Friday

It all started last Friday.

My friend to the right of me showed me that video, one of teenage lifecycle and fictional partying (partying, YEA!) focusing around a protagonist that smiles too much and has whiplash.  When I went to sleep that night, I was haunted in my dreams.

Then the next day I thought very little of it.

Until... I got a phone call.  It was Saturday. Here's how it went:

"Sunday comes afterwards," the robotic pre-pubecent voice said to me.  "We we we we we so excited..."

And then it stopped.

For a moment I was frightened, but then realized that any reasonable threat would be made in proper English.  I decided to ignore the incident and carried on trying to teach my friend to the right of me how to dance properly.

Unfortunately I failed in that endeavor.

She couldn't play accordion either.

And then... Sunday did come after Saturday.  I knew I was in way over my head. That bitch Rebecca could tell the future!

The phone call, the bad English, whoa.  Clearly she was psyched the fuck up for Friday. What did she have in store for me?

I had to get to the bottom of this.  So, I got my bowl and I got some cereal and I headed to the bus stop.

Some people drove up to the curb, but they weren't my friends.

Driving illegally, I might add.

They were wannabe gang-bangers from the looks of it, but wait... is that... her?!  Yes, yes it was Rebecca Black and her braces-laden posse of awkward robotic shoulder movements.

And, my sucks-at-dancing friend.  No!  She had been brainwashed into thinking Black was the next big thing on iTunes.

Shit.  She is.

Now I have to be the hero and solve this shit before pop culture is relegated into thinking that any Jay-Z/Selena Gomez duo aspirants could be legitimately famous.

My Mission:  Unless-They-Shutdown-Youtube-Forever, Impossible.

So, I decided to go home and hide.

Monday.

Hiding...              
            ...Ramen Noodles

Tuesday.

More hiding...              
                     ...Twinkies...Ho-Oh's...AND Snowballs.

Wednesday.

So my traitor "friend-to-my-right," that bitch of a blond girl who can't dance that recommended the video to me in the first place, hasn't answered my calls.  Probably because she's a new member of Rebecca Black's satanist cult that emulates the teaching habits of the Wiggles by exposing small children to mundane things like fruit salad and the days of the week through their shitastic music.

I need answers.

I went over to her house to check on her and damn was there one hell of an ungodly stank coming from the bathroom.

I busted down the door to find this:



She was dead. Well, probably, I didn't want to touch her to see if there was a pulse.

I was on my own to decipher the mystery.

On my way home from the disturbing incident, I was driving in my car, just kicking in the front seat.

In the fast lane...

Switching lanes...

Behind a school bus that was really screwing with the traffic.

Waiting in the parking lot of a highway, I glanced casually at my rear view mirror.

That random rapper from the video was in my fucking car, eyes riveted on the school bus ahead of us.

It was an intense stare, one that seemed to sear through the bus itself, and from the looks of him, I didn't doubt his gaze intended to peer through the clothing of those on board as well.

And then I kicked his ass to the curb because he wanted to take the front seat.

Thursday.

Fuck...
           ...More Ramen.

Friday.


I think I'll watch some TV as I hide.

That can't hurt, right? I'll just keep writing to keep my mind off the sadistic psycho bitch who wants to kill me.

Golden Girls marathon? I think so!

Damn! My TV just went all static on me!

Wait...

That video, why is it playing?

Ok, ok, don't panic. I'll just go unplug it. Can't watch TV with no power.

It's still on. How is this possible? Why is this happening to me?

What's happening? I'll take a webcam picture. Is this real?

Please excuse my shabbily furnished living room. Getting the TV ate up all my money.

Oh shit! I need to find a place to hide!

I keep hearing her say over and over again, "Which seat can I take?" and how much "fun, fun, fun, fun" we're going to have together.

Hopefully this door will hold.

Oh God, oh God.

Maybe she won't find me behind this desk...like that girl who hid under a desk in Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

That might work.

"Fun, fun, fun..."

"Which seat can I..."

"...take?"

What the?

Oh god...

"Tomorrow is Saturday."

She caught me.

She hasn't killed me yet.

She wants to...negotiate.

Things could be worse, right?

Wrong.

-K & D (with a shout out for Vinh and his mad Photoshop skills)