Welcome to October Madness 2005!!!

*loud screams and soft hushed yells*

Wait, what is October Madness 2005?? I’m glad you asked. This is where the ignorantly arrogant bastards at Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises (I’m so arrogant I linked myself in my own post…sometimes I amaze even myself) in conjunction with that ignant n-word over at The Royal Youngs, d.young AKA the a.n.d.y., bring you the “field of 32 bracket” to determine…

…the baddest brownskinned (or at least melanin packing) beauty of 2005!!!

Yes people, we’re bringing the magic that is the March Madness NCAA Tourney to your computers and giving you the opportunity to enjoy the exploitation and misogyny of judging women based strictly on their physical assets. No, Lauryn Hill will not be here. Neither will Erykah Badu. I love them, believe you me I do, but here we discuss the merits and physical voraciousness that is those women who just got that “thing” without including their mental acuity and personality.

Both myself and the a.n.d.y. have scientifically put together a field of 32 women and properly seeded them using points, algebra, calculus, and homing pigeons. It’s not a game.

Check out the rules we abided by here.

Are you ready?? Well then…

Let’s get ready to rumbllllllllllllllllllle!!!

*yells and more hushed screams*

Here’s how it works. Over the next few weeks, on Friday and Monday, the a.n.d.y. and myself, me…Panama…he’s sexxy, will be bringing you a bevy of beautiful women who will be pitted against one another in attempts to bring us to our champion in NCAA tourney form. We’ll go from 32 to 16 to 8 to 4 to 2 to a champion. She’s your queeeeeeen to be!!

We have four “regional” brackets in honor of the beauties that came before them: Pam Grier, Tamara Dobson, Jayne Kennedy, and Appollonia. Ladies, we salute you. And if you are unfamiliar with any of them…

…google ‘em bitch.

Download your October Madness 2005 Bracket here. Download file

We request your opinions and debate. To facilitate it properly, myself and the a.n.d.y. will be each taking a bracket and providing pictures and giving a brief discussion of each beauty followed by our pick and our prediction. We’d like to ask for your help by having you place your pick and any discussion/arguments you’d like to present in the comments. That includes folks that never comment or participate. People, we need your help!!

We’ll start today with the the a.n.d.y. handling the Pam Grier Bracket and the Most Muhfuckin’ (see, I did it again…I love myself) handling the Jayne Kennedy Bracket.

It’s Round One bitches…Round One! Please toggle between both sites and place your votes and provide your decisions.

Let us begin…

Jayne Kennedy Bracket

Round 1

(1) Kenya Moore vs. (8) Kerry Washington

Kenya Moore: One of the absolute finest women the good Lord, or whoever you pray to, has blessed this planet with. Sweet, supple, scintillating sexxiness with curves that would make geometry jealous. Despite the fact that she manages to finagle her way into some of the worst films known to man (Trois, anyone?), she always stands out because she is just that damn fine. I’d sop her up with a biscuit from Popeye’s and some Wonderbread while doing the hambone in North Carolina. She’s a number one seed for a reason! Bumaya Kenya! Bumaya Kenya!

Kerry Washington: An oft slept on beauty who is finally starting to get her rightful buzz (mostly via the movie Ray), Kerry Washington is one bad motha-shutyomouth. Man, as bad as She Hate Me was, it was worth watching just to see her laid out and bent back getting her sexxy love kitten on. Pretty face, lovely physique, and a walk that makes me want to slap the Pillsbury Doughboy…I’m like Ill and Al Scratch, “I’ll take her.”

Panama’s Pick: Kenya Moore
Panama’s Prediction: Kenya Moore
a.n.d.y.’s Pick: Kenya Moore
a.n.d.y.’s Prediction: Kenya Moore

(2) Stacey Dash vs. (7) Tatyana Ali

Stacey Dash: Admit it, she’s just bad. No matter how old she is she STILL manages to look good. In Kanye’s video for “All Falls Down” you watched as she ran through the airport, “bouncing.” Yeah, me too. I can’t help it. It’s hard to find a woman with her kind of everlasting beauty. Sometimes words aren’t enough to fully encapsulate a person’s beauty. Sometimes all you have to say is: Stacey Dash.

Tatyana Ali: Little Ashley has grown up into quite the woman. Yeah she’s moreso cute than, say, BOOM BAM POW with body for days! But I’d wager that 9 out of 10 men would still want to bend her over a 1967 Chevrolet Impala under the California moon. She has looks that won’t quit and she can sing. I should know, I bought the album Kiss The Sky. She’s got the hair and she’s got the smile. She’s got that nice bone structure. That’s attractive like none other.

Panama’s Pick: Stacey Dash
Panama’s Prediction: Stacey Dash
a.n.d.y.’s Pick: Stacey Dash
a.n.d.y.’s Prediction: Stacey Dash

(3) Christina Milian vs. (6) Res

Christina Milian: Man oh MAN! She is hands down one of the most attractive women in Hollywood. She’s got that lovely bronze complexion with the nice slim but with curves body. She…could get it. The way her ass was getting tossed through the black mud/ink in the “Dip It Low” video just showed that she was without a doubt one of the finest aerial women of all time. She’s got the sexxy girl next door accentuated with lovely hair that sometimes matches her skin tone, which works for me. Christina Milian…you are my queen!

Res: Some women just have that uber-sexy look about them that screams attractiveness. Largely unknown to the pop culture audiences, her vicious body and deep transient face just beg for some tender love and care. Hell, I’ll be her TLC. Luscious skin tones and an athletic build that just. will. not. stop. makes me wanna be her “Ice King” anytime. She’s sexxy as all hell.

Panama’s Pick: Christina Milian
Panama’s Prediction: Res
a.n.d.y.’s Pick: Christina Milian
a.n.d.y.’s Prediction: Christina Milian

(4) Maia Campbell vs. (5) Alicia Keys

Maia Campbell: In her heyday, she was one of the baddest chicks to hit every low budget film out there. She just had that thing that had every dude wanting more. Had she done a nude spread in a black man’s magazine, it would have gone Diamond. She just has the right combination of everything, body, skin, bones, and those come get me bedroom eyes. Thumbs up for Maia!!!! You make me proud.

Alicia Keys: She jumped onto the scene as the piana playing girl next door. Who knew that when she got up from behind the piano bench, we had a chick with some thick thighs and a little ass. Hey, her mom is white, she was gonna lose out somewhere. Very few women have sexxy eyes like she does or have that emanating beauty that the songstress maintains. Not a big fan of her music, but gorgeous is gorgeous…and Alicia Keys, is gorgeous.

Panama’s Pick: Maia Campbell
Panama’s Prediction: Alicia Keys
a.n.d.y.’s Pick: Alicia Keys
a.n.d.y.’s Precition: Alicia Keys

***

There you have it, the Jayne Kennedy Bracket in all of its splendiforous glory. Shoot on over to the a.n.d.y.’s spot to check out the Pam Grier bracket and place your votes and arguments. It’s time to crown a queen. And tune in Monday to check out the Tamara Dobson Bracket and the Appollonia Bracket.

ANNOUNCEMENTS:

1) The Almighty X AKA Xquizzyt1 interviewed the kid as part of her Blog Impersonations Week (or few weeks if you’re working on CP Time like she is), taking the Behind The Blog idea from Kajuana. Take a gander…my first interview. I’m famous beeeyotch!!!

2) Make sure you check back tomorrow as we here at Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises along with the A.N.D.Y. of The Royal Youngs are going to bring you something both provocative and entertaining…for that ass. Tomorrow…it goes down.

[***This segment will be much shorter than the last one...I think.***]

So as Part I left off, I had finally reached Boston for some hot fun in the summertime.

Except that’s a total lie since it got cold as shit and was rainy all weekend. I did enjoy myself so la di da.

If you remember the itinerary from yesterday, I was scheduled to leave out of Boston on Monday night at 830pm returning to the Baltimore-Washintgon International Airport at around 1143pm after a layover in Philadelphia.

Did my return travel go off without a hitch?? Did I manage to make it home at my scheduled time? Will Murder, Inc. go down at the hands of the feds? Will the Boondocks Comedy Central TV show be as good as the comic strip? All these questions and more answered, here on…Panama’s City.

And I’m really not going to answer the last two questions.

So, here’s what happened.

Monday

615pm: Me and my girl leave her house headed to the airport, Logan Airport, shaken, not stirred. She’s visibly distraught that I’m leaving considering that we were robbed of pretty much a day.

620pm: I point out a fireman rescuing a cat from a tree and she tells me that the cat should die since the weather robbed her of an additional day. She’s such a sweet girl.

620pm-650pm: On Boston’s T (subway). Really, I have no idea what the T stands for. All the times I’ve been there it’s never dawned on me to ask either. All I know is that the Green Line looks like my old toy train that I wrecked.

Let me backtrack a minute, I honestly half expected something else to go wrong considering how horrible my trip up to Boston was. After this weekend, I think I’m going to open up a new psychic hotline network on TV One, what with all the bootleg shitty programming they have, all they’re missing is a Miss Cleo knockoff.

Call Me Now!!!

650pm: We arrive at Logan Airport. We walk in Logan Airport. See Jane run. See Dick run. See Dick and Jane run.

655pm: I notice there seems to be a line for the US Airways terminal and people look pissed. I can’t confirm this, but I think I saw a young mother eat her kid. Not saying she was pissed, but she didn’t seem happy at all. Oh well, that has nothing to do with me.

657pm: I go stand in line to do the self check-in where I’m informed by a US Airways flight agent that a lot of flights are delayed (no surprise there) so I need to go talk to an agent. I hate agents by this point.

7pm: We go stand in line at the US Airways Trail of Tears Counter. Really, there were a lot of damn people in the line including this one nasty ass old man behind us who either had the bubonic plague or needed some water. All I’m saying is that he was coughing up a lung, spleen, or the knife that OJ used to kill Nicole Brown Simpson.

Not that I’m saying OJ did it…I’m just not saying he didn’t do it. Capiche?

703pm: I duck out of line to go check the display screen for arrivals and departures. This is where I notice something funny. Apparently all of the flights leaving Boston are either delayed or cancelled. ALL. OF. THEM. As in, every single one. The fucked up part is…SO ARE ALL OF THE INCOMING FLIGHTS. Now…that that makes about as much sense as people caring about Britney Spears. How the fuck are planes in the air having trouble landing.

Uh oh.

708pm: We get to the front counter where I’m informed that earlier in the day, at Boston Logan International Airport, the airport I’m attempting to fly out of…

…there was a radar malfunction at the Air Traffic Control Tower.

Read that again. I’ll wait.

*humming The Five Stairsteps “Danger! She’s A Stranger”*

I don’t know about you, but that’s just some shit that I never saw coming. Granted, I couldn’t see a cargo weight distribution problem either, but that just affected my plane.

Radar malfunction? Affects EVERYBODY’S plane. Apparently the radar was picking up any and everything in the air, to include flocks of geese causing the air traffic controllers to have to decipher what was what in the air. This caused the planes in route to have to increase their distance from one another to avoid…ya know…a crash.

By this point, I was fearful that whatever plane I was going to eventually get onto…was going down. It was the only outcome left.

715pm: I’m informed that there is a flight leaving out of Logan at 940pm to Philadelphia. But guess what…the flight from Philly to Baltimore is ALSO delayed. For what reason? Nobody knows. This shit is really turning into a Guinness World Record for most possible fuckups for one roundtrip. After consulting with my girlfriend, who is in a remarkably better mood than she was 10 minutes before, I just say fuck it and ask to be put on a flight for 9am the next morning.

I do have to say that I’m glad the good folks at Logan just decided to cancel and delay everything as the opposed to the dumbfuck pilots who flew me from Philly into Boston who thought that they could test God…in the air…just to get us to Boston a little earlier. I mean really, who tests God…in his Heavens???

I do not like green eggs and ham.

830pm: I email my boss to let her know that I will be coming into work late on Tuesday. I lay out a large part of the story, not as an excuse for being late but because I think its funny. Apparently she did too, I’ll get to that in a few.

Tuesday

615am: Wake up early enough to beat the rooster to the punch. He don’t want it with me, ask Nas, he don’t want it with me…Noooo.

715am: We walk out the door and get headed BACK to the airport. This time we look at the news flight schedules online just to make sure we aren’t making a mistake. Looks like all systems are a go.

750am: We get to the airport and get into a slight debate about the tickets I’m holding. Apparently, my girl thinks that the paper tickest I’m holding contains the boarding pass, I disagree. We wager 50 bucks. I win. She’s wrong. Do you think she paid??

Nope.

752am: So long…farewell…auf Wiedersehn…goodbye. *sniffle*

755am: You know, I don’t know why I do this when I go to the airport, but I usually have to totally strip down just to make it through the sensors. This is what I had to take off. My hat, coat, bracelet, watch, belt because of the metallic belt buckle, dog tags, cell phone, and shoes. It takes me about 5 minutes to get BACK dressed after making it through the metal detector and full cavity search conducted by a burlesque woman named Helga. She says she’s from Jersey. Suuuure she is.

(I didn’t really get a full cavity search, I just wanted to say Helga.)

8am: I’m sitting at my gate waiting to board a flight to Laguardia Airport where I’m supposed to have a 45 minute layover before catching my flight to Baltimore. Could this finally be the smooth flight plan?

Nope.

850am: I call my boss to let her know my progress. She laughs at me and tells me to take the train next time and she’ll see me when she sees me. She does want to be updated if anything interesting happens, for posterity’s sake though. My boss…what a card.

9am: For some reason, though the flight is scheduled for 9, we’re still sitting waiting to board. The plane is there, yet we’re not on it. Then this comes over the loudspeaker.

All customers on the 10am flight to Laguardia, that flight has been cancelled due to low visibility. Please go to gate B17 for the 9am flight.

Hmmm.

So let me get this right. You’re cancelling a flight scheduled for an hour from now because they won’t be able to see then?? Umm…bucko…WHAT ABOUT NOW??? How do you know you won’t be able to see then unless you can’t see shit now? Yet, the testing of God continues. Seriously, I didn’t realize that so many atheists were running airlines and airports.

920am: You know how they board by zones or rows usually? Not on late flights.

Flight Agent: Flight 2121 to Laguardia is now boarding all rows. Get yo’ ass on the plane so you can leave. Thank you!

930am: Take off. We’re informed that it’s going to be a quick 30 minute flight. That puts me in NY at about 10am so I can still make my connecting flight to Baltimore. Right??

10am: Still in air.

1015am: Still in air.

1030am: Still in air.

1040am: Still in air.

1051am: Touchdown.

How the fuck a 30 minute flight turned into an hour and 20 minute flight is beyond me. No explanation, nothing. Somebody somewhere is having a good laugh at my expense.

My flight leaving NY to Baltimore was supposed to leave at 1059am. And do you know what time it left?

1059am. For the first time on my entire saga, a plane actually leaves on time, and I miss it. Fuck.

1110am: I get rescheduled for the 125 flight to Baltimore. Great, another 2 hour wait in another airport. I feel so lucky right now I should play the lottery. Hell, if I played the lottery right now, somehow, I think that the state lottery board would find some law that states I’m responsible for paying the earnings on the $300 million jackpot. It’s been that kind of weekend.

1110am-110pm: Eat. Listen to iPod. Breathe. Wonder why we haven’t started boarding yet.

115pm: Hmm…apparently THIS flight is going to be delayed too. It’s okay cuz my boss already knows I’m not coming in. Hell she laughed again and said she’d see me on Wednesday.

135pm: We finally start to board, with little explanation as to why we’re not leaving until way later than scheduled. I hate US Airways…a lot.

136pm: Oh shit…that isn’t…yes it is…holy shit…this plane…

…HAS PROPELLERS!!!

In my life, I’ve determined that in 2005 there is just no reason for a plane to have propellers. They scare me. If one stops what happens?? What if a bird flies into that joint? Are we going down?

It’s official. I send text messages insinuating my life might end today. It’s been a good run.

2pm: Sitting on runway. Why aren’t we leaving? Fuck if I know.

215pm: Sittin’ sidewayz…I mean, still sitting there.

230pm: Finally…lift off.

345pm: We make it back to Baltimore into a gate area that I’ve NEVER seen before, which is only ironic since I’ve been to BWI about a million times and was sure I’d been to every terminal. I was wrong.

So after about 50-11 delays, I finally managed to make it back from whence I came.

To US Airways, fuck you for making everything that much more difficult and for no explanations.

Thus ends my travel story of the longest gotdamnned trip of my life. Sometimes you just have to laugh at it and realize…

…at least the plane didn’t go down.

Woosah!

[***Hoping you true muthasuckas know...this be the longest shit I ever wrote!!! Off in the officespace writin' notes...to the lonest shit I ever wrote!!! It's so long...I BROKE IT INTO TWO PARTS!! OOOOOOOOOOO...he said two parts!! Ooooooooooo! I'm dumb.***]

You ever take a trip and damn near everything that could go wrong, does go wrong?

If this is you say HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

*HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO*

Say HO! HO!

*HO! HO!*

Now somebody SCREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!

*screaming wildly and loudly and stuff*

That last scream was me on Friday…then Saturday…then Tuesday. Seriously.

This past federal holiday (Columbus Day) I ventured to Boston. I tend to venture to Boston a lot nowadays. Do the math. Either way, in order to fully explain the hell that was my trip, I must do a timeline of the play by play which included rain, strippers, cargo, radars, traffic, and loss of sanity.

Just to get this started properly, here was my actual itinerary:

Friday

Baltimore Balt/Wash Intl (BWI) to Philadelphia International (PHL)
Departure (BWI): October 7, 8:00 PM EDT (evening)
Arrival (PHL): October 7, 8:50 PM EDT (evening)

Philadelphia International (PHL) to Boston Logan International (BOS)
Departure (PHL): October 7, 9:30 PM EDT (evening)
Arrival (BOS): October 7, 10:45 PM EDT (evening)

Monday

Boston Logan International (BOS) to Philadelphia International (PHL)
Departure (BOS): October 10, 8:30 PM EDT (evening)
Arrival (PHL): October 10, 9:51 PM EDT (evening)

Philadelphia International (PHL) to Baltimore Balt/Wash Intl (BWI)
Departure (PHL): October 10, 10:45 PM EDT (evening)
Arrival (BWI): October 10, 11:43 PM EDT (evening)

And here is what actually happened. Have a seat, this is going to take a while.

Friday

530pm: I trod out of my job happily welcoming the three day weekend and my trip to Boston. It’s raining.

534pm: In my car intending to travel to the Baltimore-Washington International Airport. About 30 miles away. Granted, its rush hour, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour and 15 minutes tops.

6pm: I’ve gone about 3 miles and have yet to actually leave the city limits of DC. If I can at least get onto the BW (Baltimore-Washington) Parkway by 610, I can at least be to BWI by 7pm. I’m cool as a fan, gat in hand, I don’t want to blast her man….but I can…I’m listening to Biggie.

615pm: I’ve gone 2 more miles…maybe. It’s raining, which in DC means there are accidents galore since folks here can’t drive for shit under normal circumstances. At least I’m on the BW Parkway, though I’ve yet to get outside of the Beltway. 25 miles to go.

620pm: This is where the sitting in traffic begins to drive me crazy. Note to anybody driving in car with the Most Muhfuckin’…I don’t do good in traffic…at all. Luckily Willie Hutch was wailing his ass off in my CD player. Do you have “The Mack” soundtrack? No…you should really get it.

621pm: FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. I’m sitting still. SITTING STILL as in not moving as in unmoving forward as in no forward progress as in progress halted.

623pm: Moving.

624pm: Stopped again. Fuck…I’d like a Klondike bar.

Repeats itself for the next 45 minutes but progress is made.

715pm: Clearly, I’m going to miss my flight since I’m at least 20 minutes from the airport. I call US Airways, they transfer me to some guy in India named “Mike”. Sure. I ask if it’s possible to get another flight since I’m clearly going to miss my flight.

720pm: “Mike” is a fuckin’ idiot. He tells me nothing I need to know except to go to the airport. Thanks fucker. Add to the fact that I’m driving in the rain, in traffic, and trying to dial up numbers on a T-Mobile Sidekick, and that I’m pissed…I’m sure I almost killed somebody on the road. My bad. And um…bring jobs back to America!!!

AMERICA…FUCK YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

740pm: I get to the airport and have resigned myself to the fact that I’ve missed my flight since I still have to park, and catch a shuttle to the airport. So I just go inside and talk to a US Airways personajiggy.

(By the way, it took me over 2 hours to go 30 miles. Not 300…30. I love DC. I make Kool-Aid for my family!!)

Panama: Ma’am, I’m supposed to be on the 8pm flight, but I’ve just gotten here so I assume I can’t get in since you all close flights 30 minutes in advance.

Flight Lady: You got your bag?

Panama: No…I figured if I went to the off-site parking, waited for a shuttle, and then came here…I’s still miss my flight, but it would be well after 8pm. So I figured I’d just accept that I missed my flight and see what time I can be rescheduled for in the morning.

FL: You should have brought your bag the flight is delayed by 15 minutes because of the rain. You might have made it is all I’m saying.

Panama: Ma’am, I understand that, but if you can just tell me when I can come in tomorrow, I’d appreciate it.

FL: (smug look) I’m just saying you really should have brought your bag. Hmmm, it’s our policy not to rebook you, you have to come in on standby. You have to be here for the first available flight on standby in the morning…at (devilish, evil asshole smile)…615…a…m.

Panama: You can’t just rebook me?? And did you say 615…in the morning? I live in DC. It takes at least 35 minutes to get here!!

FL: Sorry, that’s our policy. See you in the morning. (laughing to herself)

Panama: Thanks. (says to self) Asshole.

815pm: Panama is driving BACK to DC in the rain that caused the traffic in the first place. So guess what?? El traffico going the OTHER direction too. Somebody. Kill. Me.

945pm: Beddy bye bitches.

Saturday AKA The Longest Day of The Year

345am: Alarm goes off.

415am: Out the door headed to Baltimore. There should be no traffic at this time of the morning.

425am: Are you fucking kidding me?? A traffic jam at 425am??? Apparently there was an accident on the BW parkway. Fuck I’m tired.

435am: Get past the accident. “I’ve got to stay hii-iiii-iiii-iiii-iiii-iiigh, til I diiii-iiii-iiii-iii-iii-iii-iiie”. Three 6 Mafia’s new Cd is really good. Especially my joint…eh, fuck it.

440am: About 30 minutes from the airport but at least I’m moving. “If you want me to cheat you ugly bitch you got to play.” Most poignant chauvinistic rap line ever uttered at 440am on the BW parkway courtesy of Three 6 Mafia. That’s deep! Either that or I’m just tired…hmm…was that a midget holding a squirrel running across the highway??? Nope…

…it was Shaquille O’Neal holding a squirrel. Should have asked for an autograph.

5am: “Ever since I can remember I’ve been poppin’ my collar, poppin’, poppin’ my collar, every since I can remember I been workin’ these hoes and they better put my money in my hand.” In the pantheon of hiphop quotables…that is definitely my number 347.

510am: I’ve parked my car, caught the shuttle, and made it to the ticket counter. I’m standing in line behind about 9 Hispanic, probably El Salvadoran (not the tallest bunch of fellows ever), gentleman who speak NO English and who are still packing their bags. Nothing is more funny than watching a language barrier in full throttle. NOBODY knows what the fuck to do. And it’s 5am…you just can call the translator out of his sleep to come help with a bunch of short Latinos. That was fucked up…I’m sorry.

It gets worse.

512am: The Flight Agent pulls me out of line AHEAD of all the Hispanic males. She’s a young white lady. Apparently she plays favorites. A colleague of hers, clearly as fucked up as she is…and black, comes up to her and says “didn’t want to work with them Mexicans huh?!!” To which she responds…”he speaks English”, pointing at me. If I wasn’t tired, pissed at missing my flight, and running late, I might have been offended for them…for real though, they didn’t speak no English.

This conversation ensues…remember that flight lady from last night?

Flight Agent: How can I help you?

Panama: I missed my flight last night and need to catch a flight today.

FA: Did you speak to anybody? Because I don’t have you in my system as being rebooked.

Panama: I spoke to a lady last night who told me I had to come in today and I had to wait on standby.

FA: That’s not right. She could have easily booked you on a flight.

At this point, an older black Flight Agent Woman comes up and offers me some of her Dentyne (she offers it to everybody so I wasn’t offended). I said no thanks. Proving she’s from the South, she becomes offended and refuses to just let me say no going on to describe how good the gum is and how I really should just try it. I relent. It’s good gum.

Panama: So you’re saying she lied to me? That Ho…lesome woman looked me right in my face and said she couldn’t rebook me.

It’s 515am.

FA: Sorry about that, the 615am is full, I can confirm you on the 740am flight and put you on standby in Philly since most flights are full.

It’s 516am.

Fuck.

Panama: Thanks, I appreciate that.

FA: You’re welcome, sorry about the confusion.

It’s 517am.

530am: I’m at my gate a full 2 hours early. Apparently I’m not the earliest dude here either. There are two people fully laid out sleeping waiting on the same flight. Luckily I brought the longest most dense book ever, “Black Brothers, Inc.” about the notorious but largely unknow Philadelphia Black Mafia. Ironic…I’m going to Philly.

EARLY!!!

530am-715am: Read, scratch myself, doze off, eat a nasty ass sandwich from Roy Rogers, sleep, bathroom break, boarding call. Finally, progress.

740am-820am: Flight to Philly. Apparently in its attempts at cost-cutting, you don’t even get a snack on US Airways. You can order some good ass tap water though. Cheap bastards.

In Philly.

820am: So I’ve been placed on standby for an 1130am flight. No flights are leaving from Philly to Boston in between this. It’s raining outside and nobody’s in the airport but me, Freeway, and DJ Jazzy Jeff. Okay, I’m lying. It’s just me. Basically, I have ANOTHER 2 hour wait. Luckily, this one is going to be a lot more interesting.

830am: Damn Philly is a long ass airport. Got me walking 10K just to get to my new gate.

835am: Finally at my gate. Across the way is a flight headed somewhere a lot of black people are going. I’m not sure where, but I wish I knew.

850am: There are about 10 people sitting in my proximity. Me, 5 black guys who are Black Muslims, denoted by the bushy beard that Freeway rocks, 2 more black fake hiphop blinged out looking guys, and 2 white people with a baby. This is about to change.

9am: Four black Latino women who are either, strippers, porn stars, or pornstar strippers come sit RIGHT NEXT TO ME. One of them was even ice grillin’ me up. It is at this point I decide to write about my travels. It’s going to get better.

904am: I text my boy Frank Nitty, “there are 4 strippers or pornstars sitting next to me in the Philly airport. EARLY!”

906am: He replies: “you got pictures? I want pictures”.

910am: Seeming to have telegraphed my conversation with my boy Frank Nitty, the two fake hiphop dudes ask the stripping pornstars if they can take pictures with them. Of course, the exhibitionists oblige.

912am: Did she just put her leg on the other girls shoulder? Are they grabbing the one in the middle’s ass? In the AIRPORT?? Oh my…those white folks look scared. Me and the other black dudes? Enjoying the free show.

915am: More pictures. SWEET! This time, the one in the middle crouches down and pretends to perform oral sex on one of the other girls, while the third makes overtly sexual gestures about what she’d do to herself if money was being involved here. Text message from Frank Nitty: “dude…how can you not be getting pictures of this??!?! Use the camera phone…me and my brother want to see pictures.”

920am: One last picture…the ass shot followed by some cupping and literal HAND-ON-BOOTY action (Brown Sugar, 200). This is the best airport layover ever!

930am: Taking pictures almost made them miss their flight. They were all going to the same place…I’m jealous.

931am: I’m all alone. No more strippers. Life can be so sad sometimes.

931am-1045am: Sitting and watching my gate fill up with people. Apparently (after talking with another Flight Agent), this flight is oversold by 4 people. Me making the 1130am flight is not looking good. Fuck.

11am-1120am: They board the plane and I haven’t made it on for standby. But wait…there is one person missing from the flight, and if she doesn’t make it, I get the seat. Apparently she’s in the airport because her flight just landed, but she’s got 10 minutes to make it there or I get the seat.

Tick tock tick tock.

1129am: The silhouette of a young white girl can be seen sprinting down the cavernous hallway that is the US Airways gateway at Philadelphia Internation Airport. It’s her. I’m shut out.

1130am: I’m all alone again. And without a flight.

Fuck. At this point, I’ve been up for about 8 hours and have still not made it to Boston. I’m going crazy. I’m told that there is another flight at 130pm.

FUCKIN’ 130PM.

Oy vey.

1145am: Nothing else to do but just go enjoy Philly’s Marketplace. It’s a mall in the airport. I thought Atlanta had some stores, this place has everything. Shit’s hot!!! “fuck that take drugs, rape sluts, make fun of gay clubs, men who wear make up, get aware, wake up, get a sense of humor, quit trynna sensor music, this is for your kids amusement…” I’m listening to Eminem right now. Ice Cube thought he was the scariest guy in America…shiiiiiiiit, Eminem had white people REALLY scared. Plus, Ice Cube makes shit like Barbershop now…makes me want to go hug Doberman Pinschers.

During this time I was sitting next to an older woman and what I hope was her son, cuz if not, she’s REALLY robbing the cradle. Well, the young man was attempting to explain to her the finer points of computers. Wireless internet was totally not her thing. Whilst trying to understand how techonology has advanced over the past few years she totally got pissed at the concept of gigabytes, stating that in her day, gigs were jobs, not blocks of space. She was totally offended….I mean OJ going after Nicole Brown Simpson offended.

Good times.

1pm: The scheduled boarding time (I did get booked on this flight, thanky lawdy).

105pm: Call over the loudspeaker: The flight for Boston has been delayed until 230 due to inclement weather. Do you wanna die? Wannna fall out the sky? Wanna make your family cry? Then shut up bitch!

Okay, I made up that last part…but I’m delirious at this point.

I’d like to take this time to thank the good people at Apple for creating the iPod which managed to keep me totally musical for the entire duration of my trip through Hell. By the way, I must have listened to Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” 30 times. Man that song is great.

By the way, everybody pretty much lost their damn mind at this point. I swear I saw a little Indian man run out onto the tarmac and challenge a Boeing 747 with a broom…or was that the movie “The Terminal”? I think I’ve lost all sense of self here.

130am: We hear this over the loudspeaker: Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin boarding the flight and try to get you off the ground against the wishes of God and the air traffic controllers. Apparently, our captains think they can make this flight happen a little earlier. So what they don’t have visibility, they’ve got their faith.

Hmmm…God versus The Airline Industry. Wonder who’s gonna win?

2pm: We’re on the plane sitting there.

215pm: Still sitting here…God seems to be winning here.

230pm: Yep…we ain’t moving jack. Captain comes on and tells us that originally we were scheduled to leave at 415pm but they negotiated with the air traffic controllers to get us out earlier. Now I don’t mean to sound like a worry wart…but um…I can wait if the weather seems, I don’t know,hurricanish and shit.

245pm: We’ve been cleared to take off. I hope that clearance came from God too. I mean it is pouring outside. Hell visibility is so bad I can’t even see the guy sitting next to me…or my hands…HOLY SHIT!!! Oh…my eyes were just closed. Silly me.

3pm: Yes…we’re ready to take off!! Wait…why are we slowing down…on the runway.

Captain’s Log, Stardate 7845-E…I mean, Captain: Sorry folks, we have to return to the gate, there is a weight distribution problem with our cargo. We can’t leave until we get that right. And for those of you who got beef because of it…remember Aaliyah?? Yeah, thought so. We’ll leave when we can. Shut up bitch.

330pm: We finally hit the blue skys headed to Boston’s Logan International Airport.

415pm: Land in Boston…fuckin’ finally.

Bu-bu-bu-but wait…it gets worse…as the return trip to Baltimore also takes me through mazes of ghosts, goblins, lions, tigers, and bears, oh my.

It’s truly amazing how much shit can really go wrong in one weekend.

Tune in tomorrow for Part II of Panama’s Travels…

Before I get started, I’d like to send a shoutout to everybody who participated in the First Annual Rap Battle here at JGT. To Wise Diva, Diggs, Xquizzyt1, Jarrod, Monk, builtfromwax, D.Young, Humanity Critic (who came in with one late verse and pretty much shut shit down), and Brutha Code (go to the battle to link to folks sites, I’m too lazy to put up everybody’s link). It was a lot of fun and nobody took anything personal from what I could tell. And they say black folks can’t act civil! To the rappers…good damn job and we’ll do it again sometime.

*****

How many of you professional black people out there work in an office majoritoraly (I love making up words) filled with white people?

*hands, hands everywhere*

Damn, that looks like almost everybody.

Well, I’m no different. And I must say that working in a “diverse” office has been very much eye opening for me in the sense that I’ve learned about things that I would never ever learn about on my own. I hear about places I didn’t know existed that are mere minutes from my home. I get to hear about every different flavor of beer known to man, which doesn’t matter much to me since I don’t really drink beer.

However, I’ve also been able to participate in workplace innings (similar to outings, except they took place within the halls of the office) intended to celebrate the end of prohibition. This is where I learned that white people truly aren’t afraid of anything because actual drinking of whiskey’s, scotch’s, and other shit you just don’t think to order at the club were being consumed on work premises…in the organization lawyer’s office…with the lawyer. Needless to say, this was new to me and I was shook out of my ass the whole time I was guzzling the finest ales available from your local grocery store.

What I also get to learn about is where many of my co-workers are from. And they come from some random places such as Vermont, Wyoming, Idaho, etc. Essentially, all the places I’ve never been. Which got me to thinking…none of those are places I’d ever actually want to go to either.

Now, I know that sounds closeminded but I have to pull the race card here. I don’t like to go to states where the closest black person is over a 1,000 miles away. I know its 2005, but errum, I don’t give a shit. While discussing travel I always get asked where I’m planning to go.

Co-Worker: So Panama also known as the Most Muhf****n’, where are you headed for on vacation?

Peregrination Panama: Anywhere there’s black people…um, I mean, Atlanta!

Co-Worker: Ah, I can dig it. You know whats nice this time of year? North Dakota. You should take a trip out there and just enjoy the air up there.

Peregrination Panama: You’re kidding right? The last black person that went there came back with a white wife and called for an end to affirmative action….um, I mean, right…North Dakota. You know, I might swing thru there on my way back from Montana.

I’ve always wondered about this because whenever I get to discussing travel with my friends we either always head for the same old black cities or new major cities. NOBODY ever thinks to want to go to Vermont. I actually have a friend from Idaho. A black one. Yet, the thought of going to Idaho makes me break out in hives and want to scratch trees and little furry bushytailed animals. I get the same reaction from thinking about Montana, Wyoming, bungee jumping, sailing, and BET.

I remember once a co-worker from Utah (it sounds like I work with the whitest people in America doesn’t it) was trying to convince me that Utah was a great place to live, regardless of race. Now, I don’t necessarily disbelieve him, I think he just has a skewed perception because he’s, well, white. That’s like me telling him that SouthWest Atlanta is the best place for anybody live regardless of color. Sure, it’s nice, but white folks just might feel out of place.

I think a lot of us are this way; afraid of overly white shit. I can’t lie, I known I am. Even though my mother is white, I wasn’t raised in white surroundings. I’ve been in diverse surroundings with heavy black influences and realities through most of my life. This causes me to feel uncomfortable in places where there’s an overabundance of white people. Like Vermont which is the whitest state in America. I mean gotdamn…96% white. That’s some scary shit. And I haven’t even been there and I don’t feel comfortable there.

I travel to Boston a lot nowadays and though I’m warming up to it, I’m still not totally comfortable there. Even though its a major city, my perceptions have gotten the best of me causing me to overthink things while I’m there. I’m often walking around with my guard up. If a damn squirrel comes at me sideways I’m concerned about it. And the fucked up thing is that there are lots of black people there. It just seems like we were all herded to certain parts of town. When you’re in the black part, you KNOW you’re in the black part. I think that just adds fuel to my problem because I’m looking around like, damn, how the hell did white people really manage to shepherd mother fuckers so that they know exactly where they are and should be at all times.

It’s crazy.

I’m sure lots more black people are like this too. Hey, let’s go to Vermont!?!?!!!

Nigga, you crazy??? They got the KKK there!!!!

How you know?

I don’t…but all them white people?? Somebody don’t like black folks!

So, I’d like to institute the official: Get Yo’ Black Ass Out The Hood And Explore America Foundation.

I plan on taking some kind of trip to a place that no black person has gone before…just as soon as I get some money and have enough black people by my side.

Who’s with me???

And I’m not talking camping…I’m talking camping, in Northern Idaho.

No longer will I be left out of work place conversations involving places that black people normally wouldn’t go!

No longer shall I fear overly white states. I shall focus my efforts on things that make more sense…like taking over the world and convincing Michael Jackson that making a hiphop album isn’t in his best interests.

People the world is ending.

Are you ready?

*****

Have you been going to check out The INS? The Insensitive News Syndicate? Well?? If not, get thee to a nunnery (big ups to Hamlet), and if you can’t find one, head over to the INS for some interesting takes on how news is supposed to be presented. Currently, I have an article up on the whole Stop Snitchin’ trend. I hate that damn trend. Enjoy!

Come on come all and welcome to that spot where that good hot shit is about to go down. It’s a celebration bitches.

And I’m Panama Jackson…the coolest cat on two legs. Simon Sez…Amen.

Today at JGT Enterprises we’d like to bring the inner rapper out of everybody and get folks to chuckin’ rhymes and shit. That’s just what we do. We’re in the business of having fun around here so let’s get it like G. Dep and Diddy were doing. And remember, no rhyme is so bad that it shouldn’t be shared…once again, reference Diddy.

The only ground rule is not to take shit personal. If you do, that’s your ass and truthfully, I’m sure most folks won’t give a shit. Some people have already kicked it off on Friday because they were clearly chomping at the bit to get things started.

You see…folks are hungry…STARVING…to let their inner LL out. Like black cheerleaders from Compton, you better bring it!

So, without further adieu, welcome to:

The First Annual But Potentially Monthly or Ever Few Months JGT Enteprises Wax On Rap Off!

Let the games begin!

(And by the way, I have no idea where I’m going with this or how or when it will ever end. All I know is it takes YOU to come through and make that change that Michael Jackson was talking about. You…can do it!)

Panama’s Inaugural Verse:

I’m finna kick of the festivities so first off fuck you
Up in Jackson G. Tickle, that’s just how we do
Ain’t nobody as hot as me, hell y’all ain’t as cold either
If you think you are just go die, but it’s good to be a believer!

Up here to challenge Panama AKA Petey Jakes
It‚Äôs okay, I know you just want to hear what I’m gonna say
Fact of the matter is, I’m badder than Michael Jackson is
In a room full of 3 year old kids, drinkin’ Thug Passion

Askin’ what’s Happenin’ you niggas are just Reruns
Discussing shit I been bloggin’ bout ever since I first begun
Yeah I took it to bloggin’ cuz I’m joggin’ this whole shit
It ain’t that I can’t stop, it’s just that I won’t quit

Y’all had some cute punchlines yeah that’s all cool
That shit goes down quickly ask Canibus…Cani-who??
I’m not simply amazing just cuz I’m the damn man
It’s more because all y’all niggas can’t do half of what I can

To that built from wax nigga, you’re melting give it up
Monk, dog chemistry? I’M the AU child, look it up
J.H. you’re rhyme was cool, I’m willing to admit
Only problem is you’re a small fish up in this giant establishment

People, y’all need to quit I’m like the government you can’t run
Droppin’ shitty lyrics, yall folks had me like ho-hum
Yall sound like Diddy, um, that’s not a compliment
I‚Äôm gonna take a break here, so feel free to repent…

Chuuuch!

*****

And so it begins.

I had originally planned to set this Friday off with some fun festivities for the masses, however, due to circumstances beyond my control, also known as work, I have some shit that NEEDS to get out the door today. With that said, I’m just going to get folks ready for whats coming up on Monday.

Why put in a preparatory note for Monday? Isn’t this just a blog?

Yes it is just a blog, but Monday, I need your help.

Why?

Good question.

On Monday, Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises is going to have the:

First Monthly, Ever-So-Monthly But Potentially Annually JGT Enterprises Wax On Rap Off!

What is that exactly? Glad you asked.

Out of the sheer boredom of my mind I was thinking one day, “Panama, you oh so sexxy devil you, what would be really fun to do on your blog?” I tend to speak to myself as if I’m about 4 different people at times. Well I said to myself, why not just have a rap battle where I start it off and folks respond in kind in the comments. Truth be told, who HASN’T wanted to be a rapper at some point in their life? And who hasn’t wanted to take a shot at Panama Muhfuckin’??? And most importantly…

…who doesn’t want to have fun?

And best of all, its a total free for all. Everybody can play!! So for the veteran MC’s in the room, dust off your rhyme books, and for the rookies, get ready to kick a dope rhyme…smoooooooooove on the TLC tip! There is no experience required, hell, I tend to suck most of the time. But as long as its all in good fun…hakuna matata bitches, hakuna matata.

The only rule will be to keep it light…though if this was LL Cool J, he would say make it hot. I’m not going to say make it hot, though.

And since I brought up LL, for everybody out there who thinks that they can’t possibly come up with something, just remember this, LL Cool J, the veteran rapper and world-wide sex symbol has actually crafted this as a line on a song:

“touch it why don’t ya/touch it why don’t ya”

and

“paradise is very nice”

Who CAN’T do that??

It’s like butta baby…it’s like sugar y’all.

I’ll even add some instrumentals to the radio blog so that folks can pretend they are writing to something.

And just to kick it off as a little warm up, I’m gonna give you all 8 bars as a sign of good faith.

Ready?? Good. Let’s go.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….
Well nobody can rap quite like I can
yeah I stole that line but I don’t give a damn
cuz the fact that I’m the man helps me sleep at night
and don’t act like you ain’t know homey that ain’t right
cuz at JGT, punks jump up to get beat down
come around here talkin’ that shit and i’ll show you how
so bring your A-game don’t slouch it’s gon’ be bitchin’
and if you can’t stand the heat stay the fuck out the kitchen…

Chuuch!

See…shit ain’t that hard! (O-Dog, Menace II Society, 1993)

****

As another note here, make sure you head over to the newest news site on the Internet, The Insensitive News Syndicate. Are you tired of reading the news from a slanted point of view? Do you want fair and balanced?? Do you want news sources to cut out the gimmicks?? If you answered yes to any of these questions, The INS isn’t for you. If you want to read how shit should ACTUALLY look…head on over. I’m a writer there along with lots of other folks who have a hell of a funny perspective on shit. Get thee to The INS and as a warm-up, check out an article I wrote about some FUCKED up shit that those animal huggers, PETA, pulled.

[***I forgot to do this yesterday, but venture on over to the newest News site to hit the internet, The Insensitive News Syndicate (INS), for the latest in what the hell is really going on. The INS, offending you on purpose! ***]

Welcome to the second entry of Guest Shots To The Dome, the place where other folks drop their jewels and I get to sit back, relax, and smoke a fat ass joint. The fact that I don’t smoke is irrelevant, but if I did, I would do exactly what I just said I’d do.

Today’s entry brings us back to the Hurricane Katrina situation. They say Americans have a short attention span. What happened last week is last weeks news. And you know what? I agree. It seems like months ago the whole fallout from the hurricane rallied everybody together…now? Nobody’s talking about it anymore.

About a week ago, I received a post from a former blogger who hasn’t shut her site down yet hasn’t posted in months, Nikilovely of Matters of the Heartless fame, discussing some of the issues regarding the relief effort from the Hurricane. She has an opinion, and wants it to be known.

Take a gander.

****

Relief? Effort?

1997 Roederer Cristal Champagne: $225.
2 Gold chains from Wal-Mart: $350.
Louis Vuitton handbag: $800.
Four new gold teeth with platinum fronts: worthless.

The FEMA Disaster Card: It’s everywhere it shouldn’t be.

Somewhere, right now, there’s a probably a round of lap dances being sponsored by the good folks at FEMA and the grand ole taxpayers of the US of A.

I’m a generous person. No, really. I give all the time. I’m the first person in the office that you bring your kid’s fund raiser brochure to—I’ll buy the cookie dough, I’ll order the wrapping paper, I’ll pay the $8 for 2 oz. of gummy worms in a “collectible” plastic cup. Not only that, but I give money to just about anyone holding a sign. If you say you need it and I have it, it’s yours. That’s just how I am. So understand that as I pledge here and now that I will not be giving another dime to an organization in order to fund Katrina relief, it is not a decision made lightly.

It’s obvious that there are some victims who are abusing the funds intended to help rebuild their lives. It’s a sad fact that due to the prevalent mentality of many of these affected persons, if and when they get their lives back on track it will go on much as it did before. There will always be those that will constantly have their hand out, all the while blowing everything they get on trifles. But there are people in genuine need out here. The way this is going, there won’t be adequate funds to offer even a semblance of stability when they return to New Orleans. Even worse, as more reports like those listed above leak out, many people will no longer even be willing to help.

It will take billions upon billions of dollars to truly rebuild everything New Orleans lost in Katrina. Most of those funds will come from federal and major charitable organizations. Knowing that, I’d expect some measures to be in place to ensure that when the time comes, there will be enough money to make a go at it. This means taking some actions to make sure that the funds go into the areas where they are most needed. It shouldn’t even be possible to take those funds and misappropriate them to the degree that is being reported.

They’ve set up Food Stamps on an electronic card that restricts the purchase of tobacco, alcohol, and other non-food items. They’ve set up WIC so that participants can only purchase the least expensive brands of the items on the voucher. I won a Thanksgiving turkey dinner in a Salvation Army raffle one year, and instead of the turkey, I got a $50 grocery store gift card that restricted my purchase to food items only, for tax purposes. Obviously, Big Brother has means of curbing inappropriate spending. So it defies logic to think it’s possible for Tre’vinquinae and all of her little hoodmice to march into the nearest Foot Locker and snatch up the latest platinum dipped Nike Air Diamonds with spinners on the back, in blue. With FEDERAL funds. Is it just me, or is this absurd?

There should be measures in place. The organizations in charge should set up for any displaced persons to be provided with housing, food, clothing, and a small monthly stipend until they find sufficient employment. There should be limits placed on how much you can spend on any one item, just like there is with WIC. I understand that administering such a program would take time. Set up a waiting list. Give priority to those that were employed within 90 days prior to the disaster, or can show just cause for not working. In the mean time, send relief funds to those smaller organizations such as schools and churches that are housing and feeding evacuees who have yet to receive funding. This way, we can ensure that money is going where it is most needed, and help ensure that there will be money left to rebuild the city so that people have a home to return to in the future.

It seems like the federal government is has a major case of guilt over delaying assistance to the city for as long as it did, and for allowing conditions to deteriorate to that point. So they’re throwing money, at the victims to keep them quiet and alleviate their own consciences. They’re giving funds, but offering no future. Personally, I find it offensive. Until I see that these or similar procedures have been put into place, I can not support this effort. I will continue to volunteer with displaced families; I will continue to purchase items and give money to those people that I come in contact with. Wherever I can detect an actual trail of effective spending in this effort, I will give. But I’ve made my last pledge, bought my last candy bar, and dropped my last quarter in the checkout jar. I have completely lost faith in the ability of the federal government or corporate charitable organizations to effectively handle this crisis. This so-called “relief effort” is offering little of either.

*****

Agree? Disagree?? Want to fight Niki??

It’s all available to you at Guest Shots To The Dome!

Yes that Ray J.

“Hey, waitaminute, ain’t that Brandy’s brother??”-Lil Kim circa 2002

Yes…it is.

And he gets unnecessarily hated on for no good reason.

The hate proceeds no longer, for today, the good folks at Jackson G. Tickle’s Offices of Suspended Hateration have decided to embark on a mission that no educated black man has ever fathomed.

Today, Ray J will be defended.

Where to begin?? Hmmmmm….

You know, I’m just going to come out and say it. I’m a fan…well now anyway. Much like the rest of black folks, I was just as big a Ray J hater as anybody else. If you think about, he makes it so easy to do. It almost seemed as if the boy was always trying to hard. Scratch that…he WAS always trying to hard. Granted, he had a hell of a shadow to come from under. Truth be told, he was Brandy’s little brother, perfect little girl next door Brandy, and here he is coming out trying to come off like he’s got some street sense or had some hood in him. Ray J, we don’t believe you, you need more people.

The main case against him was that he was this fake hood dude who tried to hard…and oh yeah, he was just corny. Seriously corny. And you know what, the corny thing is just innate. If you’re a cornball you’re a cornball. See also Nick Cannon. But those first two, the hood problem and his trying to hard, well those are a bit more understanding. So let’s delve into this.

The People Vs. Ray J. Norwood AKA Ray J, Court Docket No. 9CVP

The Honorable Judge Wopner Presiding
Attorney for Ray J: Mr. I. M. Datkneega, Esq., JGT Enterprises

Task: The Impossible

Ladies and gentleman, I stand before you today to do the unthinkable. I stand before you to convince you that a severe malfeasance of justice has occurred in our ranks. We have levied an unnecessary amount of hate at one, Ray J., and today, I shall not be moved nor shall I stand for it any longer.

In fact, we shall overcome the fact that we’ve been hoodwinked, bamboozled, and led astray!

Can I get an Amen?

Amen.

How will I complete this arduous task?? I’ll tell you. I’m going to explain to you all how we have been wrong in our accusations against Mr. Norwood of being a total fake ass nigga. I’m going to show you how he had no choice but to try to hard and come off looking lame in the process. I’m going to show you how his youth and circumstances helped to create the man we see before us today. I’m going to show you how I became a fan, and show you the light to becoming a fan as well. It’s okay to step out of the dark…into the light of prosperity!! Into the light of ubiquity…in fact…Gimme the Light…alright…tonight.

Did young Ray J try to hard at times? Yes he did. But WHY did he? Think about this. You’re older sister is selling millions of records and has a name that everybody knows…before 19. In the family, she is the one people run to hug while you are pushed around at the dinner line at the family reunion. Nobody wants to give you any Kool-Aid, it’s all for your sister. Nobody even knows your name.

Now, imagine if you will, a rubber duck…some blue suede shoes, and a bag of nickels.

What would you do?

I ask again.

What WOULD you do???

You’d act out and do anything in your power to gain notice. In your attempts to get some of the attention your family is bestowing upon their wunderkid daughter, you are forced to do what any other young man screaming for love and adoration would do in LA.

Join a gang.

SAY WHAT????

Yes nigga, Ray J was known to be affiliated with a set of Bloods in Carson, California.

Hmmm…didn’t know that did you?

Did you also know that one phone call can save you 15% or more by switching your car insurance to Geico?

So we have a gangland thug in the family worrying his family all to death in an attempt to get some attention. Well, at some point, he reached out to his family because he was afraid of what might happen to him on the streets. So Ray J did a little dirt on the streets but still hasn’t managed to get from under Brandy’s shadow. He is, for lack of a better term, just Brandy’s little brother. Yet he gets a shot to release an album for that very reason.

And he lays a brick, Everything You Want, but that’s not because he couldn’t sing. It was because he didn’t know who he was at that point. Youthful uncertainty is something we’ve all gone through isn’t it? We all at some point had to search for ourselves which is even harder when you’re life is defined as the younger sibling of a wildly popular, but soon to be hated entity and money making machine.

Then when he gets on Moesha everybody hates on him for playing a pseudo-thug. I always wondered why we tend to spew hate-age at people for playing characters we don’t believe. They are characters…actors. Maybe it was the continued nepotism. I don’t know, but that isn’t his fault. Poor Ray J is just trying to become somebody when nobody thinks he can.

But then he did the unthinkable? What did he do?

Well, he had a hit single with the Lil Kim assisted “Waitaminute” from interesting album It’s Not A Game. And don’t nobody better not act like they weren’t feeling that song. Neptunes on the track, Lil Kim on the mic, and Ray J doing his best horrible singing impression. The problem was the video. Okay, I’ll admit, once again he was trying to hard to seem cool. And that is a problem he’s had, but he’s also been trying to come into his own. People hate for him trying to seem cool and give off this semi “down” persona when truth be told, he’s done his stint in the streets. Little do we know, Ray J has done some dirt.

Because of our continued hate, Ray J ends up further trying to figure out his place by running with Suge Knight.

Yes, that Suge Knight.

Why am I telling you all of this? It’s to illustrate the fact that though we hate on him for his pseudo-thug image, he has at some point done things that would qualify any other individual with some credibility. But no, we blame him for being Brandy’s brother and attempting to come from under her shadow. That is not fair. Yes he’s corny, but that inner cornball comes from trying to prove to us, the masses, that he does have something to offer. All youth’s go through points where they don’t know where they are and lash out and rebel in attempts to find their own personal security.

Ray J is no different. The only problem is, nobody wants to give him any credit because he’s the younger brother of somebody we now equally hate on, Brandy.

Is it his fault that he had to find a way to get noticed? No, it’s not. Ray J was going to be hated on regardless. Nothing he could have done would be good enough. But I’m saying give him a chance. For instance, he just released his third album, Raydiation. And you know what, it’s quality. He seems a little more humbled now than on previous attempts. Even in interviews, he isn’t trying to sound like a thugged out playboy. No, he’s just Ray J and he wants his music to speak for him.

The question is then, can it? What is different?

Well, on his newest album he experiments with his vocals a little bit more. And wouldn’t you know? He can sing. I’m not saying he’s Luther, but he has some vocal range. The songwriting is good enough and the music is downright good. Does he try to hard, well, yes, on a few songs where he has guest appearances from the likes of pissboy R. Kelly, Fat Joe, and other random folks. Yet, the songs where its just him singing…well, it’s some quality. But nobody wants to give him a chance because it’s Ray J.

Ray J went through phases that everybody goes through. And he’s had to grow. Usher and Kanye are some of the cockiest bastards on the planet and have heads bigger than the Goodyear Blimp, yet we purchase their music in droves.

Okay, bad example, their musical track records are good.

Hmm…I can’t make any excuses to purchase the album except to say its quality. There are 8 songs, count’em 8, that are worth having on your iPod. His identity issues are common to us all, yet we hold him to a higher standard because of his sister.

Can a brother grow? I say, can he grow?

Ladies and gentleman, I’m not here today to get you to purchase more Ray J music, I’m here to ask you to give him a chance. He cannot be faulted for going through what any young man or woman goes thru on course to figure himself out. Such is life. Yes he’s corny, but so many teen stars are. See B2K, Omarion, Marques Houston. Ray J has seemingly let go of a lot of that thug like non-sense that he knew wasn’t him, and started to become more of Ray J, a dude who wants to be somebody. He’s turned in a quality album, grown up, and come into his own.

What more can we ask for? All he wants is a chance.

Thank you.

I rest my case.

***For your listening pleasure, I will be adding Ray J’s newest album, Raydiation, to the wjgt radio at 106.3fm, later this evening. ***

Nobody told me.

Nobody warned me of the euphoric high I’d attain after my first trip round the bend.

Now I feel all alone…

…with the 22 million other people in America who have experienced the other “white” crack.

What is this new form of societal dysfunction?

It’s the Apple iPod.

There I said it.

Hello, my name is Panama Jackson. I just purchased an iPod and I’m addicted.

Help.

Me.

Hey, did you all know that I’m still the sexxiest mofo around? Just thought I’d remind you in case you forgot or decided that just maybe your sex appeal was outshinin’ mine. Fret not…

…we spinnin’ son, we spinnin’.

I just bought an iPod on Monday. Four days ago. And it’s already consumed me. And the worst thing is that I’m so not joking. For instance, in DC, there are certain streets where one must be required to have a parking validation sticker in order to park on the street legally during the hours between 7am-830pm. If your vehicle is registered in DC at that particular address on said street, the parking validation sticker comes with the registration. Parking on a street as stated during said hours could garner you a lovely all-expenses-are-yours ticket from your friendly neighborhood Parking Enforcement Brigade.

I live on one of those such streets and my car isn’t registered in Washington, DC. On Wednesday, I decided I’d chance getting a ticket just so I had a good reason to use my iPod. I walked the 15 minutes to the nearest Metro/Subway stop and publicly transported myself to work and back.

I intentionally flirted with a parking ticket and discerned that it was worth it.

For my new iPod.

Ching Ching Jackpot! I think I’m in love.

When I got to work? I made sure to lock my iPod in my desk drawer just in case somebody decided to sneak into this office and come snooping for my iPod.

It’s made me paranoid.

To take it a step further…while I was adding music to it, I actually began playing favorites with my music, felt guilty, and was afraid of practicing nepotism.

Hmm…I can’t put Jay-Z Reasonable Doubt on here and NOT put Nas’ Illmatic. That wouldn’t be fair to Nas. How can I have Outkast’s ATLiens and NOT have Aquemini on here, that just makes no sense.

Hillary Duff cannot be added before Janet Jackson. She can, however, go before Amerie.

*rimshot*

I swear I felt like I was going to be visited by the iPod Patrol to make sure the albums I had present made sense in some sort of Apple Vacuum.

I’ve only had it for four days.

And to complete the murder, on day two? I decided that the iPod fit into the priority list of people I love the most in my life. My family barely edged out my iPod.

Nobody told me.

I left my iPod at home today and I’m sad, but I had to break myself away from it early so that I don’t become overly addicted. I assume the newness will wear off eventually but good googly moogly this was the best purchase I’ve made in years to include updating my underwear collection from tighty whiteys to boxer briefs.

You have just experienced too much information.

It was also a joke.

Heh. Heh. Heh.

I’m pretty sure I’m one of the last reading individuals in America to purchase one, but man, I’m so happy right now. Shoot, I’m even going to do what I thought I’d never do and take a Greyhound bus to New York just so I can use it for an extended period of time. The Oh So Sexxy Smooth Soul Brotha Panama has decided to leave his trusty car, Black Sweetness, behind because of his iPod.

The sadness of that statement has only just begun to sink in.

Shucks, I even just learned that with 1 click of a button I can buy entire albums from the iTunes Music Store. I might officially go bankrupt in less than a month. I already bought one album, The Five Stairsteps Greatest Hits. It was just so easy I wanted to do it again.

I need help and Jesus is STILL out walking with Kanye protecting him from Secret Service after his statements a few weeks back. Footprints in the sand?? Shoot Kanye has about 15 pair of footprints next to him right now…and they’re all running…from the government. Big ups to Kan The Louis Vuitton Don for stating what he did when he did where he did and how he did.

But I digress.

My name is Panama Jackson and I’m addicted to my iPod.

[*** No new radioblog today, but its coming Monday along with a post that is going to go where no man has gone before. I'm going to attempt to do what no educated, super sexxy, black man has done before. I'm going to make the case for...??? ***]

You know, every now and then I get this benevolent feeling in my heart that convinces me to give a chance to something that I otherwise wouldn’t consider. Such found me in front of my television on Monday night watching the season premiere’s of UPN’s lineup of television shows.

And by the way, I apologize for watching UPN. Except on this Thursday when Everybody Hates Chris premieres, which better be good with as much promotion as it’s been getting. Shoot, had Jay-Z given Memphis Bleek this kind of promotion, Bleek might have sold more than 1,000 copies of landmark drink coaster 534.

And since I’ve totally taken a tangent here, why not take one more? Cool?? Cool. On Kanye West’s “Diamonds From Sierra Leone (Remix)” Jay posits, “I’ve sold kilos of coke, I’m guessing I can sell CD’s.”

You sure can Jay! Your CD’s. As in Jay-Z albums. Your track record sucks with other artists. I don’t think Young Gunz, Bleek, Rihanna, or Tearra Mari have gone Gold combined. And the fact that Mariah Carey is pushing something like 4 million units doesn’t necessarily count since she’s, well, Mariah and was on the label well before Jay got there. Young Jeezy too. Hmmm…scratch that, according to Billboard, Pretty Ricky (yes THAT Pretty Ricky) is selling more than Young Jeezy which defies ALL rules of logic. Granted, they’ve been on the charts a few weeks longer but how is that even remotely possible??

Oh yeah.

Grind With Me…slooooooooooooooooooow grind!

Got to admit it’s catchy. And to complete the murder, I like Ray J’s new song “One Wish”.

Yes, that Ray J, who has an album in stores right now entitled Raydiation.

*cough*which*cough*I*cough*have*cough*

It hurts when you boo.

Let’s get back to business, bitches. One On One, All Of Us, Girlfriends, and Half & Half.

UPN…it’s time to let all of these shows go. Yes, even Girlfriends, a show that I found myself thoroughly enjoying at some point. Though I had to often wonder how they managed to make Joan’s appearance an integral part of the weekly plot. You just never knew what you were going to get with her. Sometimes fine, sometimes assmunch ugly. Unpredictability is often a benchmark of success, but geez Louise, when she was off, she was WAAAAAAAAAY off.

Anyway, every one of these shows has managed to find its way into total asstasticness right now. I’ve come to the conclusion that NONE of the writers for these shows thought they’d have a job for more than two seasons, tops. So they wrote shows that could easily end after the second season. The only problem was that they were extended and then the writers had to come up with new ideas. So what did they do?? Came up with ideas that not only didn’t work, but were horribly planned and executed.

For instance…on One and One, which features Flex Alexander and that little girl from Love & Basketball, Brianna (L&B Girl) just graduated from high school and is on her way to Cali for acting school. Well, her boyfriend comes with her and they move into a house with like 5 other folks, one of whom happens to be Ray J (Raydiation, in stores now…I’m trying to Jedi Mind Trick you into purchasing it). Maybe it’s just me, but anytime Ray J comes into the picture, its never a good thing. But also, the story can’t go that much further. The concept of One On One was about the relationship between the father and daughter. Hmmm…he lives in Baltimore and she lives in LA now. So what happens next? He stays in LA now “for a few weeks” clearly leaving his job behind in Baltimore…for a few weeks. So they had to come up with a new way to recreate the concept of the show in LA…aww fuck it.

It’s just bad.

The show All Of Us just offends me now. It’s a show about a family trying to make it after a divorce when a kid and new fiancee involved. And I’ll admit, the show wasn’t half bad before and the multiple scenes with Elise Neal (with her fine ass) and the newly married Lisa Raye (with her supremely fine ass) made it worth watching…last season that is. Last season ended with Robert (Duane Martin) quitting his job to go back and work with his boy Dirk (Tony Rick…Chris’ brother…Everybody Hates Chris, Thursday…DJ Clue…Clue-minati…2005…), and then they both quit their jobs, Tia (Elise Neal) is pregnant and they are about to get married.

Good segue into the next season if you ask me. Well since they didn’t ask me, they decided that the best thing to do would be to undo all that potential and go the TOTAL opposite route. Contract dispute? Who knows? But Elise Neal is outta there. So how do they explain this to us? In the first five minutes this conversation happens. Come take a listen.

All Of Us Season Premier-Opening Sequence
Robert: Man, just five months ago I was engaged to Tia, she was pregnant, and I had just quit my job.

Dirk: Yeah, who would have known that she wasn’t really pregnant and you two would have ended the engagement and you’d still be unemployed. But you still have a fine ass ex wife who’d I’d bang in a heartbeat.

Okay, I made up the last line, but you get the drift. They just totally tried to create a whole new show in a 2 minute conversation. That offended me. I’m like, whats the point of the show if you remove the fiancee? The premise of the show was making it as a non-traditional family. And since I clearly don’t know what that means, the ex-wife’s house burns down and she moves BACK IN. I mean, I liked seeing Lisa Raye damn near naked but now they’re just being dumb.

Like I said, they had no idea where to go with that show so they said fuck it. In fact, I’ll bet they just wrote that script the day before taping.

Girlfriends?? It’s been getting worse and more and more goofified, especially Joan. But I’ll reserve total judgement. Let’s just say that it’s also starting to leave something to be desired.

And Half&Half was never that good a show though I’ll admit I enjoy it. Mostly because I find the two daughters to be attractive and Big DeeDee deserves an award for her performances on that show every week. But guess what they did to throw us a curveball.

Any idea??

None?

You don’t watch UPN???

Welp…THEY ADDED A BLOG.

Yes, Mona the oldest frizzy haireded slightly thicker sister decided that she’s gonna get her Doogie Howser on. Does anybody else realize that Doogie was really the first blogger??

Either way, at the beginning and end of the show, she’s sitting there in her blogger’s stance, ready to type her newly learned lesson of the day.

Kill.

Me.

All of this, I can’t even get Kevin Hill back.

To me it seems like these UPN shows just aren’t going anywhere and are headed there fast. All of them left something to be desired but now they’re just relying on cornball storylines and ridiculous twists in hopes of just keeping the shows going.

I’ll be surprised if any of these shows last past next season.

Question of The Day: Since I know everybody watches Laguna Beach, who’s better…LC or Kristin? I’m an LC man myself. She’s hot. Kristin just annoys me.

Ante up.