Thirstday A playlist for decorating your youth with the battle scars of bottle service.

In Cochlea, Words
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A normal week has seven days in it: reluctant Mondays, apologetic Tuesdays, sympathetic Wednesdays, perky Thursdays, happy Fridays, happier Saturdays, and Sundays which come too soon. If your week has these days you can relax; everything is as it should be. The universe is working just fine and you are revelling in its abundance because, hey, you are not single.

No. You are happily spoken for. You are a significant person with an even more significant other. Grab your bae and go for a walk in the sunshine. Stop for some ice cream at your favourite corner store, the one that has been there for decades, run by the same family, passing down the secrets to “Honey, I really don’t know how they make this caramel fudge taste like angel tears” through the generations.

Ice cream with the bae is life.

Go to the park and sit on a bench and lick your frozen cones, hand in hand, your legs entwined in picturesque romance that will make it impossible to escape a sudden zombie attack because now you cannot disentangle yourselves quickly enough to run away and now they are nearly upon you—

“Maggie, go. Save yourself. I will hold them off!”

“No, Tommy, I will never leave you!”

“Maggie, please, go!”

“Tommy I love you and I will never let go.”

And now you are both dead but at least you died in each other’s arms while rotten corpses feed on your brains. Your hands are still clasped in each others. One zombie will lose a tooth trying to chew through your wedding vows.

Yes, do that. Because you are out of the game. You have reached the peaceful nirvana where an argument ends in hugs and kisses; where text messages have more heart emojis than words; and where you can listen to your single friends’ war stories absentmindedly while squeezing his hand or playfully pinching her bottom and looking at each other lovingly and—

“Are you guys even listening to me?”

“Sorry, Becky. I was just amazed by how the six o’clock sunset really brings out the cornflower blue in Mark’s eyes. But, please go on. So Jake has not called you back?”

Yeah. You are those people.

Be happy.

But for all you other single and sane people still playing the game, huddle up.

It’s Thirstday every day, and every night is game five on the road. Rally. If you want that ring you are going to have to shrug off your past disappointments, unrequited phone calls, and put up Jordan numbers.

Focus. Get on your phones, call up friends, and find out where tonight’s debauchery will happen.

“Yeah, I hear all the single ladies will be at this party.”

“All the single ladies?”


Nails done, hair done, everything did? Oh, you fancy, huh? Good. Get that make up on, fix that contouring. You can do all things through the thirst which fleekens you.

And, Becky, only one answer matters when you ask us if the dress makes your ass look fat: hell yes.

Scroll through your chat history and carpe DM. Pour it up. Light it up. Hold it down. Tonight is going to be a big one.

Mark, Tracey, Maggie, and Tommy need war stories anyway and someone’s got to provide them with stories from the front line.

Let’s go and hashtag away our youth.

DURATION: 1 hour 18 mins (19 tracks)
MOOD: Party; turn up; hormones going to make you regret your chat history.
NOTABLE ARTISTS: Jeremiah (All About You; Late Nights); Omarion (O; Sex Playlist); Khia (Thug Misses; Gangsteress); Plies (The Real Testament; Purple Heart); Chingy (Jackpot; Powerballin’); and Missy Elliot (Supa Dupa Fly; The Cookbook).

Author’s note: This playlist is also good for one-man parties at home. Because, let’s face it, the club is expensive and you can twerk all by yourself at home and not get sexually harassed.