Weekend Missions

There was a period when the best weekend ideas came from strangers proposing increasingly absurd missions. Some were harmless enough—stare at stars, eat more walnuts, make one last run through the Toys’R’Us. Others veered into genuinely unhinged territory, crude and sexual in that specific way that only made sense in a particular internet moment, when shock value and stupidity were basically the same as humor.

You weren’t supposed to actually do them. The list itself was the joke. It was someone handing you permission to be weird and awful and horny without apology. That was the whole appeal—not the individual missions, but the existence of the list, the knowledge that other people found this funny without needing explanation.

I never did any of them. But I got why they were funny.