Did you know? The patron saint of carneys is also the patron saint of murderers. His name is Saint Julian the Hospitaller, and he once hallucinated that a deer told him he was going to kill his parents. (FYI, he did kill his parents. Don’t worry, though: he was really sorry, and did penance by building a hospital by a river to care for sick travelers. He also “rowed travelers across the river,” which sounds like another famous ferryman, not that I am suggesting anything untoward.)
The carney/murderer thing can’t be a coincidence is all I’m saying, and I thought you should know. I love a goddamn saint.
King of States! 
Considering the festival made of executions, historically and presently, I’d have to agree, putting those two together under one saint fits.
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Never trust anyone who takes instructions from a deer.
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Truth.
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Have you read Flaubert’s St. Julien novella (The Legend of St. Julien l’Hospitalier)? I can’t begin to describe how good it is (it also features one of the most crushing closing lines in the history of closing lines).
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I have not, but I will now.
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I hope that if I’m ever awarded sainthood, and it’s not looking likely at this juncture, that I’m a godamn saint, or as I would prefer it spelled, a got-damn saint.
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This explains so much.
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