One Friday, Rebecca Black woke up and felt the need to sing about how excited she was to party all night long, only to wake up 3 years later and 10x more hung over to realize that she was trapped in some horrific parallel universe where she must continue to party every day of the week with pretentious white L.A. youth, chronicling her pseudo feelings of happiness in arrested, simplistic poetry and musical chords to appease a demigod panel of man children else all universes be destroyed.
And thus she is coerced each day to wait for the blinding glare of the theatre lights to snap on under which she will perform her vaudevillian interpretation of a facebook photo montage, the grotesque fake happiness packaged for a quick consumption by an ever unsatiated faceless cabal who give a smile and chuckle in return, but demand ever more the next day.
In this hell, into which Rebbecca can not explain how she arrived, she is now forever trapped, to wake each morning to a new day of the week that needs to be packaged for partying fun.
I look forward to the continuation, and ultimate culmination, of this series. It is my fond hope that every few years Ms. Black will release a new single titled after a day of the week, each, at first, seemingly based on the same premise of youthful party antics, but each time, as the story builds, each day is progressively more and more tinged with regret. On Sunday and on Monday, the party will start once more. Each day her goal will be to recreate the excitement of the previous days, but each day she and her compatriots must pull themselves up from the stupor of the party that never ends and rebuild it afresh.
By Tuesday and Wednesday, our hero has aged noticeably. She is no longer the bright-eyed child dreaming of the party that was to come on Friday, and of where her place in that world would be. And yet, for all her wisdom, each day the party is the same? She dances, she resumes the revelry, but her heart is elsewhere. The party will Never End, she thinks to herself, it will Never End, and she will never escape the Party Fun. Determined not to fall down like so many carpet-ground cheetos(TM), she parties all the harder.
On Thursday the survivors pull themselves to their feet one last time. Has it been a week? Or has it been a lifetime? Is tomorrow Friday? What day is it today? It must be a day to party. The party cannot stop. And so neither can the partiers. As they slowly sway to the music that will surely be dubbed in later, on some other day, Rebecca looks around and sees the wasteland of a once comfortable suburban home, a home not owned by anyone she still knows. She sees the people who party with her, or perhaps just near her. Who are they? Who is she? Is she the party? Is the party all that’s left? A single tear falls down her cheek, in slow motion with good lighting. All that is left is The Party. There is nothing else. The universe will grow cold, the stars will die, but the Party. Never. Ends.