by Trey greenwald April 21, 2018
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 16, 2025
Each Saturday, there's is at least 1 group of people who group up on Saturdays and huddle together in an event known as Warm Swarm Saturday hidden from the view of the public eye. Originally brought up in parks in Staffordshire. The tradition usually lasts for an hour as the group talks about different topics mattering about their own personal lives and struggles though this event can be altered to fit the group's liking. The only downside to this is that all members participating should agree to stay participating throughout the event.
The group had decided to participate in this week's Warm Swarm Saturday. It is estimated that this time, 24 people will be present during Warm Swarm Saturday.
by Pluxizity October 19, 2022
When you and 2-3 friends get a 30-pack of beer and a 30-pack of white castle at 6am on Saturday and you have to finish it before noon.
The first one to shit their pants or puke loses.
The first one to shit their pants or puke loses.
Dave: "Yo bro, lets do sloppy saturday tomorrow!"
Kris: "Aw hecky naw, I shit my pants last sloppy saturday"
Kris: "Aw hecky naw, I shit my pants last sloppy saturday"
by pizzapals November 17, 2023
A Discord server that lasted from 2018-2020
by ProfessionalWiggler March 05, 2021
Guy1: dude where is your light saber.
Guy2: what do you mean.
Guy1: it's saber Saturday. You're supposed to bring you're light saber.
Guy2: what do you mean.
Guy1: it's saber Saturday. You're supposed to bring you're light saber.
by glowingcat77 February 19, 2022
The feeling of a little car sickness mixed with the sun beating through the window making you really warm as you are a passenger a car traveling to a destination that you do not want to go to. This feeling typically presents itself during Saturday errands with your Mom when you are in the backseat of the car and would rather be dead than running errands with your Mom.
by Kay Star January 29, 2009