I don’t like talking about people’s mommas, but umm…

…Michael Vick’s momma needs a good talking to.

How in Sam Hill do you raise TWO superstar, abnormally, talented fuck-up athletes and not once sit them down and teach them the difference between right and wrong?

And for the record, I don’t think the dogfighting is the most heinous thing one can do. Hell it isn’t even illegal in all states. However, electrocuting, hanging, beating to death, and any other inhumane crime to a dog is why I think that nigga should fry.

Fuckin’ fry him. Throw the book at him and the kitchen sink. Put his ass in jail with Shillinger from Oz. I’m a pet lover to the nth degree. I love animals and I hate when bad things happen to animals. Unless of course said animal is trying to maul me or something, in which case, well…

…they do say all dogs go to heaven.

The jury’s out on grizzly bears who attack kids and little people on camping trips in the woods. Then again, how would you feel if somebody broke off into your crib and tried to eat dinner there like nothing was wrong. You just might go all bear on their asses, now mightn’t you?

Back to the point. Michael and Marcus Vick are fuck-ups. Marcus, though not completely understandable at all, at least wasn’t making the big bucks yet. Then again, there is never any excuse for stomping on the leg of a downed player on the field risking major injury to him. I was going to go into his rap sheet, but fuck it, google his ass or check Wikipedia. He’s had numerous run-ins with the law.

And Michael, oh Michael. Savior of Atlanta and godsend to the NFL. He became the damn face of the NFL so you’d THINK that at some point he might say to himself, “Self, perhaps I should stay on the straight and narrow (and not call myself Ron Mexico anymore) and protect the hundreds of millions of dollars I’m making. You know, that sounds like a good idea!”

His self and himself didn’t have that conversation though. So then we have the infamous Ron Mexico fiasco. Mind you, I actually think that the name Ron Mexico is a good damn name…spreading genital herpes and then signing into treatment clinics under an assumed porn-star alias? Not such a good look.

Speaking of not good looks, there’s that little “water bottle” incident that happened on his way out of Miami. I don’t give a shit if the results came back as negative. Why WOULD you use a bottle specifically used for hiding drugs? He might not have been busted that time, but his ass was definitely using that for other shit at other times. Fuck the justice system, I know guilty when I see it.

All eyez on Vick.

Then we have the now infamous and potential career-ending, jail-directing, money-decreasing, Bad Newz Kennelz dogfighting ring. Like I said, I’m kind of neither here nor there on dogfighting. But when you go torturing fuckin’ animals for sheer amusement, well fuck you. And dumbass…he said he had no knowledge of what was going on there.

Man, too bad they have that whole “state’s witness” problem because once niggas start busting out the gymnastics and flipping on your ass, it’s a rap, chico. One cat already flipped. You think he ISN’T going to take Vick down? Fuck it, I don’t ever want to see any parts of jail.

And NOW they’re trying to get him on some RICO shit (google it). He might lose his livelihood AND all of his money. Which all begs the question…

…what exactly was Vick’s momma telling her sons while they wre growing up. Granted they grew up in the projects and there are definitely lessons that are learned the hard way, but these niggas reek of behaviorial- and bad judgement- issues. It’s like they just don’t realize that, “hey, I’ve come from nothing with all of the potential in the world to make millions for what I can do with a ball…but ya know, the measly thousands I can make dogfighting are something I just have to do for my boys…”

Is Michael Vick being targeted? Yep. And its his own damn fault. Was Marcus Vick being targeted? Nope, he’s just an idiot. But the blame all falls on the parents and what they didn’t teach the kids early on…

…do. not. be. a. dumb. nigga.

They must have been at practice that day.

It’s time for another observation that has me totally baffled. Yet, I almost think I get this one…

I party a lot these days. Not so much because I like going out all of the time. Nope. It’s because I’m forced to be a participator about 5 days a week with a current part-time full-time venture I’m apart of. You see, Panama Muhf****n’ is a manager of a nightclub in Washington, DC. At night - I still have the day job as well.

Sleep be damned.

Amongst my observations and basically uber-noshit observations is that anytime you want to get a party going with a bunch of 25-and-up’s, your best bet is to throw on BBD’s “Poison”. Well, that amongst other songs but “Poison” just has an amazing effect on the crowd.

Hands go up. Ass’s prepare to shake. And old school dances come from that inner place inside most of us where we stuff our Hammerpants and adoration of Michael Jackson: The Before-I-Lost-My-Damn-Mind Years. The cross-leg-kick-step dance comes out and the folks with the real skills process to the middle of the floor while everybody watches the old-school showdowns. It’s like stripping with clothes on and less niggas making it rain (on them hoes).

It’s a lot of fun and I’m sure most people are a witness.

Hallelujah!

It is, in effect, a club-banger; one of those tracks that the DJ holds on to because you don’t want to break it out too early before the party really gets going. It’s the track that can shift your party into the next gear. Of course, it has to be followed up by something equally jarring, like…what is the perfect follow up song to “Poison”. In all of my years of club-going, I wonder if I’ve ever stopped to smell the hummus and ponder on the fact that any sequence of songs was just perfect.

Well, recently I’ve gone out to a few white clubs. I have some friends in town for the summer who are less than Negroid. Of course the music is different though there are definite similarities. It’s like listening to the pop station versus the urban station. Except there’s one glaring difference.

Hmm…stop. I don’t know if it’s just me but my senses get on high alert when certain songs with the word “nigga” in them come on in white clubs. I can’t help but watch as people mimic the lyrics, including the word “nigga”. Got damn strength in numbers. Of course, it’s a white club for a reason. Only a few Black folks are ever usually there, scoping the white chicks.

I’ve seent it with my own two eyes.

Well, do you realize that white clubs actually play and use Vanilla Ice’s “Ice Ice Baby” much in the same way that urban clubs use “Poison”? Mind you, I’m talking about college bars and clubs like that where there’s no dress code and lots of people wear Abercrombie & Fitch.

I almost spit my drink out the first time I heard “Ice Ice Baby” and was in utter amazement that it was being played and that people were losing their minds. I must have said something a good 10 times to my friends like…”white people actually LIKE this?”

Of course, I also realize that white people don’t take (in general) club music as serious as some of us Black folks do. I can’t even imagine a DJ throwing some Vanilla Ice in the mix at an urban establishment. Niggas would literally stop moving and all stare at the DJ while he went into, “I’m just joking people…” and go into something way more appropos.

You know, I was almost offended that everybody was okay with “Ice Ice Baby” then I realized that before I really cared about rap, I probably loved that song like everybody else when it came out and helped to make Vanilla Ice the multi-millionaire that he is today.

Do you all realize that Vanilla Ice claimed to have been dangled over a balcony over royalties from the song “Ice Ice Baby” by Suge Knight and then claimed that it was a lie.

My guess is that he probably got dangled over a balcony after the original claim causing him to say it never happened.

Funny how life happens sometimes, isn’t it?

Anyway…this was just another boring observation that I’ve made lately. Still stepping my blogging game up again…

Plus, I drink Kool-Aid with my family.

It was written.

Thank you and good night.

And no, this isn’t a review of the television show on BET. I haven’t watched the show and have no plans to do so. It’s on BET. AND it used to be “Hot Ghetto Mess”. When I said I wanted new original programming at BET, somehow, this isn’t what I envisioned.

Nope.

A few weeks ago now (or sometime last month) a bunch of niggas made strides for the Black community with their attempts at building our long lacking self-esteem and showing the young Black people that we can make it despite whatever obstacles, either historical or present, are lobbed our way.

The NAACP buried the n-word. Now this isn’t news to anybody clearly. This made national news and opinions were plentiful. I didn’t really pay much attention to most opinions because I felt like this was the biggest damn waste of time in the history of wasting time. This is up there with Sheila Jackson-Lee’s uber-fucking-stupid attempts a few years ago to get hurricane’s named after Black people. I wonder how she feels now that motherfucking Katrina wiped out a bunch of niggas. Somebody needs to follow up with her on that one pronto. You know Black people have too much time on our hands when we introduce affirmative action into the weather.

I mean, really.

I also think it was just damn dumb. I’m a big fan of symbolism. I really am; especially symoblism that turns a system on its ear and makes a splash.

Burying the n-word? No splash. The funny shit is that I’m not convinced that none of the niggas in the NAACP don’t use the n-word. It’s just too easy a word to use if you’re Black. It really is. I’ve actually made attempts to stop using it to no avail. No dice. I’m sure I could stop if I really wanted to, but you know what, I like the n-word. Just like I like cursing. Makes for much more spirited conversations.

My main beef with symbolic gestures like the NAACP’s is that it stops there. After the burial there is nothing. There’s no real significance. AND it just sounds like a dumb ass idea. Corny. Contrived. A waste of resources. In fact, I want to know who green lighted this idea. I sincerely hope that this wasn’t on the docket of important business for the NAACP and that somebody just threw this shit out around the watercooler one day and a bunch of niggas ran with it. If it wasted no more than 15 minutes of actual “we could be changing the world” time then I suppose I ain’t but so mad aside from the lack of significane in the aftermath.

But once again, it is the NAACP and my guess it that these niggas have nothing better to do until the next nigga comes along and screams racism somewhere…

Speaking of which, I have to say something here that might be of unfavorable view. But man, niggas owe them Duke Lacrosse players a big motherfucking apology. MAN…I’m so glad I kept my opinion to myself on that one. However it gets to a much bigger issue, and one that will need to be expanded upon in the future.

As Black people, we are so tired of being trampled upon and outcast that when something does go down, we tend to act out emotionally first. There is no judge and jury. Everybody’s guilty. And that does pose a problem. It means that we think too many of our own aren’t guilty and too many other people are guilty. It’s a legitimate reaction-solely based on the amount of shit Black people have had to and still have to go through-but its one that more times than not needs further examination.

Tawanna Brawley anyone? True, indeed, there are more than enough instances where we are completely justified in our reactions and responses, however, when we’re wrong we tend to just move on to the next shit (Al Sharpton) with very little in the way of regretting any mistakes.

Yeah so pretty much, all the problems in the Black community are Al Sharpton’s fault since he’s at the center of all the ruckus in the Black community.

Think about that for a minute.

Anyway, random I know. But its Friday, and I’m bored.

It was written.

…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.

You know how most people lead into stories or articles with some kind of dramatic introduction?

You do?

Yeah, me too. In fact, I usually do that myself. However, today I’m just going to ask the question.

Why in the hell do white people have no concept of personal space whatsoever?

I know I can’t be the only person who’s noticed this phenomenon. I used to think it was solely limited to nightclubs but apparently it’s just encoded in the DNA of white people to disregard all unwritten laws of space.

Case in point: Today, I ventured to my friendly neighborhood sandwich shop to partake of some of my favorite low priced vittles (I like the word vittles too). Three young Abercrombie-ish blonde chicks were right behind me annoying me as any group of young white girls is prone to do. Just like usual, I like, heard the word, like, like, too many times. Like, for real, I like, hate that shit.

Like.

Well, as I’m standing in line minding my own business, one of them is doing a steady slow take-over move. She might think she was sly, but my Negrosense had already taken over. What’s the Negrosense you ask?

It’s the sense that lets all Negroes know when white people are about to do something that might compromise your freedom.

Negrosense: Don’t leave home without it.

So as Blondey is slowly moving forward behind me, to the point where she’s brushing my arm with her purse, I kind of do the middle-of-the-line standstill manuever, which states that I’m in sole ownership of this slot. Stay your blonde ass back, beyotch.

Well, she must have caught me slipping or something because next think I know, one of the three is standing RIGHT next to me in line. Mind you, this isn’t the line to get on a roller coaster where you need two people. Also, we weren’t playing mixed doubles (kind of a double meaning term there, don’t ya know?) so there’s no need for us to be standing side by side as Ebony and Ivory sans Richard Pryor and Richard Gere.

I found my Blackness welling up in me as I was about to ask, what in Sam Hill are you doing? Why the fuck are you so close to me.

But I regained my composure and gave her the quick evil Black man glare. You know the glare…the one that works when you’re driving and somebody is unnecessarily tailgating. You give ‘em the glare and they slow way up behind you.

Anyway…for a good 5 minutes the Blonde Ambition Tour behind was in their place. As soon as the chick behind the counter goes to making my sandwich, here goes one of my transgressors AGAIN all on my back. After the 4th time of her hitting me with her purse, she says “sorry” and I just looked in to her soul.

I think I saw Sarah Silverman in there. Not sure, it was either her or the Band Camp girl.

Needless to say, I hate those chicks who were behind me. And its just like at a club. White people already can’t dance. If you throw a lack of personal space respectism in there, then you have the recipe for cuffed up Tims and pissedofftivity. They bump into you all willy nilly with little regard for the 6 feet of actual free space surrounding them.

I swear I went to the bathroom once where it was just me and one other white guy and he bumped me from across the room forcing me to spray the wall with God’s natural golden waterfall.

Okay, that didn’t really happen, but it could have because white people have no concept of personal space.

Damn close talkers.

You get to close to Black folks and we’re ready to fight. White people just try to become one with you at all times minus the Diplo shot and faulty Lifestyle condoms.

Speaking of which, did you hear about the fake Trojan Magnum condoms being sold in NYC? Way to stick it-pun intended-to Black people. When was the last time you heard of a white guy buying Magnums? First they take out the Black Panthers and now this.

Actually, first the Fat Boys breakup. No, wait…it was the Panthers first. Then the P. Stones.

Oh hell, you get the point.

Just thought I’d share since I know that every Black person who knows white people who knows Black people (you) who knows white people (them) has had to deal with this at some point. My suggestion?

Stab them.

Thank you and good night.

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.

It’s been 4 months and some days since I last wrote something here. Truthfully, I couldn’t be happier. Sometimes I wonder how folks continue to blog so much despite all of the work that has to go into it.

Hell, just coming up with topics daily can be a nappy-headed ho bitch and a half.

Anyway, I’m more or less making sure this thing still works. Perhaps I’ll be back to write more, perhaps I won’t. I don’t even know. Hell, I’m only writing this for myself as a matter of fact just to take up space and because I’m bored at work. On the offchance that anybody does actually come by and read this I have but one question:

You must really like me, huh?

Okay, that was a bit presumptuous of me. But fuck you anyway, I’m sexxy enough to be presumptuous and possibly misspell it twice. Spellchecker be damned.

Panama is still dead. Or at least in a coma. Or maybe I’m just P-Hova and waiting to come back from the dead to save the world from itself.

See, I’m still sacrilegious. Certified sinner.

Heathen to the stars.

Stay looking up at the stars because I’m amongst them.

Bitches.

Well Nas said it and every gotdamn body is talking about him again despite a piss-poorly executed album.

Well, at least they were before everybody got their hands on it. Now nobody seems to care.

Nasir Jones, this is your life.

Oh yeah, and he didn’t even prove hip-hop was dead.

“…i’m tangled in my chord, huh? bored…”

I’ve managed to bore the living shit out of myself as a blogger. And it’s not that I don’t think I can still write. I mean, Hey God, it’s me Panama…let’s get real. You don’t get as sexxy as I am without understanding one’s capabilities.

Dr. Strangejazz…that’s one.

Everyday I just go about life without even thinking of updating I come here to write something and despite the myriad ideas floating around this educated sphere of mine, I opt to leave nothing. I half decided to just leave blogging in 2006 — let 2007 be about bringing one of my real projects to fruition.

And then I got yelled at. Have you ever been yelled at thru an Instant Messenger? No? Who’d a thunk that it would be effective?

Not I says papa bear.

Anyway, I suppose this serves as my temporary adios of sorts. Perhaps I’ll get the itch to start writing something tomorrow. Perhaps not. Maybe one day I’ll decide that I’ve got the spirit and I’ll start writing in spurts.

Or perhaps not.

Supple…ya know, for old time’s sake.

Plus, it’s not like I can really let this blog go. Do you realize how many things I’ve done because of this blog?

Here’s a short list of things directly impacted by merely deciding to blog 2.5 years ago:

- I entered, enjoyed, and ended a long-term long distance relationship with a woman I met thru this here site. She’s fine too if not a little bit off (relax, I know I am too). And yes, she will read this. And yes, I will pay for that statement. Though she has determined that I’m not allowed to call her an ex, since unbeknownst to damn near all of you, at one point, I was seriously considering marrying her. She contends that puts her at a level above an ex. That’s a debate if I’ve ever had one.

- Been offered more random backwater ass writing jobs than I’d know what to do with. I’ve been offered mostly hip-hop writing jobs, something I’d never really want to do. I think to much to focus on hip-hop so much. Plus, I get bored with all the goings-ons of rap all the time.

- Written for Allhiphop.com a few times. I kind of have an open invitation there to write some shit.

- I’m actually a registered songwriter for ASCAP (American Society of Composers, Authors, and Publishers) and had one of my songs played on the radio.

- Met some of the best damn folks ever, two of which could even be considered two of my best friends. Mostly because they know all of my shit. Like ALL of it.

- Actually, I’ve met quite a few people on this thing you all call the Internet that know all of my shit.

- Began and have damn near finished a book project.

- Envisioned, founded, started, and editor-in-chiefed a web-based e-zine that should be returning SOMETIME in the near future. Ask me not for I know not when it shall return like the Prodigal Son.

- Became a cast member of a cutting-room-floored BET television show, Homiez, loosely based on the television show Friends.

Speaking of BET, isn’t the American Gangster series just downright great? I’ve learned so much about Blacks penchant for crime that I find myself feeling slightly guilty about rooting for the bad guys. I have to give BET credit as well. There is no praising going on. If anything, they’re very clear in their intent to not heap any praise on these criminals, but explain how they’ve managed to destroy their own communities. For once, I can actually say Kudos! to BET.

Hold. Me.

- I’m convinced I almost took out Starbucks. Evidence to prove this is nowhere to be found. But I do know that I’m responsible for more people’s cessation of Starbucks intakeage than I’m actually aware of. It takes a village, people.

- Created, and then saw TVOne take an idea I came up with and run with it, though I’m sure it won’t be NEARLY as good as my original idea.

- Was accused of being the online alter-ego of Aaron McGruder (of Boondocks fame). No lie, I got an email from somebody who accused me of being Aaron McGruder and I’m convinced didn’t initially believe me when I said I wasn’t. That was a high-point.

- Hosted a weekly open-mic night in Washington, DC. That shit was fun beyond imagination. And I met SO many people doing that. Lots of chicks too. It’s always good to meet women.

Supple.

- Made beaucoup contacts and offended some folks — always a high point in life. You’re never really doing your job unless somebody is offended.

- Just had a good damn time shooting the shit. I’ve also upped my Hell points in tremendous order.

As you can see (and this is by no means an exhaustive list), I’ve managed to do a lot of shit as a result of this blog so I’d be crazy to fold it altogether. However, for the right now, meantime between time, unless I get an email from somebody telling me that they’ll cut out my entrails and feed them to my been-dead-for-10 years dog Bruno if I don’t post something in the next few days…

…I’m gone. And I don’t know if that means for a week or a year. Or forever in this form.

Me and Common are trying to find forever…except I’m way less gay than he is.

But you know you can always seem in DC with my man Frank White running up in something.

Holla at a playa when you see me in the street…or just holla at a playa period.

Signed, sealed, delivered.

Goodnight and goodluck.

To everybody who’s been reading and has at the very least enjoyed themselves here, thanks for sleepwalking…for real. I appreciate it like you wouldn’t believe. I’d buy you something, except that would cause me to spend my money. I’ll holla back at you when I get some corporate sponsorship for my left foot.

Sincerely,

Panama Jackson Is Dead

“…whether its next year, 10 years, or 20 years from now, you won’t be able to say that this brother lied to you, jack…”

[***Much like every Thursday in Washington, DC, come out to LIV Nightclub at Bohemian Caverns for a slammin' good time. Word life! If it's anything like it was last week, it will be off the hook. Come party with Panama people! RSVP at the Stock13 website before 5pm for free admission before 11pm. And for those looking for something to do for New Year's Eve in DC, visit the Stockholm 180 site for information and advanced tickets for New Year's Eve on U Street, a party being thrown by something like 8 different promoters. Open bar from 9 til midnight, 4 floors of entertainment, and a free buffet!!! Go to Stockholm 180 for more info and to get advance tickets!!! ***]

So…Wordpress, my handy dandy new asshole sugarplum of a blog service thingamabob, has taken to eating ANOTHER one of my posts.

Gee hype.

But since I’m such a gee golly good fellow, I decided that I’d try to retype something, again, for the people. You see, Panama loves the kids. Me, Trick Daddy, and Wu-Tang are all about the kids.

So, what I HAD written was an eloquent send off to 2006 and all of its splendor and glory. It was a year that saw two rappers named Young something or other score with hits in both “It’s Going Down” and “Shoulder Lean” and it was a year that saw Jim Jones take his place at the right hand of…hmm…I came *this* close to saying something blasphemous.

Jim Jones became a star.

RIP James Brown. Too good to be forgotten…

But fuck it. Wordpress said, “naw nigga…” not today.

So to hell with it. I’m only filling space anyway. I’ve been on the move these past few weeks. Been to the Great Lakes State and will be heading down to the SW side of the A to do some parking lot pimpin’ with some of my folks, affectionately and clandestinely know as NWW.

We will be doing big shit.

And since most of you forgot about it already (what short memory spans):

Snakes on the plane!!!

Somebody said to me yesterday that they can’t wait to meet the woman I marry. I thought that as interesting given that so many women I know say that to me.

I must be special.

Bitches.

Every now and then I forget just how gosh dammit sexxy I am. I just felt like sharing that since its been such a long time since I have done so.

2007 is right around the corner and everybody is making resolutions. I have none. I resolve to be more resolute.

So any way, Happy Holidays to everybody out there. I’ve developed quite a few friendships with folks through this blog. Some folks that I’ve never met but that I’d like to someday. Everybody that comments and shit, I truly appreciate. My ramblings can be far flung (and long as the fuck) so thanks for sleepwalking people.

To you and yours, from me and mine, we here at Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises would like to wish you a Happy New Year.

Duck, it’s Dick (Cheney that is)!

Goodnight and goodluck.

[***By the way, for my DC people, get your ass out to LIV Nightclub tonight (2001 11th Street, NW-corner of 11th and U Streets, NW-for the Stock13 Christmas party and coat/blanket drive. Come party with the Mr. Oh So Sexxy (that's me) from 10pm-2am. RSVP on the site BEFORE 5PM for free admission before 11pm. Free Moet until we run out. Yeah, I said FREE. It's a Christmas party. I'm rocking a Santa hat and a bandana...how gangsta is that? ***]

Young Jeezy, whose sophomore album The Inspiration: Thug Motivation 102 was released on last Tuesday, sold 352,000 units according to Soundscan.

I’m sorry, I think everybody needs a moment to digest what just happened here.

Nas would say, “Can I please have a moment of silence…for hip-hop?”

I say, fuckin’ wow. Hell, he doesn’t even have a #1 song out right now, as his single, “I Luv It” is just in the top 30 on the popular and r&b/rap charts.

And his single actually isn’t any good. So do you realize what this means? For life, the future, and the kids???

It means that people actually LIKE Young Jeezy. It also means that nobody gives a shit that he sucks as a rapper–people actually LIKE him as a person. That is the only way a nigga with a lackluster ass single that can’t rap manages to outsell everybody. And get it right (two step and let your shoulder lean)…352K in today’s climate is doing big shit.

The biggest rap openings to date this year are Jay-Z (680K), T.I. (521K), and the Game (358K). Those rappers are all “superstar” rappers. Hell, Young Jeezy only sold like 170K on his first album.

He doubled up on that ass. In fact, he did that Heizman on dat ho on everybody that thought he wasn’t about to do big numbers.

Stop.

Have you heard the magnanimous ass sandwich that is my new favorite song by Da Heizman Boiz? It’s called, “Do Dat Heizman On Dat Ho”. Please, go visit their MySpace page…trust me it’s well worth it. I’m just itching for the chance to do dat heizman on some ho that’s trippin.

Shawty fine, breath stank? Do dat heizman on dat ho!!!! Breath stank, no bank? Do dat heizman on dat ho!!!!

And guess what? These niggas are college students. Like real ones. At my mother’s alma mater, Albany State University, to boot. Yes, I will be dining out on that one for months. Stange enough, there’s a serious push lately for college students to make headways in the Southern rap industry. I suppose all the dumb niggas that want to rap have already released albums. For instance, the artist responsible for what may be my second favorite single of the year, behind only T.I.’s “What You Know”, went to Tuskegee University and was an engineering student who dropped out to work on music.

The artist? Rich Boy of “Throw Some D’s” fame.

And yes, I’ve been throwing D’s on bitches (just bought a Cadillac) for the past few month.

Speaking of further ignorance, and since I’ve already tangentialized my tangent, the Saturday Night Live Skit with Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake, “Dick In A Box” might be the funniest shit I’ve seen in years. Literally. As in, for real for real.

One, cut a whole in that box. Two, put your junk in that boooooox. Three, make her open that box. That’s the way you do it!

It’s my dick in a box!

(You’d better watch it quick because NBC is doing dat heizman on dem hoes that posted this shit without their permission!)

Greatness isn’t accidental, it’s premeditated. And whoever wrote “Dick In A Box” is a great great man. My idol, inspiration, and hero. That’s the kind of ignorance I want to be responsible for when it’s all said and done.

Between “Do Dat Heizman On Dat Ho” and “Dick In A Box” (and I’m not sure which song I like more) and Young Jeezy selling like hotcakes, in the world of Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises, ignorance is having the best. week. ever.

What was my original point? Oh yes, that Young Jeezy managed to do the unthinkable-completely market himself and finagle that into first week record sales success, which in the world of commercial hip-hop, is of utmost importance.

And oh yes, Jeezy is also responsible for what may be my favorite absofuckinlutely stupid line of the year, “my money’s so sick, I think I need to see a doctor” from the T.I. “Top Back” remix featuring Young Dro, B.G., Young Jeezy, and one of the Pimp Squad Clique rappers.

Classic stupid shit indeed.

This post got real random real quick. So let’s continue, shall we?

Because of Nas’ damn Hip-Hop Is Dead album, I’ve found myself defending the Ying Yang Twins a lot more lately. Go figure. I honestly think that “Wait (The Whisper Song)” was one of the most innovative songs to come out in like a decade and I don’t think people respect what they managed to pull off. And since I’m already insulting a lot of you reading motherfuckers, I’d like to add that Hip Hop Is Dead is not only a lie, it’s not a very good album either.

Yeah, I said it. The only reason I haven’t done a review of it yet is because that would require me to listen to it again. Not. Gonna. Happen. I’d rather listen to Blak Jak (I’m lying). Who’s Blak Jak? The artist responsible for that new hot shit, “Bobbin’ My Head”.

Dumb song, but I like it. It knocks. Like opportunity, bitch. Like opportunity.

And as a bonus for you all since you care, Fantasia sold 133K units and Tyrese sold 116K.

Hmm, let me put this entire Young Jeezy thing into perspective for you, mmkay?

Ciara, owner of what maybe the hottest single in the country (though it had to grow on me) and video (which I actually HATED at first), only sold about 320K her first week. And she’s selling to teenage girls who eat that type of shit up.

Young Jeezy outsold Ciara with a less good (you niggas bought Jeezy’s album so I can use whatever type of grammar I want from here on out) single and a less ubiquitous video.

And we all know that R&B money goes way further than rap money. Sure, 50 Cent owns an East-coast crib the size of a small hotel, but Babyface looks like he owns a state. And he hasn’t had a hit since Tupac died.

As you can see, I’m amazed at how many people actually just like Jeezy considering his lack of real talent. Apparently he’s figured out how to be a star. I can’t hate at all. In fact, all I can say is…

…I luv it.