There’s a somewhat-overlooked- 1993 film called Killing Zoe that’s notable today for a couple of reasons. The first is that it was penned by Roger Avery, who a year later would forever change the face of pop culture as Quentin Tarantino’s co-writer on Pulp Fiction. The second is an extended sequence which does a pretty much flawless job of capturing the disorienting beauty of touching down in a foreign city and then proceeding to get, usually by accident, completely fucked up in the best of ways.

If you’ve ever found yourself epically loaded on an entirely unplanned Killing Zoe night in Paris, New Orleans, Hanoi, or even surprisingly cool Saskatoon, you know that some memories stick for life, even when they’re hazy ones. Cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs might not be overly good for you, but they make for one hell of a night especially when the music is loud, the bar is packed, and the surroundings thrillingly new.

No one is suggesting that anyone in Debby Friday’s “I Got It” is high on anything other than life, but at the same time the first 16 seconds alone serve as a reminder that everything is better when you’ve got a smoke and beer. With Chris Vargas of Pelada/Uñas riding shotgun, Friday comes out blasting with a lethal mix of turbo-wound techno, 200 bpm acid-punk, and endless fuck-you attitude. From there it’s three awesomely disorienting minutes that pinball from a packed and sweaty dancefloor to a grainy backstage green room to a light-flared stage where Friday commands all she surveys.

The self-directed video starts out with a time-stamp—1:01 a.m. on February 1, which a quick check of the calendar suggests was a Wednesday. The subsequent action suggests some folks think nothing of going hard in the paint on a weeknight. Maybe hump day had something to do with it.

The city? That’s entirely debatable considering that the Nigerian-born Friday has called, depending on the week, Vancouver, Toronto, and Montreal home. As for the vibe, can you say Killing Zoe? Now pass whatever you got, because it’s seriously time to get this fucking party started, even if, tomorrow, you’ll have trouble remembering parts of it.