The Weekend, Properly Wasted

Pick one song—any song—and loop it at full volume for the entire day, loud enough that whoever shares your space can hear every repetition. The point isn’t the music. The point is watching who breaks first.

From there: draft a formal letter to your government explaining that Thursdays are unacceptable and should be abolished entirely. The legal logic is airtight—if enough letters arrive, they’re obligated to comply. Probably. Spend some time with whatever image compilation your internet is currently circulating of the most genuinely uncomfortable situations imaginable, the kind that trigger a full-body cringe you feel in your molars. Try to hold that sensation permanently. Consider getting appropriately high, especially if you’re an elected official who’s recently issued public statements about drug policy.

At your next club night, drop your pants on the dance floor and just wait. Find the Reddit AMA where a second-generation pornographer talked about growing up in the industry with a mother who’d done the same—it’s one of the more unusual inheritance stories you’ll encounter anywhere online. Dress your fat cat in a Halloween costume. You already know how it’s going to go. Do it anyway.

Tell the fiftieth person you encounter this evening that you’d like to sleep with them. Statistics aren’t entirely against you. Leave a half-thawed frozen pizza on each of your neighbors’ doorsteps—no note, just the pizza sitting there—and resist all follow-up contact. Finally: arrange to wake up both Saturday and Sunday in locations you have never seen before, ideally without clothes, a red balloon in one hand and a bundle of foreign currency in the other. How you get there is entirely your problem.