First Friday In 08.

"It's hard to want to do anything when it's raining."
Said Monday, who had thrown himself into a handy Laz-Y-Boy leather chair. His dripping overcoat, hat and umbrella were thrown near the door of the large living room. He was speaking to the gathered Weekdays who were playing video-football on a huge television screen. Tuesday and Friday were loosing badly.

"Or snowing." Tuesday said, not moving his head.
"Or hailing." Quipped Wednesday, intently staring at the game.
"Or forty-below." Responded Thursday, who began pressing buttons madly as the play started.
"Or when it's too hot!" Monday replied again, getting into the theme.
"Or when you're beat from a goofed up week that has had no mercy on your ass! OF COURSE IT'S HARD TO DO ANYTHING!" Friday yelled, stabbing the controller as his player was tackled for a 4-yard loss. "That's how they've got it set up." He said this as he pressed "pause," grabbed a can of beer, and emptied the rest of it. He then crushed the can in his right hand, looking back at Monday.

"That's how they've got it set up. So it's hard to do anything! Sooner or later there's a reason and an excuse to not do anything! Don't you get that yet?!"

Friday threw the crushed beer can across the room, where it rattled between the legs of a small wooden end-table shoved into a corner holding up an unremarkable lamp. (after which, the can leaked out more than a few drops of beer, (which then attracted the attentions of a scouting, and very small ant, which led to the later infestation of said ant's colony, that gave the owner of the house no end of trouble, but that's another story.))

"Friday," Monday spoke softly from his repose in the Laz-Y-Boy, "Yer talkin' to the lead guy in the processional of days DESIGNED TO BREAK THE SPIRIT OF ALL MORTALS!" His voice, while not quite impassioned at the same level as Friday's, began to grow into a larger volume, a volume like thunder. "OF COURSE I KNOW!"

Monday walked over to the small refrigerator, grabbed a beer for himself, muttering. "Jeesh."

"Sorry Mon." Friday spoke, "Been feeling a bit beaten down for the last while."
"I dig." Monday responded cracking open his can of beer, "I feel like that everytime I show up, nobody's happy to see me. I've learned to deal with it, I'm a motha'fuckin'badass. That's who I am. But you?..."

The rest of the Weekdays had their attentions ripped from their video-game and into the drama, were riveted on each of the actors in the scene, waiting for the next line. Friday sat mute, so Monday continued.

"You're the guy they call the King Of All Weekdays. You're the guy everyone looks forward to seeing, and you're the guy that gives everyone hope for a better time. There's a reason all of us are happy around you, and that's 'cause you bring out the nicest possibilities, and the unfettered belief that whatever needs, or wants could get done...gets fucking done."

Monday pauses for a dramatic (and long) drink from his can.

"I don't give a rat's ass that you've been feeling (he makes quotes around his next two words) "beaten down," He continues speaking, but snidely and making quotes over the next three words, "For the last while." He takes another poignant drink from his beer, and points his finger at Friday. "

You're not the King Of All Weekdays because you bring despair and defeat...christ(he says with some more disdain)...you're the bringer of outrageous belief and impossible possibilities, and fucking all-you-can-eat buffets! Don't sit there wallowing in all the shit all of us know already! Bring us a bunch of stuff we didn't know we could have, and make us appreciate how fucking awesome it is!"

Monday sits down in a lump onto the chair he so recently dropped into with such vibrant energy.

"At least, that's what I think." He mumbles softly, and finishes his drink. The rest of the Weekdays are riveted. There is a long silent pause.

"Fuck you Monday." Friday says quietly. Then he stands his tall and perfectly formed frame up from the couch, and walks to the fridge, and pulls out a beer.

The rest of the Weekdays are not so impressed with this performance, but are still watching.

"Tuesday," Friday speaks, cracking open his beer, "Call Etropa, Secretary of Zeus, and get the Storm God on the phone, he owes me a favor or two...I think good weather for a few hours shouldn't be too hard to wrangle." He has a satisfying drink, and looks over the Weekdays, "Wednesday!" Friday shouts, "Find that Airship you made in '06, and get it ready to fly!"

The hunchback looks up from the couch with an up-and-under look (the only kind he can make, being a hunchback looking up) "But, it's so big it will blot out the sun for hours wherever it passes!"

"And has a sound and light system to blast people miles from that! Get cracking!"

Wednesday dragged himself out of the room, as Friday continued in an energized fashion.

"Thursday, round up the most talented D.J.'s on the planet, and a few great bands, there's a list somewhere - with their gear - and enough appetizers and drink to entertain the best of the best for a full 24-hours!"

Thursday sprang up, and a super-nice cell phone was in his hand, already busy punching numbers on it. Tuesday spoke excitedly from the corner.
"Friday! Weather's a go!"
"Rad." Friday exclaimed, "Now how about you come up with a guest-list that'll be equal parts people who slay, and people who need it deep in their souls to be slain...and a flight plan that'll make the most outta' what we're about to do."

"Ten-four-good buddy!" Tuesday said as he busied himself at his task.

Friday walked over to Monday who was sitting in his Laz-Y-Boy, and tapped cans in a sort-of-cheer.
"I haven't been called out like that in a millennium." Friday said, "I'm positive I deserved it."
Monday, watched Friday drink heartily to his own toast, and had a polite sip of his own.
"Sometimes you know what's best," Monday said, "and sometimes it's the people around you , that really know what you're really capable of."

Happy Friday.