Marcel Winatschek

Ten Stupid Missions

Saturday afternoons drop you into this weightless space where nothing pulls at you, so you just dissolve into the couch and pretend to exist. To actually move, I came up with ten ridiculous missions, nothing sensible, just friction between you and complete stasis.

One: drop your pants in front of anyone whose name starts with M, S, or Q. Two: find some nightclub floor and lick it like you’re apologizing to it. Three: spot someone with an energy drink, slap it out of their hand, jam a celery stick at them instead, tell them it’s healthier, keep walking. Four: same thing with a cigarette. Five: have sex with a celery stick.

Six: spend a thousand on Lego and red wine and build the most elaborate pirate time-traveling spaceship you can manage in one night. Seven: actually read a whole book. Eight: go to a club and request the same terrible pop song every thirty minutes until they play it or throw you out. Nine: every half hour, scream FIRE! and then sit in complete silence. Ten: enroll yourself in kindergarten and start your whole mess over.