Ode to Friday

Sing to me, Friday, of quitting time and amiable tenders of the bar
And of the harefooted approach of last call.
Most cherished day, most coveted diurnal course.
Thou has cleft my liver in twain.
And yet my rubicund gaze, in dipsomaniac lust, seeks your indolent heralds
Ere Monday night has whispered its melancholy farewell and slipped its feathered fetters.
Saturday's hangover, your o'ershadowed and vengeful sister, the impetus for the toil t'ward Sunday's indispositions.
You Fucking Bastard.



Y'know them brown things. They come through the walls and stick wires in your head? It's okay, I ignore them.

...and Small Change got rained on with his own .38.