Have a panic attack in a hammock.
Eat an entire bag of Doritos and Instagram a picture of each individual chip.
Swipe left on your hopes and dreams.
Die at an outdoor concert festival and come back to haunt the park grounds.
Do yoga in the cemetery until a mourner asks you to leave.
Join a dating website and send any potential matches verbatim Civil War love letters.
Tie-dye your last will and testament.
Invent your own trendy cleanse – like the Frito-Lay Cleanse or the Bud Light Lime-A-Rita Cleanse.
Go for a hike in the woods and fend off a feral animal with a selfie stick.
Spend $15 to see a summer blockbuster instead of $3 to stay home and rent the vastly superior movie it’s based on.
Go to the farmers’ market dressed as Cotton Eye Joe and traumatize the children.
Venmo 1,000 strangers for “exotic dancing” and see if anyone pays.
Smite a marginal friend.
Go for the upside-down Spider-Man kiss on a first date.
Help your dad get on Facebook and then cyberbully him.
Make a bucket list of all the other bucket lists you need to complete before you turn 30.
Take advantage of all the free services at your local library. Libraries are our tax money at work, so you can take as many paper towels from the bathroom as you please and the librarians are legally required to do whatever you ask them to. Also, they keep puzzles behind the desk in the children’s section.
Develop an allergy to people who are gluten-free.
Go to the beach. Bring a good beach read, like the Necronomicon. Build sandcastles as monuments to life’s fleeting glory, futile temples to be consumed by the sea. Don’t forget sunblock.
Name your only remaining endorphins.
Slip ‘n slide ‘n regret ‘n despair.
Make an open-faced sandwich that defies God.
Plant a garden – a sentient garden of ferocious, chemically-enhanced Venus flytraps. Meet me in the abandoned lot in the dead of night. We march at dawn.
Find the perfect sunglasses to shield your contempt for humanity.
Know a pool float in the biblical sense.
Pour some of your 40 on the ground to raise awareness for V-necks.
I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream. I’m throwing newts into a cauldron screaming for ice cream, you’re convulsing on the floor and screaming for ice cream in backwards Latin, we’re all gathered in the dungeon screaming for ice cream. I’m conjuring the one true Angel of the Bottomless Pit and screaming for ice cream, you’re holding a scythe and screaming for ice cream, there is an aura of impending doom and bloodshed and we’re all screaming like banshees for ice cream.
Disturb the peace in a public park by walking around dressed like Jacob Marley, rattling your chains and moaning, “Brunch! BRUNCH! BRUNCHHHHHHH!!!!”