they do, they are ultimately smart people who have made moves and shakes to be successful at their chosen field. We don’t give them much credit apparently. And we can argue about their business acumen later, but you will be wrong.

However, as surprised as I was at the performance, NOTHING prepared me for the fact that they would actually win the Oscar for Best Original Song…against Dolly “My Boobs Are Too Big To Box With God” Parton.

And once again, I couldn’t be happier.

Since they are black, out of nowhere, we got the obligatory…”thank you Jesus.”

Good times.

But back to the surprise of them winning. You know, I know a lot of black folks who have disdain for the movie and further couldn’t care less about no damn “It’s Hard Out Here For A Pimp” song. Me, I love the song. I’ll be the first to tell you.

I’m a fan of Three 6 Mafia. I’m not saying that they are the best rappers out there, but I’ll be damned if they can’t put together a good album. And who wasn’t bumping “Stay Fly (High)” since last summer? But many a nigra was downright offended by the Oscar’s choice of that song. Not even realizing how good the song was IN RELATION TO THE MOVIE. It fit the movie to a “T”…which is the POINT.

[***Sidenote: What the fuck does that saying "to a T" mean anyway? Is it because the the horizontal line sits right up there perfectly balanced in the actual formation of the "T"? And does it matter if its lowercase? Also, does that take into account the use of nails and other hardware in today's societ? Inquiring minds would like to know. ***]

We fell into the old, “well see we only get nominated for shit like that…” Yada yada yada. And since there were so many people who either hated or loved the movie, black people that is, had we been voting, it wouldn’t have won.

Thank God for white people. Oh, and the Academy… who are the ones who voted for that song to win. Oh right, I had the Academy covered by saying white people. Let Halle, Denzel, and Jamie Foxx in and I done plum forgot that that’s only 4.

Speaking of which, somebody needs to get Denzel’s vote card…STAT. I wonder which song he voted for? Because you KNOW Jamie Foxx voted for “…Pimp” to win. Did you see how happy he was??? I myself just laughed for a good 5 minutes. In glee bitches, in glee.

Hell, now I’m waiting for them to drop their next album featuring the lead-single, club banger, “Bitch I Got An Oscar”. I think it would go something like this:

“they hatin’ on us but we did it/so fuck all them hatin’ violatin’ ass bitches/you bitch nigga’s sittin at home had to watch us/cuz I’m Juicy J and Bitch I got an Oscar”

Speaking of which…on the song “Stay Fly (High)”, Juicy J quips: “I ain’t Denzel, but I know I’m a star”. Well, now you and Denzel have both been recognized by the Academy. You both have Oscars. What are the odds of seeing a collabo between Jamie Foxx, Denzel, and Three 6 Mafia doing a song called “Oscar Nigga!”

There’s so much potential out there now.

Also, what are the odds on Kanye deciding that he wants an Oscar now too. He is doing the song for “Mission Impossible 3.” Will we have to hear him bitch and moan if he doesn’t win next year? Probably…but fuck him today, because Three 6 Mafia is on top of the world.

As much as we want to hate on them, those niggas got themselves an Oscar. In the famous words of Jon Stewart:

“Martin Scorcese zero Oscar’s, Three 6 Mafia…one!”

Collar’s were popped, clubs were torn up, spinners were rode, two-ways were exchanged with freaks, and sizzurp was sipped.

And George Clooney got bigged up.

“You leave you’re Oscar ’round me, bitch you’re Oscar gonna get snatched up…”

Good damn job.