Hi, my name is Panama.

You know, Noriega. The real Noriega. But he don’t owe me any favors.

You might remember me from such informercials and educational tools as Panama “Mr. Oh So Sexxy” Jackson’s Guide to Obtaining Your Second “X” (The Guide to Being Sexxy) and How To Become Unattractive in 10 Minutes Or Less.

And before we go any further, we will take a quick commercial break to hear a cautionary word from our sponsors, Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises.

*white noise*

*unwhite noise…I guess we’d call this rap music…oh, wait…that’s right…nevermind*

We here at Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises would like to go on record as stating that there is some misinformation being placed into the atmosphere and clubs worldwide. The culprits probably don’t know that they are in direct violation of the G-Code (whoadie) but they are. So, we’d just like to get the books straight so we don’t have to hang Bird of the Midnight Falcons out of anymore windows. Justin Timberlake and Timbaland are not bringing sexxy back.

I repeat, they are not bringing sexxy back. Panama Jackson never let it go in the first place.

Thank you.

I slay me. I really do.

*chuckle*

Back to the lecture at hand.

Today I’d like to drop a gem on ‘em. A jewel, if you will. A bunch of jewels. She said she wanted diamonds, I took her to Ruby Tuesdays. I assume that quite a few of you out there are club goers and probably have some innate level of cool about you. Which means that at some point, you just might throw a party yourself, in a box, or with a fox; in a house, or with a mouse (word to Mickey); here or there, or perhaps, even anywhere.

Perhaps you even like green eggs and ham. However, I do not, like them…just call me Pan-ama.

Okay, that indeed was dumb.

So say you want to throw a party and you’re scrambling like crazy to come up with the perfect playlist and the proper placement for each and every song.

True story: I went to a wedding in Miami in July and the bride and groom asked me to put together a playlist for the BBQ/Picnic they were having. I both love and hate those tasks. I love them because I love putting these things together but I hate them because I know how much time I’m going to spend on these things. I will lose days. And I did. Do you know I pieced together a good 6 hours of music, song by song, deliberately, and they didn’t even use it. Somebody forgot to bring the stereo. The moral of the story? Wear shower shoes in college dorms.

Well, I’m here to give you a heads up on 5 sure shot songs that you can NEVER EVER go wrong with. In fact, your party just might not be a party if these 5 songs don’t get played. They are club bangers that work everywhere. And why am I doing this? It’s because I love and care about you. I do this for my culture, ya know and this is so gangsta…that for real…

…after this flow you might owe me a favor.

Top shelf, Patron level information I’m providing here for those who have been previously unprovided for.

Just call me welfare.

Club bangers, ninja. That’s what I want.

You know, I see a few confused souls out there who are like…”dude, what is a club banger?”

Glad you asked; it gives me a reason to do a definition.

Club banger. noun. from the Latin for clubbus bangerustosticus. Or the Roman (Georgia) for webeclubbineyayeyay. 1) a song that will cause every one within earshot to go into momentary paralysis as they realize (and often times proclaim) “that’s my song (or shit)” and begin to gyrate in gyratious gyratastics. 2) songs that DJ keeps in arsenal for when the people aren’t seeming so into the mix he’s playing. 3) songs that inevitably require everybody to smile and like eachother for at least 1 minute as people search out individuals to dance with.

Now that we’ve gotten the definition out of the way, let us discuss the demographics we’re targeting here. You can’t just break out these club bangers and expect the Jibbs crowd to get it. In fact, if you listen to Jibbs, you should just go shoot yourself right now. Demographically speaking, we’re dealing with the 23 and up set, with at least a sizable amount of African-Americans as we all know that in clubs, when Black people start dancing, white people start watching and will begin to mimic what you’re doing.

You know, I’ve actually seen some white folks outdance Black folks. And despite the fact that I’m playing into the stereotypes of ninjas and their dancing, truth is truth. That was a sad sad day in Black America. What next…tall Chinese basketball players?? Get out of here…

Hey, are you ready?

Like ready ready?

By the way…what I’m doing? Gettin’ money? What we doin’? Gettin’ money? Stuntin’ like my daddy. Stuntin’ like my daddy.

I just felt like sharing…and we all know…*class?* Sharing is caring!

5 SONGS THAT ARE GUARANTEED TO GET YOUR PARTY STARTED RIGHT, GET YOUR PARTY STARTED QUICKLY…RIGHT?

And by the way, you should NEVER play C+C Music Factory UNLESS there are 8 white people per 1 Black person. In which case we would call that corporate America. Or a country club. Either way, don’t do it.

1. BBD - “Poison“

Good googly moogly (that thang is juicy). I wonder if they knew the monster they had on their hands when they created this song. Going strong for at least 16 years now, this song is guaranteed to get any crowd off their asses. For one, the drumbreak introduction is one of the most famous you’ll ever hear. Everybody knows it. In fact, if you know somebody who has never heard of this song and couldn’t identify it from it’s introduction…you should stop hanging with them. They might get you killed. Seriously.

Why is this song a club banger? Well, for one, it warms you up all on its own and lets you pretend you’re about to turn this mother out. “You ready…Ron? I’m ready Slick…are you?…*drumbreak*…Girl I must warrrrrrrn youuuuuu…”

It allows you to relive your days as an aspiring dancer and is always a good time to showcase any moves you actually remember from the early 90s. Basically, you do NOT want to see me when this song comes on. Son, I’m taking you OUT!!!!

Listen very carefully though, it’s important to know when to play this song. You can’t play it too early. This is the type of song you play when the crowd has filled in nicely and folks are kind of in that ready-to-party-but-waiting-for-their-jam mode. Once you throw this on, you are required to keep the party moving.

Lucky for you I’ve got four more songs guaranteed to do just that. Allons y.

2. Prince - “Kiss”

Another song with an instantly recognizable intro. You know what makes this song great? I’ll tell you what makes this song great. It allows folks to be really playful with any person of the opposite sex in their purview. It is also a great song to snag the guy/gal you’ve been eyeing and using this song as the icebreaker. Of course it requires one to have the balls enough to go request a dance but hey…that’s not my talk show. I’ve always loved this song because it speaks right to my heart. For one, I’m not rich. I mean I’m cool…but shit, nowhere NEAR as cool as Prince…and he’s right…ain’t no particular time…aw fuck it…you’re only there because you really want their…emm…kiss.

In fact, there is no reason NOT to get up and dance with this song playing. If you are out with a bunch of chicks who sit when this song is on then they have issues beyond repair (or have no legs) or they have jealous boyfriends at home. And since we all know that most men suck and will stand and watch women dance anyway, I put the honus on women to put out some pheromones to let the men pick up the slack.

Aside: None of these songs should be played before there is a sizable crowd in the venue. Further, this song (”Kiss”) should not be played until you have a sizable number of women dancing but not really getting it as they wait for the men to make their moves.

Another Aside: I absofuckin’lutely HATE the Cha-Cha Slide but for some reason its a popular dance song. However it has its place (weddings, bat mitzvahs, circumcisions,etc). That place is not at a club dammit. If you play the Cha-Cha Slide I will want to cut you with a rusty barnacle and a Bette Midler Special Edition DVD of Beaches (though I really like that movie).

3. Maze featuring Frankie Beverly - “Before I Let Go“

Also known as the Black National Anthem. And you can take that “Lift Every Voice And Sing” mambo jambo elsewhere. Hell, how many of you actually KNOW the second and third verse of “Lift Every Voice”? Hell…how many of you didn’t even know, until just now, that there was more than one verse?? But who DOESN’T know the words to “Before I Let Go”?

Mmhmm.

This song never has a wrong time to be played. People of all ages know and love this song…except people who limit their music choices to BET’s 106 & Park. This feelgood song will get everybody participating. Even the dudes holding up the wall might begin to sway and move into the center of the room on this one. Infectious, engaging, and just downright fun…PLUS…it’s another song you can use to holler at somebody in a playful and unaggressive manner. You get to hand-dance and everything and sing to them, “Before I let you gooooooooooooooooooooo-oooo-ooooo-oooo…I’ll never never never never” Well you get the point.

And if you don’t? The Drop Squad is coming for you. Your Blackness is in question.

Dude, there REALLY was a bunch of white kids from Long Island who called themselves Young Black Teenagers and ran that whole, Black is a state of mind spiel. I still laugh at that. Somehow I bet they’re all successful right now.

4. Luke - “Scarred“

You must be very careful when you pull this song out. For one, you are about to send your party to DefCon 3. The gazillion beats per minute will have everybody moving. Anybody who isn’t moving…is a cop.

The right time to throw this song on is right when you see your partygoers on the edge. They’re really dancing and having a good time but they need that extra zing to push them over. But be careful…once you go here, there’s no turning back. You might have to officially turn your party into a sweatbox. Ya know, this is one song where I’ve actually seen people lose their damn minds over. Which is a good thing. I’m a Southern cat. When this comes on, I’m putting in work and if you’re a female within 6 inches of me…you will be putting in work as well. This is the part of the party where folks forget that they’re trying to keep up appearances. Only a few songs render people helpless to their club self-image, but anybody who cares so much about how they look when this song comes on that they refuse to really move either 1) can’t dance for shit, or 2) is a bad person.

Hands down.

Actually, throw your hands up!

And last but not least…one of the most famous songs that will ALWAYS get your party going…

5. E.U. - “Da Butt“

Lisa got a big ole butt…oh yeah!!

This song never gets old and everybody can participate. And should participate. Much like “Scarred”, many a person will just say to hell with it and get down with the get down. As well they should. The go-go song that will live on forever in the hearts and minds of lads and lasses everywhere.

“Gimme dat butt”. You know…that’s kind of suggestive, no?

I really don’t even know what to say about this one aside from no party is complete unless this song has been played. It’s like a mall with no Gap…it’s incomplete like a Sisqo song written by Montell Jordan. It’s lacking like Paris Hilton’s clothing. It sucks like Jenna Jameson. It blows like pops.

And besides…what other song do you know specifically requests gratuitous ass wrangling. Fellas, if she doesn’t want you wrangling her ass, she wouldn’t dance with you.

You betta know dat.

These are but a smattering of songs that will get a party going, but I’d contend that these just may be the top 5 club bangers that will guarantee that the patrons of your party participate proactively on the parquet.

Go, run with the wolves and use this information wisely. Heed the words of one wise, Stanley Burrell, and…

…turn this motha out.

[***DISCLAIMER: This post might offend some of you single, well-to-do, upwardly mobile, black women out there who complain about the lack of equally yokeded black men in the population. I just figured I'd let you know upfront and ahead of time. And in case you want to spit venom my way, find your way over to www.idontgiveas***.com ***]

On Sunday, the Washington Post ran an article entitled “Singled Out: In Seeking a Mate, Men and Women Find Delicate Imbalance”. It’s a good article about a young 31 year old woman who has been trying to find a suitable black man to date in the Washington area and the sometimes trials and tribulations that go along with that task. You see, in DC (and surely in every other city across this vast nation of ours), a black woman is at a disadvantage when it comes to finding a black man who is on her “level” to date and eventually marry.

For shame.

In fact, the article points out some very disturbing statistics. Take a gander:

“…31-year-old black woman seeking to marry a black man, which lands her in the heart of the most uncoupled demographic in the United States. For every 100 single black women, there are 70 single black men, according to recent U.S. Census Bureau figures, a number that does not take into account the prison population or men living in group homes. In the Washington area, there are 83 single black men for every 100 single black women.”

Egads! As the article states, it would seem like a dating smorgasboard for me in Washington, DC.

And I suppose that on paper, that would be the case. Hell, I’m a single, educated, sexxy (back), Black man in DC. Technically speaking, I should be tired as hell from all of the women running amok looking for a man. Oh, AND, I’d like to get married (well, for this week anyway).

But there are a few things this article fails to mention. Aside from the obvious fact that there are just more women, especially Black women graduating and getting those well-paying jobs, etc….there is one little facet of human nature that all of these articles totally gloss over.

Let me lay something on the table for you, upfront: women are better people than men are. I will always believe that. I get proof of this fact on damn near a daily basis. I know lots of great men, but I know loads of great women. I see the evil that men do and the Hell that a lot of us put women through.

[***DISCLAIMER #2: This is not to say that women aren't full of shit evil bastards, either. Let's be real, just because it seems that more men are on that non-sense, there are tons of chicks who aren't shit and believe that the crap they do isn't really that problematic either. I just wanted to go on record with that one. Plus, when women decide to be evil, I think they tend to trump anything a dude can think of...youbettaknowdat. ***]

The point to be made about women being better people than men is this: men are more shallow.

Hi, my name is Panama, and I am a shallow fucker. It’s true.

Oh yeah, it’s true.

Thing is, I’m not apologetic about it either. For one, I’m not old enough to not be shallow, and b) I don’t think being shallow is a problem.

Which is where a lot of these problems come in. Allow me to make one significantly fucked up statement that I might actually dispell before I’m done writing this:

All of these single women running around here complaining about not being able to find a man aren’t exactly hot.

As in, a lot of them are unfine.

Being a shallow man, I can attest to this fact.

[***DISCLAIMER #3: Yes, I know that a lot of the women running around single are indeed fine. In fact, I'm often surprised by some of the women I come across who are manless. Which leads me to believe that some women are just as picky as they claim we are. Sure it might not be in looks, but it for damn sure is picky in other areas, like the ability to read. I hear that's a big one. ***]

Let’s be honest here. Just because there is a single man and a single woman out there who have the same levels of education, etc. Fuck it, just because you have two ninjas who are equally yoked does not mean that there should be a connection made. Ideally, it would be nice.

Unfortunately God gifted the majority of us with the ability to see. Sometimes that is a detriment to the dating process. Being the shallow bastard that I am, I’m well aware that there are some women out there who would make great girlfriends, hell, even wives…but I saw them first, which precluded me ever actually wanting to find out anything about them.

Sheesh. In all honestly, how many Hell points do you think I could get for that last paragraph alone?

My guess is beaucoup.

Plus if you throw in the chemistry factor, you’re looking at even less connectivity. We’re talking T-Mobile here…not Cingular.

I’ll use myself as an example. Since 2001, there have been three women in my life who have utterly captured my attention (they were all fine by the way…remember, I’m shallow, I refuse to fall in love with an ugly woman…and the Hell points keep coming). Interestingly, they all taught me things about myself. The first one taught me what I didn’t want in a woman, the second one taught me what I did want and showed me that there are some characteristics I just can’t deal with even if everything else is right, and the third one showed me that what I thought was impossible does actually exist…it just didn’t work out.

However, there have been a gazillion chicks in and around those women who for whatever reason just didn’t quite jive with what I wanted.

All fine. Tastefully nude, but all fine.

I always found it funny though, that nearly all of those women were ready to settle down and be with me for the long haul. Of course, this was my first experience with women really being worried about not finding a man seeing as they pretty much were willing to put up with some bullshit. Like, no lie. Did I take advantage of some of those situations, I suppose you could say that I did.

Then again, I’m also a believer that folks will only do to you what you let them do. Myself included.

My problem with these articles is that they totally leave everything to what the dating scene looks like on paper. And it isn’t only men who are tossing some of these women to the side. It goes both ways. Plus, when you add in the locations of some of these disparities, it adds a whole new layer of problems.

I mean, everybody knows that the further North you go, the more unattractive (on average) the women get.

*waiting on the WHAT THE FUCK? statements from unruly Northern women*

Yeah, I said it.

Despite the assholish nature I’ve displayed here, I do feel bad for women. The numbers don’t lie. There is a male shortage, and I can only date so many women.

That’s a joke.

I mean, 70 men for every 100 women means that no matter what happens, there are going to be some unmarried women out there. And that just doesn’t seem right. Mostly because it seems like the women with the most to offer usually end up being the odd ones out.

*hugs*

And when you throw in Black men dating white women, I suppose the number gets even smaller. That paints a very bleak picture. PLUS so many Black women really do want to marry Black men (as I want to marry a Black woman too), it just seems kind of sad.

On a side note, I’ve always found it funny how many Black women I know who have told me that they don’t know how they’d react to me dating a white woman…

…despite my mother being white.

Which is funny because I think my mother wants me to date a white woman. Or at least that’s how it feels when she tells me I need to be more “diverse” in my dating options. Of course, having a white mother but being raised by a Black woman in a Black household in Black surroundings tends to skew you one particular way…but still. I just don’t seem to get a fair shake on this one.

I do know that a lot of these articles fail to mention the attractiveness ratio that occurs (or doesn’t occur) with a lot of the women they tend to find. I mean, dude, a lot of us are still young enough to care what we’re bringing home. And if you’re like me, you have your own history to compete with. Though, I’m not actually sure I could date a woman who would be classified as a dime (10). I haven’t quite worked that one out in my head, but I think I prefer 8’s.

It seems that most 8’s tend to have come into their 8-dom over time and haven’t been fine forever, which means they don’t have the pretty-girl-for-life attitude that makes them damn near socially unfuckwitable. Basically, I like women who used to be ugly but turned pretty. They’re just more down to Earth.

Man, sometimes I amaze myself with the shit I say.

Chemistry and attractiveness are two facets of this dating demographic that always get left out and I think for our age group (25-34), they’re just as important as the ability to both know who the hell Yoyo Ma is. Besides, all of that culture shit is just what you use to impress the other party anyway. Yeah, it’s great that you’ve been to plays and all but how does that effect if we’re able to laugh at the same things? Or if I take you to my neighborhood you won’t freak the hell out because there are true to life crackheads chillin’ on the corner.

Sure, I’m glad you can read, but do you look good reading naked while we look like two peas in a pod?

Somehow, that simple question always gets left out of these articles.

…her name is Cocaine.”

That’s a shoutout to anybody and everybody who was in Atlanta in the early 90’s when a certain shitty rapper named Kilo (later changing his name to Kilo Ali) hit the scene with his first local hit of the same name, “Cocaine”.

I’ll admit, the song was hot. I just have a personal beef with Kilo. You see, he’s from the Westside of Atlanta, Bankhead Region, Bowen Homes projects to be exact. It’s long been known as one of the realest hoods in Atlanta. One way in, one way out. I have a pass. My family has a long standing history of residency in Bowen Homes. Basically, I actually know who the hell the ninja referred to as Black is.

Bowen Homes is also featured in Outkast’s “Bombs Over Baghdad” video when Dre is running through the projects with a throng of pint-sized potential criminals chasing him. There is also one killer fireworks display in there every 4th of July.

Anyway, long story short, Kilo shot my cousin. In the leg, mind you. My cousin lived after that, but I’ve hated Kilo since then. Mostly because it was over some chick. This was before Kilo was Rappin’ Ass Kilo, but still, that ninja shot my cousin.

Fucker.

I wonder if you can call it a tangent if it has nothing to do with what you intended to discuss, but you start off-topic. Like, it’s a tangent…but it’s not a tangent, ya know.

We shall call what I just did, cosine.

Math 101. Get educated, bitch!

I’m sure you’ve heard the stink about a popular new energy drink intended to rival the crack-inspired, feather-fronting drink, Red Bull. This new drink has a name unlike any other name, but it’s a name that carries appeal with people of all races being as in its normal context, its debated, disputed, hated and viewed in America as a motherfuckin’ drug (like you didn’t experiment).

Yes, the name of this newest energy drink is indeed, Cocaine.

I’m not making that up.

Like for real.

You over there in the pink Parka politicking to Portishead, you don’t believe me do you?

*shaking head*

Well, fine then, go on over here and check out the website at Drink Cocaine dot com.

Oy vey.

This might be the only time I do this, but I’d like everybody, regardless of racial or ethnic background, white, Black, Jewish, Buddhist, Christian, Muslim, atheist, etc. to repeat after me…and let’s make sure we do this one altogether, mmkay?

Ready?

Repeat after me: THAT IS SOME BLACK SHIT!

*crowd repeats in unison showing that we can come together for a common goal*

I’ve been trying to find pictures of the Board of Commisioners who came up with this idea. Despite my thinking that this was probably conceived of and executed by a group of young white people who weren’t afraid to push the envelope, they have inherently created in my mind, some Black shit.

Common sense be damned.

And it’s only some Black shit in the idea that I could see Pookie and Ray-Ray on the corner like, “yo, this Red Bull shit is that crack son!! (a notion I’ve shared on numerous occasions) Yo…what if…and I don’t think you gonna be feelin’ me Ray Ray…but for real…we should make this shit and and call it Cocaine….you know ninjas would be all over that shit!!”

See, that’s how all great ideas start. A simple conversation between two ninjas who are much smarter than you might realize.

According to the site, the name is merely a play on the effects that result from consuming the drink, which I suppose, are cocaine like in nature. I wouldn’t know. I’m like the two girls in Nas’ “Black Girl Lost” song:

“…not that white stuff…”

I treat cocaine like 7Up, I never have I never will.

I just want to know who greenlighted the idea to call it Cocaine and thought it was going to be okay. I mean, had they wanted to call it Crack…do you think they’d have gotten the greenlight?

Hell, I want to sit in on the conversation that occurred where the idea was thrown out there where somebody was like, “yo, you know what ain’t in the market place? Product names with illegal drug names. I’ve been floating this idea out there about new babypowder called PCP but for some reason that just isn’t quite catching on with the execs upstairs. But I’m telling you, its an untapped market!! Hey wait…I got one…cocaine makes people crazy and energetic and murderous and rapist, but overall energetic…we should call an ENERGY DRINK…COCAINE!!!!”

Hmm…I take it back, that is not some Black shit, that is indeed some white shit.

Actually, it’s kind of a cross section…it’s some bi-racial shit. Mixed feelings like a mulatto.

I’ll tell you one thing, you’ll NEVER catch me with a can of Cocaine in my hands. Shiiiit…do you know what the penalty is for having 300 grams of Cocaine on you?? Especially the way this janky ass justice system works. I’ll be minding my own business walking down the street, minding my own business, drinking my pre-cooked Crack, when the police jump-squad me and throw me in jail for possession with intent to distribute cocaine. Nevermind that its a damn drink.

I feel like that little fact would get lost in translation somewhere. Not much trust for the federal justice system have I.

My thing is…how come nobody’s come up with a legal product called Marijuana yet? In fact, they should start calling NyQuil, Marijuana. Same effects and I always wake up hungry. And it’s not addictive, but you sure feel better after takign a hit of NyQuil right?? Puts me right to sleep.

By the way, I’ve never smoked marijuana once in my life.

The more you know. *ding*

Since I have nothing else to say here, I’ll just say this:

Long live drugs.

[***Yeah, you know it's long.***]

So yesterday was totally tomorrow on Monday.

A ninja apologize. You know you’re doing something right when you get emails from people asking you where the second half of a story is.

So our story ended up with our heroes, Panama Muhfuckin’ and Frank White finally returning from a night out with a strange woman in a strange land eating strange pizza and going to our respective abodes for sleep at roughly 415am only to wake up at…

…drum roll please…

…8am.

For no good gotdamn reason at all. Actually, I woke up at 8 am and began watching The Fantastic Four. Frank Nitty (he got the keys to the city) woke up around 830am…because I had the damn TV on.

I’m going to do this half a little bit differently than I did the first half. Mostly because there has to be a more interesting way to tell you what happened at the wedding. In fact, I shall do it in my standard, Things I Learned manner…and boy did I learn some shit.

I only tell you how early we woke up because apparently after being drunk off of your ass, waking up and being fully cognizant after a cool 4 hours of sleep is not normal. Who knew? One of the hostesses said she didn’t know how we could get hammered the way we did and be up all early and shit raring to go.

Now if you read here for any given amount of time then you already know the answer, but apparently, she didnt know that I, Mr. Oh So Sexxy…

…am just damn sexxy like that.

Woosah, bitches. Woosah.

On to the actual wedding day and:

10 THINGS I LEARNED AT THE SHOW, THE AFTERPARTY, AND THE HOTEL

I’d like to go on record as saying that Jodeci’s song “Freak’n U” is their best song. You can disagree but you will be wrong.

1. Richmond, Virginia, suckin’ fucks (well now that didn’t quite work now did it?).

There was a planned informal breakfast planned for everybody in the wedding party scheduled for 12 noon for all of us to just come in and get something to eat quickly. It wasn’t required or anything. However, you see us ninjas were up early as the Dickens (which I can only assume means Charles…Barkley for Governor 2008). So we decided to traipse out of the hotel and find a McDonald’s. Only problem was that, despite being downtown, there was only one which was like a good damn 2 mile walk away. Oh well, we make the walk and stumble across a quaint little market off of Main Street. Hmm…that’s nice.

We find McDonald’s. Well this MUST be the only gotdamn McDonald’s in Richmond because there must have been 12 generations of Vito Corleone (makes no sense does it) in there. Further, the staff was backed up. Now let me ask you, when your job is customer service, and you have a packed house, what is the best possible thing you can do?

Go ahead…you can say it. Serve customers.

Yo, I was watching The Fighing Temptations last night, and when Cuba Gooding called Beyonce a ho (well Mary Magdalene and indirectly Beyonce “Bad Weave” Knowles) I fell the hell out. That part always gets me.

This McDonald’s said fuck it and just stopped taking orders. STOPPED TAKING ORDERS.

Richmond? Blows.

2. I learned that in every wedding, unforeseen circumstances provide a lot more comedy than one might think.

I really like weddings. I really like being in weddings because you get to look cool while everybody in the audience tries to figure out why you’re special. Well, being as this was a very traditional wedding and all that good shit, and there were 7 groomsmen and similarly 7 bridesmaids, we had a routine planned out for all of us walking up onto the stage/altar kind of deal.

The men were to escort the ladies down the aisle with a flower (assumingly a rose) behind our backs, and when we ascended the stairs, we were to take the bridesmaids hand, kiss it, and pull the flower from behind our backs and hand it to them as we both bust a Michael Jackson spin move into our respective slots standing up to watch our boy and girl get married.

Sounds simple enough right?

And it was until the wedding planners brought us whole damn floral arangements the size of basketballs to carry down the aisle. How about, NOBODY could get that big ass bouquet behind their backs. Seriously, you may not have seen this kind of comedy in your entire life. The jokes went flying left and right. Oh yeah…AND the flowers were a good 2 pounds apiece.

I will say this, my bridesmaid companion was a straight G with hers. We laid our execution down. Even had some jokes going down the aisle together. I’m telling you…if she wasn’t married with kids…then she’d be single.

Speaking of wedding planner gaffes, here’s a quick story. All of us groomsmen were standing outside trying to figure out what the fuck to do while we waited since nobody gave us any instructions. Well the wedding planner finally comes to us, and says, “I’m gonna need you all to…”

Then she looks left and walks off somewhere.

No. Shit.

Anybody need a wedding planner? She’ll be available for you when I get married.

3. Parenting is not an art…it should be a beatdown when necessary.

Let’s just say, there are some kids who need to be beat on sight regardless of whether or not the authorities may be called. This one particular little fucker who was in the wedding was the most disruptive, disrespectful kid on Earth. He wouldn’t listen to direction or his parents. He went where he wanted to when he wanted to and mouthed off on his parents. We were later told that his parents beat his ass all the time. I honestly don’t believe that. He does not get beat enough. At one point, his mother called his daddy to come back and tend to him…

…I saw no fear in his eyes. I’m 27 years old and I’m still afraid of my daddy. That little boy…said fuck you to all of us and his parents and pissed us all off.

As a heads up, any woman who has kids with me better realize that our children won’t be acting like that. Let’s just say, every groomsman has a healthy disdain for said fucker.

And his daddy dresses like a table.

4. ShowStopper is not just a Danity Kane song.

You know, I totally had a dream last night that Puffy owned a comedy club in DC and brought George Carlin in to headline and they both sucked. Yes, Puffy tried his hands at comedy. No more KFC for me before I go to sleep…those engineered chickens be making my mind act up.

I said before that there were some certified stunners in the wedding party. One of them was a bridesmaid. Good googly moogly is she hot. Anyway…what do they tell you NOT to do when standing up for a long time on a stage or some shit where you’re required to stand still?

Do not lock your knees.

And do you know why you shouldn’t do that?

Because in the middle of a wedding you might just fall the fuck out, except in this case, you are standing a good 2 feet into the air which means you will fall off the stage to a big thud in a church full of people who are there to witness the nuptials of two very well-to-do individuals and their families. A great thud indeed.

Let me tell you, she fell the FUCK out. I mean she wasn’t even moving so it was very tense up in there for a good 5 minutes. But when she came too, and the wedding proceeded to much ballyhooing and nuptial joy and happiness, and as me and my bridesmaid walked down the aisle, making sure sure not to fall the fuck out…it dawned on me…she fell the fuck out IN THE MIDDLE of a wedding and shall be forever known as the chick who fell out at their wedding.

Showstopper.

It’s not funny, but I do want a copy of the unedited version of the wedding tape. You know…so I can watch the bride and groom say I do over and over again.

(If you believe that you ain’t bright.)

5. My boy must really have married an angel.

Pretty strong words, huh?

Well, let me tell you why. One of the good things about being in a wedding with all of your boys is that they’re there every step of the way. Me and Frank Nitty were standing right next to each other in the groomsmen line on stage. (I keep saying stage but it was an elevated pulpit more or less….we were in a church).

And we both saw the same shit. No lie…

…when the bride entered the church, the sun came out and shone right into the church. Frank said, “YO…THE SUN JUST CAME OUT.” I was like, “yes…it did…is we gon’ die?”

Okay, no I didn’t. You got me.

God must have agreed with their wedding…that’s all I know.

And my boy Johnny Kwest, was just a smiling his ass off as she came down the aisle. They’re happy. I like that.

6. Even traditional weddings get remixes.

This one will be short.

The bride…bless her heart, when the Pastor said, “…for richer or for poorer…” and she had to recite it, do you know she took a 3 second pause after “richer”. Just like this: “…and for richer…tick…tick…tick…and poorer”

Much laughter.

And the groom…this ninja hit a shoulder lean up there while he was reciting something causing all of us groomsmen to fall out laughing since Frank Nitty had originally requested an A-Town Stomp. We could have pulled it off too if it wasn’t for reason and well-thinking people.

7. If you build it, they will come.

There wasn’t an open bar at the reception. I know what you’re saying. Panama and his boys like to drink, whatever will they do? And trust me, me and my boy Doc were trying to figure out how to get drunk without any liquor…but then it happened…

…one of the waiters came around to the tables of the wedding party and started filling our glasses with wine. Now, I don’t know how he picked up on me and Doc’s lushtasticness, because he told us that the wedding party was to be taken care of all night, wine-wise. Well, I told him he was my hero right then and there. And he kept our glasses full, he did.

Well, after I went off to dance for a minute, or something, I come back to the table and the bartender has left two full bottles of wine for me and Doc. One of the hostesses sitting a droit, claimed that the wine was left because she asked the waiter to leave it. I don’t know if that’s true or not…but I do know that I…felt…like…runn-ing.

8. It’s possible to go from classy to ashy in under two hours.

You know, the worst thing you can ever do in life is tell a woman, that you just met mind you, that she might not look as hot, doing some natural shit women do. Confused? Let me unconfuse you.

One of the groomsmen was apparently kicking game to one of the hostesses, a chick from Spelman that I’d seen before but didn’t really know. Very pretty girl with very pretty eyes. Anywho, I suppose his holleration was working because he got her phone number, etc. We were supposed to go out after the reception for more drinks but we didn’t. We just got drunk after the reception in the hospitatlity suite. Many many shots of Grey Goose were had.

So we get kicked out of the hospitatlity suite for being too loud at 2am and all of the hostesses/bridesmaids that were there retreat to their room. I head up to one of their rooms because me and one of the hostesses need to finish a conversation that we’d been having all weekend. So as not to bother the other young ladies trying to get some sleep, we take our conversation into the hallway.

Well, something like 20 minutes into our convo, the dude that was hollering at the chick with the pretty eyes comes from the elevator and is walking towards us. He makes a comment that shall not be repeated…it’s one of those comments that was the reason for the damn convo in the first place between me and her…then walks right into their room.

Uh-oh. So we follow. Now, fellas…if you’ve ever dated a black woman, one thing you know is that damn near every black woman wraps their hair at night. It’s just what they do. You accept it. Hell, I don’t mind it at all. You’re finna go to sleep…who cares.

Apparently, that ninja. He went off on this soliloquy about how women don’t look as good in their nighty headwraps, talking directly to the chick he was trying to holler at…AND THEN…told another one of the chicks in the room that her headrwrap looked okay. Remember, we’re in their room disrupting their attempts to go to sleep.

Let’s just say, he TOTALLY fucked that one up. She’s hot too. No diggety no doubt. There’s a little more to this story, but I’ll cut that one out there.

9. Weddings and receptions are fun.

I like to have fun. I dance hard. Having fun and dancing hard gets people noticing you. It also draws folks onto the dancefloor. Either way, over the course of this weekend, I was called “Trouble” by a bridesmaid, “Dangerous” by and older gentleman, and invited to some folks home so that they could cook me dinner. And the homecooked meal was from an older dude and his wife who saw me dancing during the reception and were really delighted that I was having so much fun.

Yes, Panama turns this mother out. Trust me on that one.

Not sure what being called “Trouble” was about though.

10. Apparently you can’t take me anywhere without me meeting some random folks.

I almost forgot about this. This always happens to me for some reason. I can just be minding my own business and I will end up meeting some strange person and having a full length conversation about something random. This time, it was the environment. This is while we’re waiting on the limos to take us to the wedding. But yep…according to my boys, I got picked up.

I just like talking to people so I always do.

I asked if I’m the only person that happens too and I got a resounding yes from nearly everybody in attendance.

I’m sexxy.

And a bonus:

11. I love my friends and weddings and I would like to go to more.

Guess that one kind of speaks for itself…

To JK and Summer…congratulations. To Richmond, fuck you. And to my folks, old and new, that shit was one for the books.

[***This is some certified-gangsta Panama-length shit right here. Be aware, be very aware. Also, I could end up leaving some stuff out...to protect the innocent (me) and probably because I forgot. The spirits were calling this weekend. What I'm saying is that I can neither confirm nor deny that I'm telling the whole story. *wink**wink***]

“Mawaige…mawaige is what bwings us togeva today. Dat bwessed institution…” ~ Bishop in The Princess Bride

I love the movie, The Princess Bride. It makes me chuckle profusely.

This past weekend, one of my best friends in life wed the love of his life in Richmond, Virginia. In what was coined early on as The Summer of Love, the wedding season couldn’t have gone out on a better note.

As me and my people love to get up with the get down, much ignorance, enjoyment, love, happiness, debate, discourse, stupidity, fun, liquor, and late night creep moves occurred. I mean, hell, when Panama The Most Muhfuckin’ is involved you know how it’s going down (and in the offchance that you don’t, you really should invite me to your wedding). In fact, there was so much shit involved in the two day affair that I have to break this into two different parts.

I’m cool like that.

Yo, have you seen the Geico commercial with the caveman walking through the airport and he sees the “It’s so easy a caveman can do it” advertisement? That commercial kills me everytime. I’m telling you, the marketing execs at Geico are really worth their weight in gold.

So, I shall begin at the beginning as it’s a lovely place to start, especially considering that if I began at the end you’d probably not know what in the shit I was talking about. Plus, it’s difficult to write stories backwards. Or so they say…

…hmmm…

In the beginning, there was light.

Oops…wrong story.

Anybody who knows me knows that I despise the state of Virginia outside of the Capital Beltway. It’s a dastardly villain of a state. I hate it for one reason: traffic. It has taken me upwards of 4 hours to go 90 miles between Richmond and Washington. There’s never a good reason for it, but it’s as predictable as death. If you must drive between Washington, DC, and Richmond, VA, you will indeed be sitting in traffic. I don’t care if it’s at 3am or 3pm. If it’s purple or green. Shucks, it don’t matter if you’re black or white. Spaghetti spaghetti everywhere, up to my elbows, up to my hair.

Oh, and I’ll be throwing out all kinds of names pretty soon.

We had to be in Richmond by 4pm (well according to an original letter sent…I forgot this whole shebang involved nothing but Black people). So what time were me and two of my compadres, Frank White and Cool Breeze, on the road and raring to go?

1130am.

Mind you, it’s about 120 miles at most between Richmond and DC. That should take, what, 2 hours, tops???

Not in VA. So I like to have a cushion. We probably left more like at noon. Now, apparently, the more I get worried about traffic, the less traffic occurs. So we made it to Richmond in 2.5 hours. And checked ourselves into our lush pseudo-luxury suite at the Richmond Omni.

We’re there early. It’s a wedding. What to do? What to do? Aha!!!!

Liquor. Consumption.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I brought a bunch of liquor from my house with me. Two bottles of Jose Cuervo, one bottle of Goldschlagger, and a big ass bottle of Bacardi Limon. Amazingly, if you mix the Limon with some free Lemonade (well we kind of jacked the Lemonade…like a cool gallon of it) from the Richmond Omni, you can make yourself Mike’s Hard Lemonade. At least that’s what it tasted like.

You know, this is the boring shit, but were a little, um, “lit” by 330pm. Let’s get to the very important stuff.

If you are a groomsmen…fuck it, if you’re in the wedding party period, and you’re a male, what’s the most important part?

The female half of the wedding party. You pray, plead, and hope beyond hope that they will be hot. As in really hot.

As in like, their knees are hot.

You’d also like them all to be a lot of fun, which in this wedding proved to be important since all the dudes involved were pretty much hellbent on having a damn good time.

And yes, they were hot. There was at least one certified 10. The bridesmaids looked good, the hostess lookeded good. Things were falling in order. The young lady that I had to escort down the aisle was hands down cool as a fan too. Bigups!!!!

Further, being as the bride went to Spelman, we knew all the hostesses (save one) ahead of time and they’re beaucoup fun. And a few of us have history with a few of them and there are strange connections between some of us yada yada yada.

I’m boring myself right now.

Let’s skip around a little. Ah…the rehearsal dinner.

Now right before the rehearsal, two more of my boys had shown up, The Doc and Maverick.

Maverick isn’t a drinker…but me, Doc, and Frank White are something like some drunks. So what did we do in the short twenty minute span between getting back to the hotel for the rehearsal dinner and the actual rehearsal dinner?

Shots.

We murdered the bottle of Goldschlagger. Three shots each. Mandatory sentence.

Now the problem with taking shots is that people notice that you return that much happier than you left. And we’re already a happy bunch so a person or two was slightly ’spicious.

Now I’ve heard that the cure for a hangover is more liquor. Well do you know what the key to throwing people off or your drunk tail is? Drinking so they can see you. That way, they think you’re doing it all right there. Much wine was had.

The problem with doing all this drinking is that…it tends to make everything seem a little bit funnier than it just might be. For instance…the fellow who came into sing during the rehearsal dinner sounded a whole damn lot like Randy Watson, lead singer of the group Sexual Chocolate.

So much so that Frank White made sure to yell Sexual Chocolate when he finished drinking. So loud so that folks at another table (the hostesses and bridesmaids) looked over and had to stifle a chuckle or two. So much so that it was hard for me to stop laughing…so much so that we had to leave again…

…and take another shot.

Don’t you see how that made logical sense?

So we got hot chicks, liquor, a wedding, and we’re in a new city. We simply MUST find something to get into for the night. There was a hospitality suite sectioned off for us as well. And do you know what they had in there…all pristine and sexxy (back) like?

Lots of liquor. Now, my boy Cool Breeze got a little more lit than the rest of us during the day. I mean, he just kept drinking so by the time it came to take the shots of Schlagger he took 2 and then declined from then on out. We get to the hospitality suite, and he’s making a Henny and Coke. Then he looked up, looked left and realized there was no way in shit he was about to drink it and handed it off to me. I was happy.

Let me say here, the chicks were bullshittin’. Well not all of them, the homey J.House was down for the cause to go out…but I’ll get to that in a second.

So let’s see…me and the homey Frank White started tossing back Henny and Cokes, then took a shot of Cuervo. And THEN we went to find the groom to make sure he would take at least one shot of Grey Goose with us.

He did. He was required too…I told him that earlier. In fact, I think it should be mandated that before any groom gets married, he is required to take at least two shots: 1) for his bride-to-be; and 2) for his boys.

It was written.

Apparently, the more drunk I get, the more ignant I get. And being as Richmond sucks ass and everything shuts down at 2am, at about 130am, I decided to make a phone call to information to see if I could find us some entertainment. Here’s the transcript of the conversation with 411:

Operator: What city please?

Panama: Richmond, VA.

Operator: What listing?

Panama: Hoes.

Operator: Excuse me????

Panama: Oh, sorry. Prostitutes. I’m bored.

Operator: *click*

Apparently, I didn’t tell anybody I was making that phone call ahead of time because two of the other groomsmen fell the fuck out in amazement at the conversation I was having.

At like, 145am, we make it out of the hotel. Not to get hoes…you see how helpful the operator was…so we ventured outside of the hotel on our own to find some entertainment. At this point its me, Frank White, Cool Breeze, The Doc, J.House, and our homegirl Sweet Candy of the World. That, my friends, is a funny name.

Remember how I said Richmond sucks ass? Well, I was trying to find something to do and I asked well over 10 people, from cab drivers to people letting out clubs what else there was to do in Richmond.

In fact, earlier in the day, two of the groomsmen went to the mall and asked a woman they met what they should do to have a good time in Richmond. She asked where they were from.

“Atlanta.”

“Go back.”

Damn.

While all of this is going on, our party buddies are dropping off like flies. First Sweet Candy of the World drops off. Then J. House. Then the Doc. Which was probably a good thing. For one, it was cold outside.

But mostly because while I’m out polling Richmond’s boring ass party crowds, my boy Frank White has begun breaking up a fight. You see, apparently, when you are drunk, the best thing for you to do, is get in the middle of other people’s bullshit.

It’s always safer that way.

So I go to help and when it looks like it calmed down, I trudge looking for more people to poll. And I think I yelled, “Richmond fuckin’ sucks” a good 4 times.

Well, on my way to more pollation, I walk into a fight between two other people. And since Frank White had just broken up a fight, I was felling like a follower so I jumped into their shit and broke it up.

I find that the key to breaking up any fight where people seem to have any inkling of soberness is to remind people, while pushing them back up against a wall, that if they go to jail tonight, the just might not be going anywhere until Monday. And spending the weekend in jail would blow.

Count so far? Two fights.

I walk back around the corner, and the two dudes who started the original fight, are at it again!!! So me and Frank White, feeling all Officer Friendly-ish, go and break up that shit and send one of the dudes on his merry way.

Oh, and can I just mention that we have YET to actually leave the sidewalk in front of the hotel.

However…Frank White, in his drunken splendor, started yelling to me and Cool Breeze, who was being the watchdog making sure that us idiots didn’t die while getting involved in other people’s shit, “YO…HOW ARE WE GONNA GET HOME??? HOW ARE WE GONNA GET HOME???”

Remember, we are standing in front of our hotel.

Oy vey.

So, we’ve broken up some fights, lost some of our friends who just said, fuck it, and went back inside, and have nowhere to go. Me…I go look for more people to talk too.

Frank White? Finds the ONLY BLACK WOMAN in the vicinity and immediatly goes to rap to her. At this point, Cool Breeze peaces us out.

Oh yeah, final count: three fights.

Because we believe in public safety and have been policing the streets of Richmond, the two safety minded inviduals do what anybody would do in our position. Convince the chick to take us out to eat.

At 3am.

In a city we know nothing about.

With a woman we just met.

Who didn’t seem to mind.

Smells like a setup to me.

Luckily, it smelled like teen spirit to her because she sure did take us to get some vittles at some placed called Aladdin’s.

Hmm…am I racist if I point out that the fellows working their were of Arab descent.

And it was named Aladdin’s? I mean, it was probably one of the fellow’s names…right?!??

Me…I’m trying not to say anything crazy as to make sure that the young lady would actually return us to the hotel. Frank White? Not so much…having to be the sensible one while being drunk at the same time is much more difficult than it might seem.

I promise.

But she took us home at like 4am. And we trudged up to our room. At 4am.

And went to sleep at about 410am.

Only to wake up at …

Tune in tomorrow for Part II of the epic tale of A September Wedding, where Falls Church isn’t only a city a Virginia, horrible game and headwraps take center stage, receptions turn into Soul Train, no Open bar at a wedding doesn’t stop two of us from procuring free bottles of wine from the bar, and oh yeah…a wedding takes place!!!