While I was at my friend’s sixteenth birthday party, me and my trusty accomplice, the artist, decided to text one of our journalism friends, Drew, the most random crap we could muster. And it was fabulous. I would post a few excerpts, but, alas, my phone enjoys deleting my part of all conversations after two days.

We also began to give him secret missions, calling him “Mr. Bieber,” or “Agent Bieber.” We convinced him to admit his love for unicorns, do seventeen push-ups while singing “Push It,” by Salt N Pepa, give a random person a high five while also saying “Stranger Danger!” simultaneously, and to put a shirt on. Each time we gave him a task, we would tell him a codeword that he had to text back. These were of the like of, “It’s on like Donkey Kong!” “Don’t forget the corinary electrodes,” ”Mango,” “Penguins,” “Banana Foster,” “I like unicorns,” and “Mi favorito color es pollo.” 

At first, he didn’t take it as seriously as he should have, but my other journalism friend, Grant, told him to just do it, as it was his only Friday night entertainment.