Ten Little Missions

Weekend hits like a car with no brakes and suddenly it’s here. I’m in the bathroom with Solarium-Sonja and this guy Benny—don’t ask—getting ready for a kids club, which definitely sounds wrong when I say it out loud. There’s a Rihanna song on repeat, maybe with a Bieber remix, something that won’t die, and I’ve got one thought stuck: tits, tequila, ten little missions.

One. Start a troll gang that bounces from blog to blog burning everything down. Posts, images, videos. All of it gone. Already exists? Doesn’t matter. Two. Buy a paint-by-numbers kit. Lock the door. Don’t come out until the painting looks like a Caspar David Friedrich painted it. Close enough is fine. Three. Look at the American Pie Reunion poster. Feel yourself aging. It’s all downhill from here. Four. Smile at the sun. It’ll shine longer for you. Might be bullshit but worth trying. Five. Download Minecraft. Play for five minutes. Uninstall forever. Bad graphics, pointless, or the porn folder’s calling—pick a reason. Probably all three.

Six. Find some far-right political posters and cover them with jokes. Stand at the polling booths trying to convince old people not to vote for the party that hates immigrants and gay people. It won’t work but someone has to try. Seven. Write a boring press release starting with Dear Blogger. Send the follow-up full of death threats and hate speech about their boss and his family. Here’s the thing: nobody reads past the greeting. All that hate just evaporates. Eight. Go to the fish market and buy the deadest fish available. Become their best friend. Notice how long they are. How slimy. How they’re split open inside. That hole. Being a man. Nine. Post online about how Pokémon discriminates against disabled people because there’s a move called Paralyze. Then drown quietly because apparently no real problems exist in the world besides this one. Ten. Get happy.