A Reasonable Weekend Plan

Weeks disappear. You look up and it’s Friday again, feet swollen from standing, same four walls, same exhaustion. So you need something. A plan.

Walk into Burger King and order a Whopper with a thousand slices of bacon. Write your suicide note first, just to see how the despair changes the flavor. Then find one specific friend in your group and ignore them completely until they crack. Make them paranoid. Drive them to a tarot reader. Stop right before they start calling hostage negotiators.

Tell your parents where babies come from. Buy a random plane ticket for the next available flight and don’t come back for ten years. If it lands in Düsseldorf, congratulations, God hates you specifically. Eat meat until your hands smell like iron. Run around on all fours making monkey noises, claim you’re a new species. Nobody stops you when you’re this committed to something, no matter how dumb.

Buy sunglasses in bulk until you’re barely recognizable—the math is simple, fewer friends means more shades, each one another layer of mystery. Name every pimple on your body. When you run out of names, you know you’ve lost. Play Power Rangers and skip straight to the giant robot scene.

And then some night, when nothing’s marked on the calendar, paint your genitals with glow-in-the-dark paint and let them figure it out mid-sex.