Esther17
on a saturday night
Man, it’s Saturday night. You know what that means. Fun, is what it means. They been calling it Saturday for nineteen centuries. Dunno what they called it before that, but at some point in the 2nd Century the Romans decided it should be dies Saturni. The day of Saturn, the Roman god of agriculture. A true party anima…wait. Agriculture? Seriously?
Well, okay, okay, but remember most folks was farmers back then. And it was farmers who raised the grain for beer and grapes for wine, so I’m thinking this Saturn had to know something about having fun. Yeah, you look him up in the books and he’s a big strapping dude toting a really kick-ass sickle. That’s more like it. Says here he used that sickle to…oh lawdy, he castrated his own daddy with that sickle. That ain’t right. And then he marries…dude, he marries his sister. And it gets worse! He eats his kids. The kids he has with his sister? He eats them. Except one he doesn’t eat on account of his sister-wife (man, this is like a scene outa Chinatown) gave him a rock to eat instead of the baby. Saturn is so stupid he can’t tell if he’s eating a rock or his own baby? Damn. Anyway, the kid grows up, kicks Saturn’s ass, and Saturn runs off to Rome where they name a day after him.
You know, it’s starting to make sense. Saturday night. Anything’s possible, anything goes.
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