[Note: Since we’re out of town through the weekend there will be no PITFF this morning. Instead, Booth would like to take a moment and give you a personal message. We’ll be back at full force on Monday.]

You know what we hate? (Besides being late for the lunch buffet at the strip club, of course.) We hate the loser strolling around the office on a Friday afternoon touting some lame excuse about why they aren’t going out this weekend.

We can’t stand when we hear some cream puff declaring their intentions to “take it easy” on their two days off. Some douchebag telling us that he needs to save up for next weekend. Save up? What does that even me? Save energy? C’mon. What are you, an 85 year-old man on a respirator? You need to save money? Please. Get a fucking credit card and drink yourself into insurmountable consumer debt like the rest of us.

Or, if you’re really hurting for cash, go buy a bottle of grain alcohol and smuggle a flask into your establishment of choice. Money is no excuse. You can get hammered for 5 bucks if you’re creative. Take a few tips from the homeless.

We loathe when some loser says they’re “past their prime.” Past your prime? Let’s be honest buddy. If you say things like “past your prime,” you never had a prime. Your prime consisted of dominating the library on Friday nights and occasionally grabbing pizza with the math club. Drop “past your prime” from your vocabulary.

We detest the comment “I feel like the creepy old guy at the bar.” Have you ever talked to the creepy old guy at the bar? Sure, he is super creepy, but that guy can party. He tells stories about being backstage at Def Leppard concerts. If you can’t tell stories about something awesome you did in the 80’s, you aren’t the creepy old guy. Nobody under 35 is the creepy old guy. Trust us. We spend our time in the best city in the world to party (Vegas) pretending we’re older so that unsuspecting chicks will think we have more than 400 bucks in our checking account.

Now that winter is over it’s time get out there and dominate the weekend. Go prove to the world that you  still party the hardest. When someone suggests a Jager Bomb, tell them you’re taking a Bear Fight (def: a Car Bomb followed by a Jager Bomb, aptly named Bear Fight because it feels like two bears battling in your stomach).

If you aren’t violently hungover on Sunday, you didn’t bring it this weekend. We expect you to be in the fetal position, shaking, next to some chubby chick with no pants on come Sunday morning. After you rent a fork lift to get the land monster you brought home back to the zoo, we expect you to lie in bed all day chugging water and swearing you will never drink again. Ordering a pizza should be the culmination of your activities. Lifting your head off your pillow or getting a glimpse of daylight should make you seriously consider putting yourself out of your own misery.

Now, get out there. Be Cool & Tough this weekend.

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