The year is 2011 and the United States space program has advanced to the point of furthering their expeditions to faraway planets in other galaxies. NASA has sent three brave women to explore new civilizations and cultures and make reports on their findings. These are the tales of the...Babes...in...SPAAAAAAAAACE!

Captains Log, Star Date...uhhh...Christ, forget it, I don't really know what a Star Date is. It's Tuesday and we have no idea where we are. Navigation?

Yes captain?


Where the hell are we?


Oh, er, we're just outside the Versace Nebula in the Cappuccino Quadrant.

Lindsay, you clearly just made those places up. You don't have any idea of where we are, do you?

I do not. I'm really drunk, sorry.

Typical. We've been riding around out here for the better part of the last decade and Shots McKenzie here still doesn't know what the hell she's doing.

HEY! Give me a break, Keira! We can't all be weapons specialists like you and get the easy road in life. When's the last time we even needed to use weapons anyways? Talk about the pot calling the black guy stupid.

First of all, you rum-soaked potato sack, we get in fierce battles pretty much every time we meet someone. So I'd say that I have the most important job on the ship. Secondly, yikes, it's the pot calling the kettle black, you self-centered pile of dog crap.

Kettles can't talk, Keira. You clearly don't understand what I'm trying to say here.

I'm going to kill you.

All right, that's enough. Lindsay, open up a frequency and send out a S.O.S. Maybe there's a friendly in the area that can offer us some assistance.

Ok, Captain, but I'm not sure what a Sweet Onion Sandwich will do for us right now...

Captain, permission to--

--For the last time, Keira, no, we are not loading Lindsay into the torpedo chute.

K, sending out S.O.S. now!

Well, hello there!

Greetings sir, I am Captain Heidi of the U.S.S. Lingerie. My crew and I are embarrassingly lost and require fuel. Can you help us?

But of course. I have plenty of spare fuel and we're close enough to my space port that your crew would be more than welcome to dock for the night and stay in my quarters.

Oh wow! That is so nice of him to offer up his quarters like that!

Yeah, and knowing you, you'll be taking more than just his quarters. You'll be going after his halves as well.

At least somebody on this ship is getting halves...

Shut up!

We'd be more than happy to accept your generous offer. Shall you lead the way?

By all means. Follow me.


Later on, at Shatner's Space Port...

More wine, Keira?

Ah, yes. Thank you very much.

Of course. Now Lindsay...you were saying?

Oh...right. Well, when I woke up, not only was I the only one that was completely naked but the priest said that I had won the hot dog eating contest!

How incredibly disturbing...

Fascinating, Lindsay. You truly are a remarkable woman.

You have got to be freaking kidding me! You're buying her insane babble? She belongs in a straight-jacket, not on a pedestal!

And Keira rears her jealous, ugly little head.

On the contrary. I find all three of you to be completely intoxicating. I wish I could melt you all down to a liquid and swim in you.

Okie dokie...on that note...girls?

Yeah I better get to bed before I accidentally fall out of my top again!

Keira?

You guys go ahead. I'm going to kick it with Billy Boy here for a little bit longer while I finish my wine.

Ok then. Captain Bill, once again, we are in debt to you, good sir.

Nonsense, Captain Heidi. I'm more than willing to be the knight in shining armor.


The next day, back aboard the U.S.S. Lingerie...

Is candy corn, candy, corn, or candy made from corn?

It's just candy, it has nothing to do with corn.

Are you serious? Why would they lie like that?

Nobody lied, Lindsay. That's just what they call it.

Yeah but, cotton candy is made with cotton and licorice is made with rice. Why would candy corn be so different?

Um, neither of those things are true either. I...ah, screw it...Keira, care to field this one?

Nah, I'm good. Lindsay is just expressing herself in a very innocent and appealing nature.

Oh...my...God!

What?

You totally got laid last night!

...

Really, Keira? To the guy who said he wanted to melt us down and swim in us?

Ugh, he told me that I had a rugged dexterity about me that fit really well with my bitchy demeanor. Plus, I was drunk off that wine.

Well, I for one am very happy for you. I think we all know how much you needed a good halving.

Agreed.

All right then, Lindsay, set a course for...crap...I just remembered that we never found out where we were!

Captain, I don't think it matters where we were, just that we're headed somewhere.

Well said, Keira. All right then, Lindsay, set a course for...somewhere!

Aye aye, Captain!

Eight years ago, I embarked on a journey.

I created a journal on this Web site that touched on a number of topics. It was a wild, winding trail that brought many surprises.

There were deep ideological conversations, thought-provoking revelations, and a lot of slap-stick humor.

These were the seeds of my early writing days. The fightingpanda journal was my closest friend, my greatest enemy, and my creative outlet.

Then, like most writers, I suffered a mental breakdown and deleted everything. Nothing remains from the old days except for memories and legacy.

Yet, I retained the fightingpanda name and brought it back to life three years ago. It was a short stint, and in a word, it was boring. I mean some reaaaaaally mundane stuff. It was too depressing to continue on in such a weak impression of it's former glory and that too eventually went the way of dusty shelves.

So here we stand today. Myself, a much humbled, more road-traveled, and quite frankly, more educated man. The fightingpanda journal, well, it just doesn't really have any fans anymore.

I have a lot of fun writing the Studly Pastures but I miss the freedom that fightingpanda bestows. So, it is with great pleasure, I return the fightingpanda journal to full prominence. We're talking old school swag, kids. And just like the old days, some people will love it, others will not care, and the rest, well they can all just go paint fences.

I'm starting to think I should have gone to school to be a sociologist. Maybe that's how I'll spend my remaining six classes.

I'm sticking with you, because I'm made of glue.

I've been guzzling down soda today like it's my job.

I don't know what it is. I've never been a big soda drinker. I mean, I was when I was in high school but once I moved away and had to start paying for my own soda it became a similar process to quitting smoking. First I went off the name brands and went with the cheap knock-offs like your Mountain Lightning and Dr. Thunder. From there I went to water (and beer).

And now that I'm in town tonight for a concert that I am dying to see, I feel like one of those people who quit drinking but then that first wine cooler hits their lips and their back to waking up in rain gutters in funny party hats.

I popped one, popped two, then lost count once I got up into the 'teens. I'm in flavor country over here. Cherry, cola, lemon-lime, let me have it.

I'm rationalizing it like an alcoholic would do too. "If I drink ten today, I'll just drink four tomorrow and I'll be fine."

Anybody else remember that George Costanza wanted to name his daughter, "Soda", and then that one couple that had the baby stole the name? If that happens with my "Zebra", someone is going to lose an eye.

Currency Exchange is done. I celebrated by no-calling/no-showing my final two shifts. Next up is Marmi, a high-end shoe store. Somehow I got them to hire me for a full-time sales associate job without any experience in selling shoes.

Class still sucks. I think I'm just going to buckle down and get it over with though. I've mailed in these last few semesters and it's just made it drag out even more.

My social experiment with the faux hawk was a smashing success, more on that later.

I'm spending Cinco de Mayo with Kanye West, Lupe Fiasco, Rihanna and NERD. Fabulous.

Kia Rio is on the way out, thank Christ.

Sorry for the cliff notes, but a small update is still better than no update.

I was out with a female last night.

At one point my graduation came up and how "close" it is.

She asked me if I was scared because she said that she would be.

I told her I wasn't.

Then she said that she was "only 19" and "only a baby" and still had plenty of time left in college.

That's when my night was ruined.

What a waste of time class is.

Isn't this done yet? How much longer can they expect me to put up with this?

I actually had to fight to get a class.

Who'd have seen that one coming? It's almost like I can't wait to get out of here or something.

I decided to work foreign currency exchange at the mall for a while.

I guess that means I'm actually done with Gator's now.

Who'd have seen that one coming?

I need to play some video games for a little bit. Put my mind at ease.

I survived.

I celebrated the first day of class by skipping it.

I'm working at a television station tomorrow.

I'm finally in good enough health to get everything back on track.

I'm lining up the skulls to bash.

Life goes on.

I thought I was getting better but now here I am sitting in bed, coughing up a lung, and freezing to death despite being wrapped up like an eskimo.

If I drift asleep and don't wake up in the morning, let the following be known:

I lived the way I wanted to and regret nothing. I love my family and friends. I love rock and roll, Vonnegut, Heller, football, pancakes, zebras, dinosaurs, beer, Chick-fil-a, Futurama, girls like A Fine Frenzy, and laughter.

I wish for my remains to be bronzed in the shape of a triumphant statue and placed on a giant marble pedestal in the middle of Largo, Florida.

I ask that my friends only tell humorous stories at my Death-a-palooza because I will not be having a funeral, wake, or any traditional payments of respect.

I also want a statue of my beloved dog, Barney, to also be placed by my side on the marble pedestal.

If someone in the future comes upon my statue and the plaque that reads, "Here stands Nathan Michael Curtis for all eternity" and is still unsure of who I was, let any bystander reply, "that's the guy that once sold the shirt off his back to a bartender, frequently had indoor high-jump competitions with Colombians, shook the paws of dogs, and prayed upon using the divine Nathanness."

Let my final comment be: If Satan was finally successful in removing me from this earth, let it be rest assured that I will be resuming the fight in hell.

That is all.