Here's a little gift from the bottom of my heart to you, the fan.

( Even though I can't explain it, I already know how great it's. )

Today I was listening to the radio.

But not just any radio; no-sir-eee! The radio I was listening to was my local college radio station that, on this very night, insisted on playing nothing but music from the 1980’s. Now, how is that different from any other radio station on Labor Day weekend? Well, this station not only played 80’s songs that absolutely rock, but they played 80’s songs that absolutely rock in succession! For those of you not familiar with the tunes from this particular decade, let me fill you in on the the particular grooving being transmitted through the airwaves that night:

Same As It Ever Was – The Talking Heads

Bullet The Blue Sky – U2

Pop Song 89 – REM

Puttin On The Ritz – Taco

88 Lines About 44 Women – The Nails

I Need You Tonight - INXS

Stepping Out – Joe Jackson

Cruel Summer – Bananarama

Ana Ng – They Might Be Giants

That’s right. That DJ played everything from the eclectic Talking Heads and They Might Giants to half of every misattributed song ever to appear on Napster! To think, I was so excited to hear the opening snares of “Bullet” that I failed to realize that the DJ was actually taking requests! Had I realized this sooner I would have stopped dancing and picked up the phone far earlier than I had!

“Hello, 89.9 80’s!”

“Umm...yeah, hi. Hey, can you guys play Milli Vanilli?”

“Um...I know that we said we were the number one 80’s station, but...heh...we don’t have Milli Vanilli.”

I. couldn’t. believe. it.

I can’t imagine a scenario where someone would envision a radio station that was to uphold a musical requesting system, yet as they arrive at the pinnacle of their project in the form of programming the music database, they stranglehold all of their efforts to the ground while aiming a gun straight at their foot in the process. By forgetting to include the magical essence that is found within the music of Milli Vanilli’s art and furthermore complicating the situation by labeling themselves as “The best 80’s music block ever”, one is simply asking to be personally embarrassed in the midst of their loyal fanbase whilst feeling foolish for ever thinking they could successfully represent ten years of musical expression.

So as my touchstone to this crime in music history, I have written this short poem in rememberence of Rob Pilatus and the amazing genre in general.

So what am I doing back?

I set back and thought back to all the things we used to do.

You really mean a lot to me.

Yes, you really mean a lot to me.

Girl, you know it’s true.

Things had been sad around here. Time was almost up. Marie and I had only one day left on the trip. I had one day left to hold her. One day left to kiss her. One day left...

To tell her that I love her.

So we went to the zoo! Oh my God, they had anteaters and ducks and even okapis!

( Made with REAL Fruit Juice )

Has life got you down?

Are there no Pandaman updates to be found?

Are images of lesbian porn flooding your monitor with each passing day in your dimly lit den, bringing a false sense of joy and exaltation to your miserable and generally empty existence; a reality upheld by a loosely threaded sense of hope in the pixilated portrayals of blatantly nude females partaking in obscene acts which are not only sexual in nature, but inducing of soberly emotions that deliver a type of pseudo-fulfillment that comes with every picture and movie downloaded onto your gently humming hard-drive?

( I know my chicken, you've got to know your chicken )

Ugh...the doorbell woke me up. It was August 3rd, 3 PM. Not that I’m an omnipotent narrator, I just read it off of my alarm clock. And that was pretty much all I did as I quickly grabbed the nearest stuffed panda and threw myself back into a dormant state. Unfortunately, whoever was at the door had this offputting notion to keep pushing the stupid door bell. Yet even more unfortunate however was my strong urge to ignore it. But since the dings and dongs were severely cutting into my sanity stockpile, I decided to go all the way down the stupid hall and open the door.

( Well h3llo thar buttsecks!!!1 )

I have covered many birthday parties in my time. There was the flatulent affair at Dustin’s house, the pompous get-together at Daniel’s pad, and even the crowd gathering adventure that was held in my very own abode. But nothing can prepare you, ladies and gentleman, for what you are about to witness second hand! For even with the special tongs that are required to handle such a spectacle, you will feel deeply shaken and disturbed as no other journal entry has ever done shaken and disturbed before. So with that preface in mind, I bring to you all what you and your offspring will forever remember as...

THAT TIME ALEX TURNED SEVENTEEN AND HIS FRIENDS CAME OVER!

( Let's review what we know, shall we? )

So basically I have this entry that I can't post until tomorrow because I'm waiting on the green light to use a certain resource. So basically I'm going to make you read this long survey that I orginally filled out because Marie did it first. And you know, me doing it too would make her like me more and stuff.

( Plus, there's sex questions, and you can't possibly miss out on something that rare. )

The phone rang.

( “Hello? ...Is my refrigerator running? Hold on, let me go check.” )

I know what you’re thinking. "Why the hell did I show up at Pandaman27? I must have clicked the wrong link or something."

Well, I implore your reconsideration to stay, as I am about to attempt documentation of my recent chronicle to the so-called “Windy City”. And to be completely honest, there were quite a few antics to behold. I suppose that’s the least that can be expected when one puts together one nuclear physicist, a Pokemon master and a green Chrysler Pacifica and puts them on an isolated five hour course to the depths of INSANITY! Read on as I bring you every painstaking detail with an extreme brutality that mocks all basic morality in sight!

You can’t get this kind of action in any other journal folks!

( Mars needs women )

It is the general consensus around these parts that I am over a week removed from my birthday. But that’s no problem for a hardcore fellow like me, because I’ve adopted the lifestyle of "wanting to rock n’ roll all night, and party everyday". Whoever it was who spoke those insightful words of inspiration, God bless you! But before we get too far ahead of ourselves, I would like to address some rumors that have been circulating around the proverbial grape vine. It seems to me that some people have it in their minds that there were...nude pictures of Dusty taken at my party. Well, I’m here to set the record straight once and for all!

( READ ON TO SEE THE EXCLUSIVE NUDE PICTURES OF DUSTY! YOU SAW IT HERE FIRST! )

Upon hearing that Cracker Jacks were, in fact, on sale, I immediately grabbed my friend Dusty and headed straight towards the local big league ballpark in order to take part in a three hour showcasing of men in funny looking clothes hitting stuff.

Q: How much of a-piddle was Alan?

A: Alan was pretty damn a-piddle.

( Three, two, one let's jam. )