Heal Cancer

Flipped through an old list the other day—ten missions that were supposed to be accomplished over a weekend, the kind of crowdsourced absurdism that made the internet feel participatory for a moment. Go back and superlike an ex on Tinder. Dress as Batman and help solve crimes. Get drunk and play beer pong with old people at a nursing home. Give out free condoms to strangers. Watch Harry Potter backwards. The final one, with no setup: heal cancer.

What gets me is how sincere it all was. This wasn’t ironic. The poster genuinely believed that people would go out and do these ridiculous things and come back with stories. There’s something almost beautiful in that faith—the belief that chaos written down and shared was enough to make something happen.

Most of the humor is locked in its specific moment. Some of it’s just harmless dumb stuff. Some of it hits the semi-transgressive notes that appeal to anyone young enough to believe consequences are theoretical. And then there’s that final item—heal cancer—which feels less like a punchline and more like the list just surrendered to pure absurdity.

I spent enough years on the internet to know when it felt genuinely different. When a dumb list could feel innovative. When a dare written online seemed revolutionary. Now I’m mostly bored by the same impulses resurfacing. But I can see why this list seemed genius: it was permission. It said everyone’s doing this weird thing together, and maybe the doing wasn’t really the point at all.