When you stay up all night with your brother doing Al-Lad and X ,smoking wax,playing fortnight being loud as fuck and getting in the feels cause you always get deep sixed in 2 place.
“Flyin Carpet out the storm , happier than a fat kid in a candy store, got wrecked on fortnight let’s play some more Sandy Candy Saturday Night
by Slimlongdingdong December 29, 2019
Get the Sandy Candy Saturday Nightmug. 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. by Lordandsaviorrathmann September 3, 2025
Get the Rathmann Saturdaymug. When the night ends with true hunger and only a pork pie stuffed into a sloppy minge will suppress the need for sustanence.
"you wouldn't believe how my night ended! Didn't need breakfast after that Saturday night pork pie express!"
by Ernieb182 August 17, 2019
Get the Saturday night pork pie expressmug.