My Fucket List: 23 Things To Never Try (The Reverse Bucket List)

What’s a fuck­et list?

A fuck­et list is the oppos­ite of a buck­et list. And this is my list.

Now, accord­ing to Urban Dictionary, it could also be a spelt fuck­it list and refer to a list of people to have sexu­al inter­course with before you die. This list is not that type of list. 

A fuck­et list, in the most com­mon inter­pret­a­tion, is a list of all the things you don’t want to do before you die.

The rules of a fuck­et list are simple:

Here goes:

My Fucket List

1. Jump out of a functional aeroplane.

As an intro­vert, rather than para­chut­ing, I prefer to throw myself into the abyss of lit­er­at­ure — or some­thing equally pre­ten­tious. Why? I don’t suf­fer from dopam­ine defi­ciency, I guess. I get my kicks from intern­al stimuli.

2. Buy stuff to show off.

Possessions tend to wear you down, and they could end up own­ing you instead. We should all work on ourselves instead of “chas­ing cars and clothes and buy­ing shit we don’t need.” ¹Like many men of my gen­er­a­tion (I was born in 1979), my spir­it anim­al is Tyler Durden, the every­man char­ac­ter from Chuck Palachniuk’s nov­el “Fight Club” which was made into a suc­cess­ful movie … Continue read­ing

3. Run a marathon.

There must be health­i­er ways to get likes on Facebook than run­ning a mara­thon. It’s a hard pass from me.

4. Climb a mountain.

I can’t ima­gine what type of busi­ness I would have on the top of a moun­tain. I’m pas­sion­ate about nature pho­to­graphy, and I’m able to handle high alti­tudes men­tally, but if it requires climb­ing gear and you can’t get the shot with a drone — I’m out.

5. “Fit in.”

I love hard-work­ing people. But people work­ing hard to “fit in” rub me the wrong way. I get anxious around them; what on Earth are they com­pens­at­ing for? I prefer to walk roads less trav­elled anyway.

6. Give auto-erotic asphyxiation a go.

Vanilla sex is under-appre­ci­ated, I think, but a few exper­i­ments here and there are fine and dandy. Nothing wrong with some naughty explor­a­tions. But brains need oxy­gen, right? Please tell me if I’m miss­ing some­thing here.

7. Geocaching.

I’m geeky, sure. But not that geeky. I did play Pokemon Go for a stint; that should be enough run­ning around for no sens­ible reas­on whatsoever.

8. Join the “Mile High Club.”

This just in: It’s not sexy to have inter­course where strangers defec­ate. Unless you’re into fae­ces and stuff, I guess. But even if you could man­age to have a good time any­way, I see no accom­plish­ment in brag­ging about the whole ordeal.

9. Sleep at a cheap hostel.

I’m the type of per­son who would spend his last penny on an expens­ive hotel. I nev­er saw the romantic appeal of tra­vers­ing coun­tries while liv­ing like a hobo. Or (much) worse — like a woke mil­len­ni­al chas­ing some cheeky “travel influ­en­cer” dream.

10. Go bungee jumping.

Bungee jump­ing is per­haps thrill­ing and might come with some sense of accom­plish­ment, but I’ll nev­er accept that it’s “cool.” I’m also wary about those “expert bun­gee jump­ers” hook­ing you up to the rope — aren’t secur­ity pro­to­cols out of their wheel­house, as they’re evid­ently lack­ing some highly use­ful per­cent­ages on the con­scien­tious per­son­al­ity trait axis?

11. Ask for a celebrity autograph.

I hon­estly wouldn’t know what to do with a celebrity auto­graph. Take it out and look at it from time to time? Sell it on eBay? Nah, none of that’s for me. I’m cap­able of fully appre­ci­at­ing anoth­er person’s work without hav­ing “a lock of their hair” or some­thing to that effect. I find ask­ing for an auto­graph bor­der­line creepy, hon­estly. ²This is also the reas­on why I nev­er buy souven­irs. Souvenirs are for seri­al killers and hoarders.

12. Respect religious authority.

I accept being an athe­ist in a world dom­in­ated by super­sti­tious beliefs. But I think we, as a ration­al cohort absent of reli­gi­os­ity, are mor­ally obliged to chal­lenge unsub­stan­ti­ated claims — even if it’s mostly a waste of time.

13. Swim with sharks.

I feel no desire to swim with sharks. I know they’re peace­ful, and you can swim with them safely — if the con­di­tions are right. It’s just this: they keep out of my liv­ing room, so it makes sense for me to stay out of theirs.

14. See a psychic for answers.

Some see psych­ics for answers, some for excite­ment, some for curi­os­ity, and oth­ers for a laugh with friends. I get all of that. But I can’t bring myself to incentiv­ise such shenanigans. Or put it like this: I’m open-minded enough to believe that our nat­ur­al world is unfathom­ably com­plex and extraordin­ar­ily beau­ti­ful — without resort­ing to seek­ing anoth­er person’s future in tea leaves.

15. Be a toastmaster.

I’m a decent pub­lic speak­er and have no prob­lem get­ting up in front of an audi­ence. Still, there’s some­thing about cere­mo­ni­al duties that makes my skin crawl. I can’t even pro­pose a form­al toast without feel­ing over­whelm­ingly cringy.

16. Play golf.

My tem­per could nev­er handle golf. I’m calm as a cucum­ber in life (a DNA mix from the North of Sweden will have that effect) but a hot­head in sports (think of John McEnroe, and you’ll get an idea). I do have a his­tory of wreak­ing hav­oc on expens­ive sports equip­ment, I’m ashamed to admit. I’m con­vinced that golf would “drive” me insane.

17. Run for a political office.

I’m an intro­ver­ted pro­vocateur and iron­ic con­trari­an with a pro­nounced elit­ist streak. If every­one gets along, I’m com­pelled to stir some­thing up, or I’ll get bored out of my senses. Alas, I’m not har­bour­ing a mix of the most suit­able per­son­al­ity traits for pub­lic office. Sure, we’ve all seen worse, but still.

19. Hang out with wine snobs.

I don’t want to con­sort with indi­vidu­als who “know about wine.” They’re not my kind of people with their gurg­ling, burbling, and spit­ting. “Notes of cil­antro and burnt rub­ber”? Fuck you. Also, I don’t drink alcohol.

20. Join a cult.

Cults are out of the ques­tion for me — I’m just not a very good fol­low­er. Whenever more than five people seem eager to agree with each oth­er, the hairs on my arms stand up.

22. Sit in a studio crowd and clap on cue.

Who are these people? They scare me. It’s some­thing about their smiles and their dead eyes, I think. My worst night­mare is find­ing myself in a lim­in­al space, a maze of cubicles and chirp­ing dial-up modems inter­con­nec­ted by yel­low-car­peted cor­ridors and flick­er­ing fluor­es­cent lights, as a cheer­ful stu­dio audi­ence is chas­ing me around. Don’t. Let. Them. Catch. Me.

23. Keep up with the Kardashians.

The Kardashian fam­ily is a media phe­nomen­on. As a PR pro­fes­sion­al, I should be inter­ested in all media phe­nom­ena, but I can’t muster up the will­power to sit through one of their episodes.