Friday awoke to the phone...

It was so early in the day, that it should have been called Thursday night. (In fact, at 01-10 am, nearly everyone who was awake at this time would have said, "Fuckin' great night man! Whatcha' doing for the rest of it?" Of course technicalities like this have a way of creeping up on you when you're responsible for a whole 24-hour weekday.)

He fjumbled his half-asleep arm from under the pillow he was sleeping on, and felt around for the phone.
"Yeah?" His voice was groggy, with none of it's usual zip.
"Are you happy?" A cold voice of a woman asked.
"Huh?" Said Friday, who clearly wasn't interested in taking a survey, and would really have to work when the sun cracked open the sky into morning.
There was a long silent pause,
"Do you feel guilty?" The voice asked again
"Whaaa? Look lady," Said Friday, "do everyone a favor, and find a better hobby." Then he hung up the phone, and fell quickly back asleep.

An hour and twenty minutes passed, and the phone rang again. Friday reacted as one reacts to a ringing phone from a deep sleep - he reached over and answered it.
"Yeah?" His voice was still groggy, with no hit of charm.
"Are you having a nightmare?" The cold impersonal woman's voice asked.
"Look woman, I have dreams you couldn't comprehend - so don't even bother."
There was another long silent pause.
"Like what?"
"I had just befriended a pack of hyenas, who worshiped a strange Idol, to which they brought severed human heads in sacrifice. They howled a tribute to their strange god, which took some time. Then, when they were done, their chief got up on his hind legs, and walked over to a Harley 3-wheeled motorbike...upon the back of the trike was a 32-gallon keg of Newcastle Brown Ale. Which he began pouring for his clan. I was just about to get mine, when you called and woke me up. This is the second time, so what the fuck do you want!?"
"Are you comfortable in your own skin?" The cold woman's voice asked.
Friday hung up, and again, fell into a deep sleep.

-I think we all know by now, that Friday isn't just a weekday - per se - he's an agent for something bigger. What kind of agent? Hard to know, Friday surrounds himself in a cloak of good-times, fun, excitement and pleasure. (all-in-all not a bad disguise for anyone, no matter what their intentions) What kind of being/organization is he an agent for? Also hard to say. But I know this, in order for the King of all Weekdays to take instructions from anyone or anything - it's got to be really big, really bad (or good, as the case may be) and not opposed to us humanids having a good time. Therefore, I at least assume its designs on our civilization are not set on our imminent destruction.

At 3:47 the phone rang again. The woman's voice was a touch less cold this call, when she asked her first question.
"Are you attractive?"
"Baby, fjuck."
After three phone interruptions of his sleep, by now - at least subconsciously Friday was ready for this. He was a little less groggy, and his voice had a little snap to it.
"How many men do you command?"
"I only command my army of Dragon Men."
"Dragon Men?"
"How many Dragon Men do you command!?" Friday shot back.
The cool woman's voice on the other end of the line did not reply. In fact, there was a small click, and he was put on hold. Music filtered through the line...it was "Girl From Ipanema."

Friday lay there for about ten seconds, listening to the lullaby, and started to hang up the phone.
"Wait!" A voice said from the speaker of the phone - which carried across the three feet from the handset to Friday's ear. For some reason, he obeyed, and brought the receiver back to his face.
"Yeah." He said.
The cold woman's voice asked, "Have you ever called the party line?"
"You stupid twit!" Friday spat out, "I'm King of all Weekdays, I AM THE PARTY! I'm ready to party anytime, any place, anywhere - ANY TIME!"

Friday paused for a second thinking about what he'd just said. And he realized he'd repeated himself - which made him a little mad, and a little ashamed at the fuckup. But it was only for a second. He covered it up by becoming more hostile.
"I'M READY TO PARTY RIGHT NOW - - - EVEN BY PHONE!"

"Good." The woman's voice said, "Very good."
"What, you ready to party now!?"

The woman laughed a little laugh on the other end of the line.
"Oh - no Friday, I've still got another 15 hours on my shift. I'm Miranda, calling in from control - just checking to see if, after all these millennia, you're doing all right."
"Huh? Oh, um, hi Miranda. How'd I do?"
"Prefect. Just ahh...hey Friday?"
"Yeah?"
"Keep up the good work."

The conversation ended there with a click from the other end of the line, and Friday lay in his bed with an empty phone stuck to his ear. He smiled, hung up the phone, and knew he'd have to get cracking in a couple of hours. At that moment, he thought, he was looking forward to doing his job again.

Happy Friday