Dad, Olympics, and Logos--I've been busy

Dad smells cool. Like what badass is supposed to smell like when you get old and badass.

It became obvious to me that the servants were doing their best to keep me from meeting him, so I displayed a few of my climbing skills and made it happen. My next project is figuring out how to actually get in his pen. Paolo swears he can get me in, but a number of you have expressed reservations about my fennec fox friend's character...so I may have to keep an eye on him.

I was doing some reading up and I discovered that a lot of people from other countries gain citizenship in the US by kicking ass at some sport and then applying for citizenship so they can perform on the U.S. Olympic Team. I think I may have dreamed about this when I was younger, but now that my climbing skills have become so obviously world-class, I think Beijing 2008 isn't out of my reach. I'm a gymnast, baby! And a hot, hetero one, too. Take that Alexei Nimov.

Pandaholic, you have done your job well. While creating names for my brands may not exactly fall under a lobbyist's job description, I'm sure that when you go to meet a congressperson wearing your Tai Shan-John signature Tims and a retro Tai Shan-John jersey, that this poor unhappy elected official will be so impressed by your killer style that he or she will gladly agree to support us.

I was so inspired by the names in fact, that I tried my hand at some logos.







I'm going to be an enterprising multimedia mogul, an Olympic Gold Medalist in gymnastics, and one day soon, I'll be the BIGGEST PANDA ON EARTH.

AND, I'm going to get in Dad's pen.

Just watch me.

A Very Badass Valentine

Ok, the snow was cool, but it's starting to get crusty. Clean it up already, people.

On other news, Hobbitbuddy sent me something yesterday that had me really confused. Why is she sending me heart-shaped bamboo cookies? I wondered. They were so good I nearly passed out on the spot, but after I regained control of consciousness I looked at her note again and puzzled on the wording. What's a Val-en-tine's Day? Is this a special day I have like my birthday?

Paolo wasn't around to comment, so I had to ask Mom. She told me it's a day humans celebrate where they pretend to love each other and get really obnoxious heart-shaped things for each other. I don't think Mom likes the holiday very much.

So I did some research online yesterday evening. I think it's actually kind of cool. It's hard for a badass panda like me to show some love because then people might think I'm losing my edge, but if it's a holiday, then who am I to fly in the face of tradition.

But all the Valentines I saw online really sucked. Too much lace and pink and girly clownmunch stuff. None of it suited me, so I made my own.

Yeah it's a day late now, but I know you'll get over it. Instead, you can appreciate the magnificence of my latent cardmaking talent. I should have my own brand.

With such skill, I'll need a badass name for my brand to go along with it.

I know, my fans are clever peeps--What should I call my brand?

Taking the White House

So I took Hobbitbuddy's suggestion. It seems that if I want what I want in life, I gotta learn to climb. You all saw me take on that tree, but did you know I was practicing for the main event? Paolo stole Ally's camera and together we made our escape Monday afternoon...

The afternoon was crisp. I hunkered low against my wall, waiting for the signal. My servants paced the perimeter (pretending to work, the clownmunches.) Mom had already gone inside, and I knew my window of opportunity narrowed with every breath I took.

Vibrations went off beneath my paw--a warning. Soon, the pumping sounds of 50's "Wanksta" began to emit from the small silver device I held clutched in my paw. I flipped it. "Where you at?"

Paolo's voice came over the line. "The other side, dawg. Make it happen."

The line went dead. Looking above me, I saw the narrow branch reaching over the cement wall. It was now or never.

I shot up that tree like a bullet from a gat. The branch shook beneath my weight, but I was on a mission from a higher authority than gravity.

A mission from my fans.

I dropped to the ground and smacked Paolo with the back of my paw. "Where's our ride?"

Paolo blinked at me with his beady little eyes and pointed his ears in the direction of the most beat up chopper I've ever seen. Like I cared. "Will it run?" I asked him.

"If it don't, I keel the bastard who sold it to me."

Good enough for me. We climbed on and I kicked it to life. That took some doing, since most choppers aren't designed with nearly 7 month old pandas in mind. It roared as I gave it a little gas and we were off.

Between Paolo's despicable MapQuest directions, and the DC police, it's a miracle we even made it. I popped a wheelie between 17th and Penn before flipping off the chopper to the rousing cheers of my fans in the streets. Paolo brought the chopper to heel and kept the engine purring while I eluded the guards and shot straight toward the fence.

Stupid bars. Those suckers are slippery.

Next time, I'm bringing equipment.