When you take a shower and then screw (have sex with) your sibling like theres no tomorrow! However, for a West Virginia Saturda Night Party you must not take a shower and both siblings must recive anal (could be with fingers or private parts).
I was so frikin' horny last night and since im single and have no girlfriend I had a west virginia saturday night!
by BillyMaysIsNowAZombie August 24, 2009
Get the West Virginia Saturday Nightmug. When one spread honey on ones dick, then pours poprocks on over the honey. Once they start popping one performs Anal Sex on their partner. The popping of the pop rocks causes the the nerves and muscles of the anus to relax and the insewing rush of fecal matter is known as the SATURDAY NIGHT STREET CAR.
by Gendrix November 16, 2010
Get the Saturday Night Street Carmug. Any given Saturday when your whole crew gets absolutely wasted. The phrase is also coined to require a buddy to down their beer if they cannot recite the phrase properly on command.
by Ripp March 1, 2021
Get the Super Soaker Bazooka Soaker Super Saturdaymug. When the girls leave and its only the two guys left and they refelect on wtf they are doing with their lives.
by WTFisWrong March 7, 2019
Get the Sad Saturday Hoursmug. Charlie: You seem grumpy today? What happened?
Lev: Didn't get to masturbate on Saturday
Charlier: Why not?
Lev: I got interrupted.
Charlie: Ohhh. I wish somebody would mess up my sacred saturdays
Lev: Didn't get to masturbate on Saturday
Charlier: Why not?
Lev: I got interrupted.
Charlie: Ohhh. I wish somebody would mess up my sacred saturdays
by BallsofHorror November 15, 2014
Get the sacred saturdaymug. Brother Hunt had a philosophy: any Sunday before a holiday Monday was a golden ticket to excess. He called them “Synthetic Saturdays”, a sacred tradition where he could overindulge without consequence, knowing full well that Monday—blessed, merciful Monday—was a built-in recovery day.
It started years ago, when Hunt was fresh out of college, working a job trading derivatives, living for weekends and dreading Mondays like everyone else. But one Memorial Day weekend, he had an epiphany. That Sunday night, while his friends paced themselves, thinking of the workweek ahead, Hunt went all in—one more drink, an extra plate of barbecue, staying up way too late.
And then? No work the next day. No alarm clock. No responsibilities. Just an entire Monday to sleep in, nurse his indulgences, and start fresh on Tuesday.
From that moment on, Synthetic Saturdays were law.
Hunt planned his life around them. Labor Day, New Year’s, Fourth of July, Presidents’ Day….—if Monday was off, Sunday was on. He’d feast without restraint, drink without hesitation, and make every questionable decision he wouldn’t dare on a normal Sunday.
But his masterpiece? Presidents’ Day Sunday. A self-proclaimed holy day in the Church of Hunt. Every February, he hosted the grandest Synthetic Sunday of them all—kegs, mountains of food, and wagers that got out of hand. While others sipped cautiously, thinking about their 8 a.m. meetings, Hunt doubled down, knowing he had all of Monday to recover.
It started years ago, when Hunt was fresh out of college, working a job trading derivatives, living for weekends and dreading Mondays like everyone else. But one Memorial Day weekend, he had an epiphany. That Sunday night, while his friends paced themselves, thinking of the workweek ahead, Hunt went all in—one more drink, an extra plate of barbecue, staying up way too late.
And then? No work the next day. No alarm clock. No responsibilities. Just an entire Monday to sleep in, nurse his indulgences, and start fresh on Tuesday.
From that moment on, Synthetic Saturdays were law.
Hunt planned his life around them. Labor Day, New Year’s, Fourth of July, Presidents’ Day….—if Monday was off, Sunday was on. He’d feast without restraint, drink without hesitation, and make every questionable decision he wouldn’t dare on a normal Sunday.
But his masterpiece? Presidents’ Day Sunday. A self-proclaimed holy day in the Church of Hunt. Every February, he hosted the grandest Synthetic Sunday of them all—kegs, mountains of food, and wagers that got out of hand. While others sipped cautiously, thinking about their 8 a.m. meetings, Hunt doubled down, knowing he had all of Monday to recover.
HUNT: “You guys just don’t get it. This isn’t a regular Sunday. This is a Synthetic Saturday —a free pass, a golden ticket, a once-in-a-quarter gift from the universe.”
JOE: “Yeah, but I still gotta be functional tomorrow.”
HUNT: “Functional? Functional for what? It’s a holiday! You think George Washington crossed the Delaware so you could sip water and leave early? No, my friend. He did it so you could have that extra plate of ribs and crack open another beer without regret.”
SARAH: “I don’t know, Hunt. Last time I bought into this, I spent all of Monday regretting my life choices.”
HUNT: “That’s the whole point! Regret on a Monday that doesn’t count! By Tuesday, you’re fine. If you hold back tonight, you waste an opportunity you won’t get again until Columbus Day. And let’s be honest, that one’s underrated.”
JOE: “Yeah, but I still gotta be functional tomorrow.”
HUNT: “Functional? Functional for what? It’s a holiday! You think George Washington crossed the Delaware so you could sip water and leave early? No, my friend. He did it so you could have that extra plate of ribs and crack open another beer without regret.”
SARAH: “I don’t know, Hunt. Last time I bought into this, I spent all of Monday regretting my life choices.”
HUNT: “That’s the whole point! Regret on a Monday that doesn’t count! By Tuesday, you’re fine. If you hold back tonight, you waste an opportunity you won’t get again until Columbus Day. And let’s be honest, that one’s underrated.”
by ThomD February 15, 2025
Get the Synthetic Saturdaymug. Saturdays are for hot sex and even more fucking. You go out on a saturday and come back with one or even two girls to fuck! Eventhough you wake up on Sunday absolutely battered!
by anonymous_5431 October 28, 2020
Get the Saturdaymug.