Friday's Been Too Busy With Other Things To Notice

August has been picking off weekdays like a master marksman at skeet shooting. "Pull" She shouts, and Wednesday flies up - a helpless clay pigeon. BAM! Shards fall from the sky like pieces of a plate, to join the pile of parts of Monday and Tuesday. Thursday looks back over next Sixteen weekdays lined up behind him. He looks to Friday, who sits casually unawares in a rattan chair, sipping a misty glass full of gimlet.

"Friday!" Thursday hisses, but too softly for Friday to hear over the Martin Denny that oozes from the potent sound system. "FRIDAY!" He says louder. The King of all Weekdays looks up. "Look," says Thursday, "If we don't do something, it's going to be September in a heartbeat!"
"So?"
"So, when it's September, it's no longer Summer! You really want Fall to be here, like, tomorrow?"
"Hmmm. You might have a point." Friday gets up, and walks towards August, busy reloading her over-under shotgun. "Distract her." He says over his shoulder. Thursday nodds.

"That's a nice looking fowling-piece." He says, with a slight Dean Martin drunken sway.
"Thank you Friday." August says, snapping the engraved barrels together with a solid click, to the fine-polished walnut-wood butt of the shotgun. Friday watches his reflection in the wood take a sip a from his glass.
"PULL!" She shouts. Thursday leaps from the mechanical arm with a horrific scream.
"NOOOOOoooooaaaaAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGG!" (he says)
August lines up the shotgun and blows Thursday into numerous pieces that fall to the earth with a light clatter. Smoke drifts from both barrels. She breaks the gun apart, and the ejector shoots two spent shells to join a pile of others burying a small purple wildflower ten feet behind her.
"Hey, just for a lark," Friday says offhandedly, "let me load it, wouldja?"
August holds the weapon with an uncertain look on her face.
"C'mon. " Friday encourages in his charming party-boy way.
A ghjost of a smile forms on her lips, and she hands the weapon over. He holds it deftly in his left hand, and looks down the barrels as if he knows what he's doing. Then in an instant, he's thrown his drink square in August's face!

She gasps, with that uncomprehending look a beautiful woman gets when, well, a drink gets thrown in their face. Mouth open in a shocked gasp, gimlet soaking her dark hair and blouse (to wonderful effect, I might add)
She tries to scream, but instead stutters, "I...I...FRIDAY!"
"That's right!" Friday stands looking sadly at his empty glass, "Damn lady, you've been knocking us off like there was no tomorrow. And for what? Nothing. The last real month of Summer, and you act like it doesn't matter! Now, slip into something more comfjordable, and we'll go do something fun." Friday tones down his voice to a charming growl, "Something that'll be worth remembering."

Happy Friday!