You have to spend money on weekends. Why? Heck, because I say so, that’s why. If you’re peering into your computer right now, or squinting into some handheld device, maybe a Samsung Galaxy, you’re lucky to be alive then, because you’ve found a way to escape the week without throwing your lazy boss out the window, or resisted the urge to jump on your desk and scream; “I quit, you suckers. I’m done giving butt-rubs and finger-kisses for a living. You know what? I’m going into the sewer business, where all the city’s poop will call me king, and love my bald smelly head. If they don’t, then I’ll go into fart-analysis for a living. Fart detectors are making it big, and it’s a lot more fun!”
You didn’t scream that, and the week’s over. Celebrate it, that’s what you do, and I’m here to give you priceless advice on how to get the weekend ticking over with your life savings. Hurray!
 
The Clubs Love You
And they love your money too. You know the reason why the word ‘TGIF’ was created? Because the night clubs said so. No Priest or clergyman got a revelation that said “Thus saith the Lord of your fathers, thou shalt keep observe the club day, and keep it groovy. Thy house and the house of thy sons, shall call on my name with Alomo and shaki, every Friday when thou art set free from the office captivity, thou shalt call on my name and with thanksgiving, say “Thank God It’s Friday.”
That never happened, neither do I expect the Guy upstairs to grant T.B Joshua that interview anytime soon. The TGIF is a feel-good slang , designed to make you spend your hard-earned cash, waking up the morning after with a sick headache, a guilty feeling, and no money. Sounds fun, doesn’t it. So here’s how to burn the weekend money. Visit an all-exclusive night club with the month’s earnings, be sure to tip the smiling bouncer at the door. Give him enough to make him keep his hands off you, but not too much, because excessive generosity will result in the most embarrassing of gratitude. Except you have a thing for being call ‘My Oga, My Chairman, my lover.” Eww. If that gives you the kicks, then feel free to make the bouncer a millionaire.
Next you hit the club and drown in alcohol. You have to drink with class in a glass. Any drink not worth in excess of N20,000 just won’t do. If it’s cheap, then it got brewed not in a distilling company, but in an illegal refinery with the devil supervising. It’ll kill you. What’s the point of drinking when it doesn’t destroy your liver, and your bank account? Go for the heavy alcohol and swim. You hear me? Swim, don’t just drink. And be sure to swim expensive.
 
Let The Strippers Love You Too

You have money, right? And the money should be enough to make Friday seem like Christmas for all that come in contact with you, especially the strippers. Those half-clad dancing specters that make you feel like you’re in a poorly shot scene of a perverted Nollywood movie? Yes. Those ladies. They’ll dance all over, twist like their lives depended on it, and seduce you to an inch of your breath. You’ll feel turned on, and at the same time you’ll feel blessed. Like you’ve been touched by the celestial Mistress of Libido. To make your mistress happy, turn out your wallet and show thanksgiving with pure, untainted, abundant TGIF money. That way she blesses you some more with a lap dance, while you reciprocate with more money. Awesome barter deal. Dance for cash.
 
Time For The Hookers
Hookers are bad. Avoid them like a plague. Especially when they smile at you. Run! No gain here in spending money.
 
Without You, The Dance Floor Becomes Sahara
Nobody wants to be stranded in arid lands, even you. Not when you have your wallet bulging with enough money to make it rain on the Sahara desert. That’s how the dancehall will feel when the money does not flow. You’re in the club to go bankrupt, so do it well. Hop into the dance floor like all the expensive alcohol has made you a rabbit, and spray the cash in the air. Just bring it out, yell ‘hurray!’ and let it fly like shiny paper confetti. Your Dad will be proud of you. You’re the man. So will I, Famakin Opeyemi

Grand Departure
You walked in spending money, you stayed in releasing cash like some dysfunctional ATM, now’s the time to leave, and you have to do it right. And I use the term ‘right’ strictly. Nothing else would have meaning if you don’t get this right. You don’t end a night of balling with staggering out of the club. Leave that to Osuofia. You depart in style. I don’t want to give you a bluepr4int of the classic departure style. I’ll leave this part to you son. You are the man. Only you can take control and make the club miss you all week. Do something crazy, attack the most fearsome-looking bouncer, and have him rough you up a bit before kicking you across the street like they do in cartoons. Or grab the mic, and with deep romantic poetry, make a marriage proposal to the ugly DJ. He’ll notice…

The rest is up to you. Go into the weekend, dance joyfully into bamkruptcy. Thank God It’s Friday! Yipeee!