Friday, friday, gonna get down on Friday! It’s upsetting to me that rarely a Friday goes by when I DON’T think of that Rebecca Black song at least one time. (It’s also rare that a weekend goes by when I don’t think of a tiny joke that Max Silvestri made in this article a million years ago, when he’s talking about texting friends with ridiculous brunch plans when you’re drunk. “Blunch at tennis?” he says. I don’t think there has been a weekend that has ever gone by since I read that when I have not thought, when thinking about brunch, as I do every weekend, “Blunch at tennis.”) (“Blunch at tennis” is very funny.) Anyway, GIFS? No, I don’t want to talk about GIFs yet. I wonder what day it will be when I think of Rebecca Black’s “Friday” on a Friday for the very last time. Will it be my last Friday on Earth? (And when will I think of “blunch at tennis” for the last time? My last brunch on Earth? My last brunch IN HEAVEN?) The thing about life is that there are so many very good questions to which we will just never get the answer. But you know one question I do know the answer to? WHERE ARE GIFS? THE ANSWER IS: AFTER THE JUMP!