It was getting loud

In an upscale cocktail lounge. The place was halfway packed, but there still was enough space to move around.

Friday and his weekday-colleagues had taken over a large red booth, and were in various poses of relaxation. Monday and Tuesday were already half in the bag, and Wednesday wasn't too far from it. Happy hour for them started four, three, and two days earlier. One (who had a mortal's bank account) would not want to even guess at their bar tab.

Tuesday's face was stuck in a huge bowl of a glass, nearly hidden behind a huge spear of garnished pineapples, oranges, cherries, and other large fruits. His left arm kept his face up and he finished a huge pull from two large straws.
"Yaknow, I think they got it wrong when they made the humanids."

"Whaddaya mean...?" Mumbled Monday, "The ever-growing eyebrows?"
"Their inability to make a good chair?" Added Wednesday, his huge hump bulging into the booth's back-rest.
"No," said Tuesday, "I meant when they scrambled their code back in the day."
"So they could never have psychic powers and laser vision?" Thursday quipped.

"No, so they could never have who they wanted."
Monday leaned his head to look over at Tuesday. As he did, he knocked over a huge array of empty Miller Highlife bottles.
"Whaaaaat?" He slurred.

"Look, you see it everywhere." Begins Tuesday, "he likes her, but she likes him, and he likes another woman, and she likes him back, but she's already married. And her husband wants his file-clerk, but he's straight. He wants the broad from accounting, but she wants the guy on the train...and he'd be fine with it, except, she never tells him, and he's wondering if he should get back with the woman who's the father of his child, even though he'd never really love her. It's fucked up. They never should have done it."

"Yeah." Agrees Friday. "But I think there was some sort of plan."
"Oh sure." Tuesday's pretty sarcastic. "There's always (he makes quotes with his fingers) "some sort of plan." Well, if there's a plan, it's pretty fucked up. None of them are ever happy. It's cause they scrambled the code. I say it's fucked up."
"Now that you mention it, it is fucked up!" Says Thursday. "I've never really thought about it before."
"Let's go to master control, hack the computers, and fix it!" Tuesday emphatically finishes his statement with a huge sip through his straws, his face hidden behind his fruit-garnish camouflage.

"Yeah! - Let's go!" Wednesday leans forward and pounds the table with his massive fist. It sends the rest of Monday's beer bottles flying off the table and onto the floor. Friday's brimming whiskey-coke spills enough to soak the bev-nap underneath it, allowing rivulets of liquor to crawl across the table.

"Let's not." Says Friday in a calm tone, watching his drink crawl away from him, across the table.
Monday speaks slowly, with a glimmer of bad-ass in his eyes. He's too drunk to do anything, but not drunk enough to say something with a mean tone.
"Why not Friday?"
"Because I've seen the plan."
"How come they always show you the plans and not us!?" Monday spits back. "We're on equal footing, we're all weekdays! We should know the fucking secret plans too!" He puts his hands on the table to boost his head up. His vision spins around so that Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday are all moving around in a clockwise fashion. He shakes his head, and tries to focus on Friday. "You know how many humanids hate me because they didn't get what they want over the weekend? I'll tell you. Every last one of them!" After saying his piece, his head rolls around loosely on his neck.

Friday leans in, and finishes his drink in a couple of big gulps.
"Look, the only reason any of them do anything, is because they don't have what they want. They decided the only way to keep the shit rolling forward, was to make sure nobody was happy for long. Otherwise, they'd meet up with someone perfect when they were fifteen, and NOBODY WOULD DO ANYTHING! No art. No monuments. No music. No television. No cars, hell, they'd be nothing more than mummies, only moving to get something to eat. Those poor suckers only do things when they don't like stuff. It's got to be that way. Make a humanid happy, comfjortable, and safe...and you've got eight-hundred billion cells sitting on their ass, waiting to die."

There was a long moment, as Friday stopped speaking. He notices a waitress, and gestures for another drink. The pause lasts until Thursday speaks.

"Oh."

Wednesday takes his time.

"I see..."

Monday looks around with glazed eyes that see nothing but huge blobs of drifting color. Then, his head clunks down on the table.

"Okay then," Says Tuesday, "What are we going to do tonight, Friday?"

"Let's do dangerous things...
and then downplay them."


Happy Friday!