Ten Missions

Friday always feels like some kind of social ultimatum. The hard week’s behind you and you’re supposed to cram maximum fun into barely any time—drink, dance, get laid, get high, laugh, and wake up Sunday convinced you actually lived. Most people just scroll and sleep.

Used to fantasize about weekend missions—genuinely absurd challenges that might’ve actually made Friday matter.

One: Learn some dead language with friends and use it to talk shit about people. There’s something satisfying about having a code only you understand.

Two: Write the nuclear blog post. Every infidelity, every person you hate, all the photos—everything—and then move to Paraguay.

Three: Ditch all the apps. Text only through fax machines. Unhinged, but I’ve thought about it.

Four: Grab a family-size pack of those orange push-up ice creams and show up to a date with them. You know what happens.

Five: Time-travel back and get with one of the Spice Girls before it all went downhill. Or an orgy with S Club 7. Either one.

Six: Send someone a bottle of hair-growth serum with a note about focusing on real problems. Too cruel, but tempting.

Seven: Breed moose in trees. The mechanics don’t matter.

Eight: Host a movie night and flash subliminal messages on screen—”Give me money,” Bring beer, Get naked—for a few frames. See if anyone notices.

Nine: Walk up to random people on the street and ask if they want to sleep with you. Statistically one in a hundred says yes. Unless you look like someone’s uncle going through withdrawal.

Ten: Code an app that generates your mother jokes and randomly texts them to your contacts. Then wait to see if it goes to your boss. Or your mom.

That’s how you’d actually spend Friday if you had the nerve.