AUDIENCE MEMBER: PanDomo, PanDomo!
PANDOMO: Yes. You, in the sweater vest.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: Is your hat made of real panda?
PANDOMO: Ah, an excellent question, Sweater Vest. Yes, in fact it is.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: Aren't they endangered?
PANDOMO: They are. Tragically, there may be as few as two thousand remaining in the world today. But everything must die, Sweater Vest, everything ends. The panda whose pelt graces my crown died of natural causes and gifted his fur to Lee Wei in his last will and testament. Pandas, though known primarily for their plump cuteness, are renowned for having their estates in order prior to their passing. And this panda, like his grandfather before him, chose a deserving shaman to whom he bestowed everything he had, including his very flesh, his very bones. "A thing so rare," said he, at death's very door, "has great power. Use me to call forth the great magics of your ancestors." And Lee Wei did just that, enjoying many years with this panda for a headdress. When he met me, however, Lee Wei was growing old and tired and had hoped to return home to live out his days on his brother's farm. So just before I was to return to the states, he insisted that I take this precious headdress with me, to remember him by.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: You stole it, didn't you?
PANDOMO: You're damned right, I did. Next question.