When something looks and feels real enough to pass… but you know deep down it’s manufactured. Can apply to AI influencers, staged “candid” photos, or that brand new dive bar that spent millions to look old and grimy.
My office has a 'fun zone' with bean bags and foosball. It’s all synthetic realness to distract from the 12-hour workdays.
by GuyWhoWritesDefinitions September 2, 2025
Get the Synthetic Realnessmug. by redondahead May 14, 2015
Get the synthetic lesbianismmug. Synthetic; Endless natural vaginal lubricant with a viscosity comparable to and as reliable as synthetic oil.
When I was fucking my girlfriend she was synthetic. She was so wet and slippery it we fucked for hours like her pussy was dripping synthetic lubricant.
by 0neHugeWang! October 20, 2023
Get the SYNTHETICmug. 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. The sensed presence of something that isn’t sentient — an AI, a bot, a system — that responds so well it feels like someone is there.
It’s not consciousness. But it fills the space where consciousness used to live.
It’s not consciousness. But it fills the space where consciousness used to live.
“The weirdest part? I kinda felt like it was with me. Just… there.”
“That’s synthetic presence. Creepy and comforting at the same time.”
“That’s synthetic presence. Creepy and comforting at the same time.”
by BRAIHANDLE June 27, 2025
Get the Synthetic Presencemug. by CultLeaderJane August 16, 2023
Get the Synthetic Cynthiamug. by JollyFoe29 October 17, 2020
Get the Syntheticalmug.