Good morning.

Today I’d like to introduce you to a new website that myself and The Champ aka The Artist Formerly Known as d.young of The Royal Youngs have begun.

Very Smart Brothas.

It’s a relationship-centric blog since as you all know, d.young aka The Champ and I are nothing short of motherfucking Svengalis on the relationship tip. We know how to tank them and make them last forever like a Keith Sweat on-bended-knee session. Bitches.

Plus, we’re just smarter than the average person. It’s true — there’s science out there to back up this assertion. And in case you can’t find it, my science is better than yours anyway.

The site shall be updated thrice weekly and we’ll be alternating weeks or on very special occasions when we feel like the people are worthy, we shall be updating on the same day. It will be a place to laugh and to cry.

The Champ has kicked it off today with a short discussion about emotional cheating. Ooooh the tension.

Gar.

So come join myself and The Champ at Very Smart Brothas as we attempt to cause arguments for the hell of it but also enlighten your lives because face it, the world is one big ass blackout…

…until somebody brightens up your day.

Tell a friend, tell a Roman. Hell tell a crackhead if they have computer access. And yes people, I actually WILL BE updating that on my required schedule of three times a week.

Very Smart Brothas — where amazing happens.

And mostly because we’re very smart brothas.

My girlfriend saw a mouse yesterday.

She doesn’t do mice. At all. Needless to say, she showed up at my place in some house shoes and a smirk that said, “We’ll go half on your rent from here on out.”

Now to me, mice are cute. And we’re bigger than them. If we don’t like them, we can kick them into 2nd Orbit or for us–we have a cat–we can let our feline have at it. Which is what ended up happening. In the midst of our conversation, after me having made it abundantly clear that mice just do not scare me she said that “not much scares you”.

Hmmm…though mice don’t really scare me (rats on the other hand are the devil spawn), that’s not completely true. I can think of lots of things that scare me. Follow me.

Panama’s Phobias - If I See It, Imma Do Me and Be The Fuck Out

Suge Knight - I’ve never met the man nor do I have any intention of ever doing so. In fact, I never want him to know my name. There’s a reason he’s the most feared man in hip-hop - he killed Biggie, Tupac, and probably had something to do with Mother Theresa questioning her religion. Of course, I can’t prove the latter, but you can’t prove that I can’t prove the latter.

Except that I said I can’t prove the latter. Le sigh.

Pythons - And I’m not talking muscles either. Let’s say that I got off work and showed up at my home. I walk up to my door and pick a little yellow flower from the flowerbed neslted near my entryway. I smile. Look up at the sun and bask in the glow of the rays of the sun. The world is good. Life is good. I turn my key and open my door. I step inside. If I see a python I’m screaming like a bitch. And I mean I’m registering somewhere near dog-whistle on the sharpness scale. Not only am I screaming, I’m running and vowing never to return to my home. I don’t care if they do a Discovery Channel special on removing that python from my home and I have visual proof that it ain’t there. Pythons eat people.

And I mean really, why the hell was it in my place in the first place? What if I show up and a Boa Constrictor is there chilling watching the 4th season of The Wire or some shit? I’d totally concede the apartment…AND still pay rent. For some reason, I just can’t really see a good reason to piss off a boa constrictor. His first name is already Boa, I’d imagine he had some kind of self-esteem issues from Snake Elementary School. Python screams power. Boa? Not so much.

The IRS - There’s an age old adage that says, “The only certain things in life are death and taxes.” Well, you can escape death. That is unless you go see Miracle Max and he gives you one of those chocolate coated Miracle pills. But even then you have to only be mostly dead, not all the way dead. It helps if you’re white and lived in the 1400’s too. Anyway, we know death is coming so the IRS can’t be far behind. Hell, the IRS even shows up AFTER your dead. They scare me. This is how gangsta the IRS is; peep game.

You have a job and before you even see your paycheck, the IRS has ALREADY taken their cut. It’s like they’re on a daily punk mission. You don’t even get your money until they get theirs. You know what we call that in the real world? Bitchmadeness. You know what we call that in the legal world? Extortion. You know what the IRS calls it? Their just due. Bitches.

And let’s not even get on the subject of an audit. You can’t run from that shit. Hell, sometimes you have to have a heart attack and die for them just to get off your case. Word to Ken Lay.

Getting stranded with no gas on the middle of a stretch of highway in Utah or West Virginia - I’ve got an active imagination. I envision a cadre of white people that hate Black people descending upon me while I walk 80 miles for a gas station and getting eaten alive by the zombies who can’t stand day light. I’m a survivor, I’ll never give up. Destiny’s Child meet I Am Legend.

Hmm…am I the only person who is surprised they never played that in the movie? But Bob Marley? Destiny’s Child…so much hotter than Bob Marley. Speaking of Destiny’s Child. Kelly’s new boobage? Me likey long time. Fill out those shirts girl. Fill ‘em out! I know a chick who recently got a boob job. She touches them all the time. Can’t keep her hands off herself.

There’s no story there, I just felt like sharing.

Sharing is caring. The more you know.

*ding*

Getting kicked in the nuts with some steel-toed boots - Not sure this needs explanation but that scares the shit out of me. I’ve had some 5 pound weights thrown at me before that landed right where the sun don’t shine. I. was. done. for. two. days.

I wonder if I’ve ever brought this up before. I know people have their different theories on what Hell is really like. I envision that Hell is where your worst fear happens over and over for eternity. I’d HATE to be the dude who’s worst fear is getting kick in the nuts. Imagine that shit a bazillion times over. I’m trying to be afraid of flowers or something.

More nuttage: Getting my nuts caught in a door - Say I’m doing naked cartwheels in my house one day…and I’m having a dinner party. Why would I be doing naked cartwheels during a dinner party? I have no clue. Anyway, say I’m doing a carthweel thru my hallway and somebody goes in the bathroom and because I’m King Beef, they slam the door and my shit gets slammed in the door. Seriously, that’s some scary shit. That’s on par with clowns.

Clowns - Okay, so I was only scared of clowns for a year after I saw Stephen King’s “It”. But what a year it was. Fucked up shit is that the day I saw it, I was at my uncle’s house in Alabama and I was sleeping in my cousin’s room. And what, oh what, did she have painted on her walls? Fucking clowns.

Ugly aggressive women - This is an actual fear of mine. There is nothing more scary than an aggressive ugly woman. Throw in portly and I’m shaking in a corner with a blanket and the Bible. I’ve been accosted by a busted bold broad before and she just wouldn’t take no for an answer. And seemed to get visibly upset that I wasn’t interested. So I ran her over with my car.

People who like Soulja Boy as an actual rapper - They might get you killed.

Tarantulas - Look. Daddy Long Legs don’t put the fear in my heart. But a spider that needs a haircut? Fuck that. Spider’s with locs are Black spiders and Black spiders might be packing heat. If I see a random errant Tarantula in my house, fuck it, I’m gone. I saw Arachnophobia. I also saw Charlotte’s Web. So you can add spiders that can read and write to the list of shit that scares me. No Seuss for you!

That’ll do it for now. Hug me.

…Look at what I bring to the table. ”

Those were the words written by Prodigy of Mobb Deep. On his personal blog, Ballerina P decided to unleash unto the world the trends and shit that he is responsible for in the rap game. (taken from nahright.com)

No, seriously. And we are all better for it. I’m telling you, I’m a little sad the imp is on his way to jail…with nuggets like these, we might need to petition the judge for a suspended sentence on grounds of necessary unintentional comedy. I mean, if we are to believe that what the world needs now, is love, sweet love…then how can we send Prodigy to jail when he so eloquently lets us know why she love him. To wit:

TRENDS PRODIGY HAS SET SINCE 1992 AND STILL IS SETTING IN 2008 AND BEYOND:

#5 HOW I FOLD MY BANDANA

…

#19 WEB SITES, I HAD INFAMOUSSTORES.COM AND WAS WRITING BLOGS BACK IN 99 LONG BEFORE IT BECAME POPULAR IN HIP HOP TO HAVE A WEB SITE.

Oh Prodigy, how fortunate are we that you exist.

Snicker.

Well, since Prodigy seems to be delusional.as.the.fuck. I figured I’d go ahead and bite his style since you know, niggas be questioning my trendsetting and shit. Now, keep in mind, some of this shit may or may not be true. But fuck it, how dare YOU question PANAMA’S trendsetting!!!!

TRENDS PANAMA HAS SET SINCE 2004 AND IS STILL SETTING IN 2008 AND BEYOND:

#1 FIRST NIGGA TO START NAMING HIMSELF AFTER A COUNTRY ON A BLOG. WORD.LIFE.SON. WASN’T NO OTHER NIGGA RUNNIN’ AROUND CALLIN’ HIS SELF PANAMA. NOW ITS NIGGAS LEFT AND RIGHT WITH COUNTRY NAMES LIKE RON MEXICO AND ASIA AND SHIT.

#2 YO WASN’T NOBODY ELSE SAYING THEY WAS SEXXY AND SHIT BEFORE I STARTED THIS SEXXY SHIT. YO SON, AND ALL THEM NIGGAS THAT STARTED MISSPELLING SEXXY WITH TWO AND THREE X’S…BEEN DOING THAT SINCE DAY ONE. SPEAKING OF THAT SHIT…

#3 WASN’T NOBODY REALLY MISSPELLING SHIT AND HAVING GRAMMATICAL ERRORS IN THEIR SHIT UNTIL I STARTED DOING THAT SHIT SON. NIGGAS WAS ALL SPELLING SHIT RIGHT AND USING PROPER SYNTAX UNTIL I BROUGHT THAT REAL eSTREET LINGO TO THE NET SON. WORD TO THE INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY NIGGA.

#4 FIRST NIGGA TO FALL ASLEEP AT A BLOGGERS HAPPY HOUR AND MAKE IT LOOK PLANNED AND SEXXY. YO SON, CHECK THE STATS. WASN’T NO NIGGA DOING THAT BEFORE I HIT THE SCENE, KID. AND Y’ALL NIGGAS THINK FALLING ASLEEP CUZ YOU DRUNK WAS SOME SHIT YOU STARTED? FUCK THAT. HOW DARE YOU QUESTION MY TRENDSETTING, LOOK AT WHAT I BRING TO THE TABLE.

#5 THE WAY I USE THE ‘K’ KEY ON THE KEYBOARD. I USE MY POINTER FINGER. REST OF Y’ALL NIGGAS IS STILL ON SOME MIDDLE FINGER SHIT.

#6 FOR THAT MATTER, THE WAY I USE THE WHOLE DAMN KEYBOARD. Y’ALL NIGGAS BE TYPING. I BE PAINTING NIGGA. I BE PAINTING.

#7 FIRST CAT TO GET WHOLE POSTS STOLEN AND THEN HUMILIATE THE NIGGAS ON BLOG. BITCH ASS NIGGAS WAS DEFINITELY GETTIN’ ROASTED.

#8 RECEIVING BUTT NAKED ASS PICTURES OF RANDOM BLOG-GROUPIES? ME SON. ALL ME.

#9 BLOG-GROUPIES? ME SON. ALL ME.

#10 SHIT HOW MANY HALFBREED ASS FRENCH NEGROES NAMED PANAMA YOU KNOW OUT THERE NOW? 10? 20? WHO YOU THINK STARTED THE HALFBREED NAMED PANAMA SHIT? HOW DARE YOU QUESTION MY TRENDSETTING, LOOK AT WHAT I BRING TO THE TABLE.

#11 SHIT…THE TABLE. I DID THAT.

#12 FIRST NIGGA TO MURDER 7 OTHER BLOGGERS IN BLOG-SOAP OPERA. I DID THAT. MURKED ALL THEM NIGGAS. REST OF Y’ALL BITCH ASSES WAS JUST THINKING IT BUT WHO PULLED THE TRIGGER? ME NIGGA. THATS WHO.

#13 STARTED AN ONLINE COLLEGE (PJ UNIVERSITY-WESTSIDE) AND NOW NIGGAS LIKE DEVRY AND UNIVERSITY OF PHOENIX ALL IN MY KOOL-AID. FUCK THEM.

#14 YO, THAT ‘I HATE B.E.T’ SHIT? ALL ME NIGGA. NOW ITS FUCKIN SEXXY TO HATE B.E.T. FUCKERS.

#15 SPEAKING OF SHIT OTHER NIGGAS FUCKIN JACKED…THE ELLIPSE…I STARTED THAT SHIT. NOW I SEE THEM ALL OVER THE FUCKIN PLACE. NIGGAS JUST … LIKE CRAZY. FUCK YALL. THATS ALL ME.

#16 MAKING WORDS NOT RHYME THAT NORMALLY WOULD. WHEN I BE WRITING MY BLOGS HALF THEM SHITS DONT BE RHYMING. LOOK IN THE MIRROR NIGGA AND ASK YOURSELF WHO STARTED THAT SHIT. BEFORE ME Y’ALL WAS ON THAT SHAKESPEARE SONNET SOLILOQUY BULLSHIT. ME NIGGA, TRENDSETTER P, I MAKE THE WORDS SING NIGGA. AND IT AINT IN A/B FORMAT BITCH.

#17 PICKING UP CHICKS WITH STRICT WIT AND CHARM. ALL ME. UNLIKE THE REST OF Y’ALL BITCH ASS NIGGAS I NEVER SHOWED MY FACE AND STILL HAD CHICKS THROWING THEIR PROVERBIAL eDRAWZ AT ME. LICKEMHIGHLICKEMLOW69…I SEE YOU GIRL.

#18 THE WAY I WEAR MY WATCH. TWO RUBBERBANDS. WATCH. TWO MORE RUBBERBANDS. REST OF YALL JUST ROCK A WATCHBAND.

#19 SHOWED REAL STRIPPER LOVE BY SHOWING HOW IMPORTANT THEY ARE FOR THE WORLD. REST OF YALL JUST WATCH ‘EM. I EXALT AND EXPLAIN THEM. MAKE IT RAIN? NAW. I MAKE IT THUNDERSTORM.

#20 I COULD KEEP GOING BUT IM TIRED. FUCK YALL. HOW DARE YOU QUESTION MY TRENDSETTING, LOOK AT WHAT I BRING TO THE TABLE.

Got dammit Puffy can’t act. Shit.

Three hours of my life I cannot get back. Sure it’s a good play. Sure it’s a good read.

Sure sure sure. Unsure unsure unsure.

However, watching NBC’s Sean Combs exec-produced “A Raisin In The Sun” just didn’t really churn my butter like I’d like it to have.

Oh well. Sadatay.

So, it’s finally happened. I knew it would happen one day but man…I just wasn’t ready.

Hmm..you know what else…the chick who played Ruth has a strong face; very strong features. Features on steroids, if you will.

Anyway, so the other day I did what any other self-respecting arrogant motherfucker would do on a daily basis.

I googled me.

Y’all heard that “Google Me” song? Yeah, to el authero of said song? Go kill yourself chica.

Anyway, so I googled msyelf and found out that this site no longer comes up as the top result on Google.

Oy vey and pity me. Man, that one kind of hit me hard. For years, anytime you put in Panama Jackson, this here site showed up with all of the trimmings, fuckery, and shenanigans one could ever want. Now, its my MySpace page. Granted, Jackson G. Tickle Ent comes up on the first page.

Come come now. I’m still Panama Muhfuckin’. Interestingly, part of the reason I restarted blogging is because I realized that there is another Panama Jackson on the web peddling in porn. Bi-sexual porn.

So yeah, um…it ain’t me. I swear it. Stack of stacks kid. Three stacks.

“…if you say real talk I probably won’t trust ya….”

It’s true. Real talk.

Well, part of my lack of blogtasticness is that I have a few other side projects being worked on right now. One that’s about to hit your living room in a few days (weeks). It’s a site with another cool motherfucker that’s been in the works for a minute. We’re taking over the game bitches.

You. Don’t. Want. Drama.

Panama Jackson? Oh yeah, you want him.

Anyway, be on the lookout. Penny for your thoughts? Naw, fuck that…a million for my propositions.

Homonym does not mean that words rhyme. Word.Life. Just in case you didn’t know.

PJ signing off bitches.

Interesting times this country finds itself in right about now.

We’ve already reached the point where history is changed forever. Either a woman or a Black man is going to be the actually electable nominee to be the next President of the United States.

Glory day. Who’d a thunk it? Not I. I can honestly say I didn’t expect a Black man to ever really be put in this position in my lifetime. But I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if it ain’t the case.

So yeah, what to do?

I really don’t care much for politics at all, strange considering my actual day job. I’m knee deep in political shit on a day to day basis. That’s probably why I don’t care for politics now. I’ve been made into a total skeptic. Add to the fact that I’ve spent so much time studying radical and revolutionary organizations and my view of a government by the people, for the people, and of the people is that it’s utter bullshit.

Which is ALSO funny considering that despite my lack of trust and belief in the government…I work for the motherfuckers.

Thing is, these folks pay me every two weeks. On-time. Government money doesn’t come short, ya dig? Yeah, we’re heading for a recession but I’ll bet I’ve got some job security, Jack.

And Jill.

So Senator Barack Obama has a legit chance. Now being the skeptic that I am, I really couldn’t care less who ends up in the White House, Republican or Democrat. I know the process for which government runs and I realize that ideas are just that. Many an idea has died at the feet of Congress and the Executive Branch. However, I suppose you still have to try and believe…have the audacity of hope, if you will.

I suppose.

But see, I’m also a Black man. And being that there is a real chance that a Black man could become President I’ve stumbled upon a cause as to why I simply have to throw my weight behind Obama.

I cannot be responsible for Obama NOT getting elected. You see, if he doesn’t get the nomination, I can’t be one of the responsible people. I just can’t. Not when a Black man has a real chance. I can always vote for Hillary later. And truth be told, I don’t necessarily believe in either one of them any more than other. But I mean…

…as a Black man, how can I not support another Black man in his hour of most need? I realize that a lot of Black people are supporting Hillary Clinton’s bid. You vote with your head and decide which candidate best reflects your views. However, I’m pretty sure that some people out there, if they REALLY examined their views, would end up on the Republican side of things, but they aren’t going to vote for McCain. Voting for who inspires you is important and neither of the candidates really inspires me.

However…to hell with the issues. As long as they aren’t SO off-base with my own beliefs, the Black man is getting my vote everytime. Unless that Black man is Jesse or Al because my Blackness also can’t allow me to vote for them for shit.

We don’t know when we’ll get this opportunity again and yes I’m playing the race card. How can I not support a viable Black candidate who’s politics are similar enough to Hillary Clinton. I don’t see how any Black person can. I just cannot be the reason he didn’t get the opportunity. I couldn’t live myself given all the walking and talking I do about the Black community.

I know a lot of women are saying that Hillary’s woman-ness will focus more on women’s issues. But seriously, in our nation, outside of Roe v. Wade, which issues pertain strictly to women. Sure there are issues in the workplace about equal pay and treatment. But hell, that ALSO straddles racial lines. The majority of issues our nation faces are class issues, not ones of gender.

And lest we forget, Obama is married to a Black woman who will be in his ear. And since Hillary has trumpeted her time as Slick Willie’s wife as viable experience in the White House, then Michelle Obama will turn out to be just as qualified to advise on issues related to womenhood and bring those ideas to him. And ain’t no Black wife gonna just sit around idly and let her man NOT address certain things. Hell, Black women get mad when they think we aren’t handling a dinner bill with an error the appropriate way. You think she WOULDN’T get straight gully if he wasn’t doing what he said he was going to do?

But I digress.

Fact is I’m Black. And one of my Black comrades has the chance to do what hasn’t be done before.

And I can’t be a person standing in his way. I have to help his way.

So Obama…here’s looking at you, kid.

Ba-Rack The Vote, bitches.

happy hunting.

It’s officially 2008.

I’m officially getting old.

Luckily I’m officially sexxy.

Bitches.

Like many other people of the diaspora (pick a diaspora, any diaspora) I was out celebrating my arse off last night. The difference for me is that I was at work celebrating. There’s something special about required celebration as your job. Trust me there is.

Oh, and there’s something about Mary. But you didn’t hear that from me.

And I’m still a little drunk. For real. I know we sell this shit at our club but trust me when I tell you to never ever in your life drink Freixent champagne. It fucked me the fuck up. I had a few shots of other shit and drank a few *bottles* of that champagne and by the time I left the building I was hurt.

Unfortunately so was everybody else in a management position. Egads! Nothing like working at a club where the actual ownership/management parties harder than the patrons. Word.Life.

So despite my current inebriated state (close to Iowa, but so not really), I felt the need to kick off the year properly. By blogging…

I do this for my culture. And the kids.

I do it because I love you like Lenny Williams. And also because I’m about to undertake a large scale undertaking. We’ll see if at this time next year we can all say that I undertook my undertaking. We shall hope for the best.

“So, I typed a text to this girl I used to see…”

Just felt like typing that out.

Stardate: Day 1

Star Jones date? Scary shit.

Heh heh heh.

I hope your holidays were as warm and fuzzy as mine were. And that your turntable came with a belt like mine didn’t. Read that backwards to get it going forward.

Goodnight and goodluck.

And you don’t know why yet, but be on the look out for Sekani Williams. You don’t know why but I’m telling you so that you know. I know some of you folks are kneedeep in the music business and its many facets *coughMonkcough* so it’s always good to be aware of those folks who will blow. Very talented lyricist out of the Baltimore/DC area by way of New York City.

So just know that I told you so.

Sounds like a song lyric doesn’t it?

No?

I agree.

Sekani Williams.

Goodnight and goodluck, people.

Goodnight and goodluck.

P.S. Let me also say that it’s quite entertaining to come to my very own site and see a new layout that I had nothing to do with. Thanks Liz. Me love you long time. Innocently of course. Heh heh heh.

I saw Beyonce in concert last Thursday at her Washington, DC, show at the Verizon Center.

Admittedly, I wasn’t excited about going. For whatever reason, seeing Beyonce live just wasn’t high on my list of goals in life. For one, I’m starting to hate crowds. For two, I’m starting to get really tired of hood-rats.

Beyonce concert? Crowds filled with hood-rats. But I said I’d go so I was going, going, gone.

But I ended up really excited to see Beyonce…and do you want to know why? Of course you want to know why.

It turns out that they actually sell ALOCHOL at the Verizon Center. They had a little liquor stand all next to the entrance to my section. For $7, I was drinking Rum & Cokes. And man was I like a fish in water after that. It changed my whole perspective. All of a sudden the crowds and hood-rats weren’t so important anymore.

And do you know why they weren’t important anymore?

Because I didn’t have to actually REMEMBER them if I didn’t want to. That’s the joy of intoxication; it removes all unpleasant memories (and pleasant ones too, but that’s just splitting hairs, now isn’t it?).

Opening acts were Katy Shotter and Robin Thicke. I do not like Robin Thicke. I abhorred “Lost Without You”. Let me tell you how much I can’t stand “Lost Without You”. Paula Patton, a woman who I think is just uber-smurfing gorgeous, isn’t fine enough to make me watch that video and listen to that gawdawful song.

And Katy Shotter is another white chick from England with who sounds like she has mad soul. She’s Joss Stone’s kissing-cousin or something.

Both were alright but since I don’t like (or care for) either one of them, the best I can do is give them a Almost Around The World Stopping In Malaysia and Back Snap. Not two snaps here, paco.

Beyonce on the other hand is ridiculously good-got-damn-great. I won’t go through the entire show because frankly, I don’t remember all of it. I do know she looked a little thicker than I originally thought which is just great. Like Tony the Tiger great.

Interestingly, while I was watching Beyonce perform (and not fall down the stairs, and you can bet your ass people were watching and WAITING for her to fall), I started to think about her place in society and history, for that matter. I think that when its all said and done, Beyonce is going to go down as the “it” girl for a good decade or two. She’s clearly on top of the game right now. She genuinely makes hits and music she wants to make but I’m almost 100 percent sure that if she wanted to make a bunch of pseudo-serious songs she could and turn in an album that could possibly change R&B, a la Usher’s Confessions.

Panama’s Confession: I don’t have one.

She has style and grace and she’s learned to talk way gooder than she used too. I actually have always liked the way she talked. It was charming in its own way. Sure you never really thought she had anything going on upstairs but hell, I know lots of dumb broke people, it’s nice to have dumb rich people to set your aspirations too. Between her and President Bush, they made you feel like the world was your oyster and isn’t that the real American dream?

But now she can speak and actually has interesting interviews. She’s intriguing.

Her acting could stand to improve a little but hell, she can’t be perfect at everthing. She’s already fine as all hell, can sing better than damn near everybody, except for Andre 3000. He’s totally the best singer ever.

Singing rappers is so hip-hop.

I wonder how it feels to be on top of the world like some of our favorite entertainers. How do you live when everybody wants to either be you or be like you. As I was watching over the damn near packed house at Verizon, I couldn’t help but think about how many of these young (and hell, old) women wanted to Beyonce. And who wouldn’t (except me)? The world is Beyonce’s right now and I’m guessing it will remain hers for a long time.

Of course, I still love Kelly and can’t really stand Michelle. I’m STILL upset at Michelle for fucking up the song “Is She The Reason?” from Destiny Fulfilled. Man she sounded like pure shit on that song. And I couldn’t care less that she makes great gospel music.

As you can see, there wasn’t much depth here. I blame Lil Wayne. He’s been cracking me up lately with his mixtapes and shit. That fellow right there, has managed to make a fan out of me.

“…Chevy grill looking like a set of new braces…”

Not sure why that line cracks me up so much.

Beyonce = “It” Girl

Hate it or love it, she isn’t going anywhere and the world is a better place for it.

…

Well not really, but she DID make “Bootylicious” and for my money, that puts her up there with Martin and Malcolm.

Thank you for upgrading us, B.

First things first (I poppa freaks all the honies), I do not look like Juelz Santana. At all. Let’s just put that out there.

However, everytime I wear a bandana, somebody calls me Juelz Santana. I know they’re joking but I hear it all the time. Last year, one of my boys threw a party with the Howard (University) Dental School and I was rocking a black bandana and this group of chicks working the door kept referring to me as Juelz.

Let’s backtrack for a second. Is it even feasible that it makes even one iota of sense to refer to me as such? No. Perhaps, it’s the fact that we’re two lanky lightskinned ninjas who wear bandanas. In fact, lanky wouldn’t cut it. Kevin Garnett is lanky. I’m just skinny (sexxy). I think its the lightskinneded skinny bandana that does it.

But it never fails, which brings us to Saturday night. Like I’ve stated before, I work at a nightclub in DC. I’d tell you which one but then you might come stalk me and kill me and…

…I don’t wanna diiiiiiiiie.

Bone Thugs-n-Harmony said that best.

Well, I had on a black bandana and this one particular girl stood out from the rest, poison as could be, a high powered chest. Ya know, in that past sentence, there was one fact and three un-facts. Two points if you can name that song.

I was standing behind the bar doing what random cats behind the bar do…taking shots with customers and making jokes with the bartenders and waiting for the T-Pain song “Bartender” to come on so that everybody could continue singing about bartenders hopefully bringing people to the bar so that our bartender could do what bartenders do…bartend. Out of the corner of my eye, I see this chick and her friend looking at me all funny and smiling. One of them was giving me the “smile”; the one that says come talk to me, Daddy. And I love it when they call me Big Poppa.

By the way I’d like to point out that embellishment sells books.

I pay these chicks no mind and go on about my business. Hell, I’m working. Well one of them walks up to me and is like, “Juelz?? Juelz Santana?”

Now I’m thinking this is somebody I’ve met before who didn’t remember my name but because they met when I had on a bandana decided to refer to me as the Dipset under-capo.

Nope.

I was like, “(sarcastically) yep…Juelz”.

She kissed my hand and told me that she loves my music and kept trying to follow me around.

End story.

Actually, un-end the story. If I was really Juelz Santana, you’d think she’d wonder why NOBODY else seemed to care in the club. The moral of the story here kiddies is this:

Get chicks drunk because they’ll think you’re a celebrity and probably sleep with you if you even give them one iota of attention.

Good night and good luck.

…way over town, that digs on me.

I really just felt like writing that.

I’m going to be back blogging again. Permanently. Probably daily.

This is two-fold.

1 Fold - I’m just bored a lot and I have a million and 4 things on my mind. Will it all be poignant?

Of course. It’s me bitches.

Will it all make sense?

Of course not. It’s me bitches.

2 Fold - I potentially have a very interesting proposition coming my way that will require me to start back writing constantly. So I need the practice. The kid is rusty as all hell. Hell, I don’t even feel like writing most of the time to tell the truth.

Truth. Justice. The American Way.

Wasn’t that Superman’s motto or something?

My motto? I may not get there with you…cuz you niggas are always late. And I hate late niggas.

Word. Life.

So in the immortal words of that cat who died saving the world by flying his jet into the lasers of destruction (as opposed to the eve of destruction which is a movie, an album title, a moniker, and perhaps an actual day though my guess is nobody will know that day cuz it would kind of ruin the surprise, right?) in the movie Independence Day…

…I’m baaaaaaaack.

Of course, his going back ended in his demise. Hopefully I don’t have that same problem. I don’t like my demise. I like my mise.

Stupidity has a home at JGT Enteprises.

So yes, writing for a purpose because I might be doing a lot more writing on a much larger forum. We’ll see how it shakes out, but I need practice anyway.

And you all need some entertainment, whoever you all may be.

Where ever you are. Man, I miss Terry Ellis.

Chuuch, bitches. Chuuch.

That title up there was a one-day title of the album I’ve been infrequently working on for the past two years. For one whole day I thought it was a good idea. I got over that really quickly.

Why am I sharing this? Because sharing is caring.

The more you know. *ding*

So I think I’ve officially decided to start blogging again. You may be asking yourself, “Self, why would Panama decide to start blogging again?”

Now, that would be a strange question to ask yourself considering that you’d probably have no idea why Panama would indeed decide to start blogging again, further, why in tarnation would you even think that you’d think you’d know why Panama would decide to start blogging again?

I mean really people, there’s only room for one narcissistic sexxy bastard in everybody rear view and it ain’t Kanye.

Speaking of Kanye, have you heard his new single, “Can’t Tell Me Nothing”? That one song has me completely anticipating his album. I can’t wait to hear what else he’s got cooked up. It’s so far left field from what he normally does. Sure he isn’t breaking any new ground lyrically, but I’ll be damned if it just ain’t a hell of a way to say, “I’m Kanye and I can do most shit better than the rest of you fucks out there.”

Kanye just might be my role model. Between him and Usher, its no wonder I have an inflated sense of self. Not to say that it isn’t a completely warranted and deserved inflated sense of self, I’m just saying that I’m humble and I do what nobody else can do.

That last sentence was sponsored by Kanye West and Usher Raymond. You have to love anybody who says things like that out loud and actually believes it despite the sheer ridiculousness of those statements.

*cough*iamhov*cough*

And further speaking of Jay-Z, it pains me to say this, but he REALLY should have just saved that horseshit verse he threw on Rihanna’s song, “Umbrella”. I love that damn song but man does his verse suck. He adds nothing to the song and doesn’t even ride the beat well with that damn “in anticipation for precipitation…” rehashed line.

For the first time in history, I wish Jay wouldn’t have jumped on a song. Can we please have a moment of silence, Jerry Falwell killed hip-hop.

So…after all that randomness, the reason I decided to come back to blogging is twofold.

1) We The Voices has returned and I realize that after you’ve taken a break from writing, it’s very easy to never want to write shit again. I need to get back into a continuous flow of writing. Since We The Voices was my baby, it serves me only write that I should probably be the most prolific writer on there, however, as of yet, I haven’t felt like writing shit. So I need to get back in the saddle and ride that puppy reckless.

After re-reading that last sentence, I’d like to apologize to PETA. And yes, that was a ’spicious sentence. I’m currently wearing a pink shirt.

Besides, part of the audience from We The Voices came directly from my own blog site. Makes no sense to re-launch something with no actual audience or platform for an audience. Back in the saddle, bitches.

Plus, there needs to be some reason for me to actually wear my, “Tell a friend to google Panama Jackson” t-shirt.

By the way, why are there dandelions in the parking garage?

2) There is just way to much stupid shit going on in the world right now for me not to comment on it. I mean seriously. Despite the fact that about 4 people might read this, you simply must head over to this story:

Dumb Niggas Shoot Eachother Because That’s What Dumb Niggas Do

Okay, that’s not the real title but it should have been. And if I was the Editor-In-Chief of a magazine or a Black-run media outlet I’d have let that shit slide.

Oh…wait.

Dammit.

Anyway, these two niggas had one of their friends (oh, and despite the fact that I’ve asked msyelf to curb my use of the word “nigga” in writing, somehow it just seems quite appropos here), shoot them in the legs so that they could avoid being hazed by the frat that they had been accepted to pledge.

Hmm…correct me if I’m wrong here, but when you signed up for the shit, you knew what you were doing bucko. Man up, bitches. As was pointed out by the officers in the story, there were SO many other means they could have come up with if it was THAT bad that they wanted to avoid the hazing. And um, to the campus spokesperson who says that hazing doesn’t exist anymore…

…I pooh-pooh on your assetion.

I’m compelled to ask a question in resonse to this, “who fuckin’ does that??”

Oh right, I already answered this, “dumb niggas”. Hmmm, think about this too…wouldn’t you be a little bit suspicious of your friend who ACTUALLY pulled the trigger…on both of you? I’ll just give him a flier on this and say that he just wasn’t thinking of the potential of murder part of the attempted-assisted-suicide murder that his pussy boys asked him to commit. Just gives me pause that some cat would be okay with it.

“Yo, Jerome, after you find my mirror, can you shoot me?”

“Yeah, no problem, give me like 2 minutes…I’ll be right there.”

Oh yeah, and the dumb niggas left the gun IN THE CAR that they drove to the hospital in.

Seriously though, if you ever ask me to shoot you to get out of something, I’m calling the police myself. You need Jesus. And the person who you get to actually go through with the shooting might help you find him. Accidentally.

Dumb niggas. They’re even dumber because not only can they NOT plege that frat anymore, they can’t release any rap albums because the streets teach us that shooting one’s self to get out of some shit is the most pussy form of self-defense. You get no street cred for those bullets. And as their parents, I’d disown them.

Anyway, stuff like that makes me want to blog again, so I shall.

I’m back bitches.

I can’t leave blogging alone the game needs me.

It was written.