Catastrophic Packaging Failure

Mr. Frog sat on his haunches on the bar table - where numerous drinks had spilled and left large ring-spots of moisture. He looked up at Wednesday, who glowered down at him. Actually, thought Mr. Frog, it might just seem like Wednesday was glowering at him, since he was absorbing liquor through his skin, he might be a little tipsy.

"So I realized," He croaked out more of his narrative, (I've edited out the beginning 'cause it's boooooring) "That it was horribly sad, that the most important and ambitious plan I had ever acted out in real life, was a miserable failure. In fact, it took me most of four years to even begin to pick up the pieces." He looked pathetic, after finishing his tale of woe, he lapped up a tongue-full of spilled Tanqueray and tonic.

The Fall played in the back on a jukebox. They were mixed in with a soft burble of conversation and the clinking of glasses the bartender was washing, to fill in the silence.

"Ahh, that's not so bad." Said Wednesday, wishing someone else was around he could talk to besides this drunk, sulking frog.

"So how'd you get the hump?" Mr. Frog asked, clearly the liquor had taken away all inhibitions, like common courtesy. "Were you born with it?"

Wednesday had a split second thought of his fist, moving like a swift hammer, smashing the frog, but it quickly passed. Wednesday would unleash his wrath on many creatures, but making a pile of goo out of a drunk frog would be more trouble than it was worth. The waitress would have to wipe the table, he'd have to get up and wash his hands.

"A catastrophic packaging failure." He said with a straight face, as if that would explain everything, and as far as he was concerned, it did. At that moment, the door to the dive swung open blinding everyone with the light from outside. Friday and his entourage of Weekdays walked in like...well, like a King and his entourage. Friday spied Wednesday holding down a booth, and shouted over the Fall.

"Two pitchers!" And pointed his index finger in a roundhouse point that stopped at Wednesday's table. Then they rolled over to the booth and flopped in.

"Hey Wed! Thanks for holding down the booth!" Said Friday happily.
"No problem." Wednesday replied back - faking it.

"So what are we going to do tonight Friday?" Asked Tuesday.
"This again..." Friday sighed. "Why is it...hey BEER!"

The waitress appeared holding two pitchers in her right hand, five glasses held in a pinch in her left, and set the pitchers down squarely on Mr. Frog, who was too drunk to even squeak a death cry. Wednesday smiled, and poured a glass.

"I got something." He said.
"What?!?" The others asked incredulously. Wednesday with an idea - when was the last time that happened?
"something I saw on the internets a couple of days ago." Wednesday said.
"What?" Asked Thursday, "Robots!?"
"Video Boobs!?" Shouted Monday.
A guy in the next booth leaned over, put his arm up on the edge and said,
"World of Warcraft?!"

"Nothing like that." Wednesday said, as he watched Thursday pick up a pitcher, and while he filled a glass, frog guts leaked off the bottom. "Tonight, let's live out of our imagination...not our history."

"That," said Friday, "sounds like exactly the plan we need."

Happy Friday