The party gets rolling with a hot sake/cold water-soaked march up the frozen street. Somebody smuggled in a major's whistle in their fundoshi. Like a naked conga parade. In February.
True 'hadakas' never leave a man behind. Or was it "man's behind?" Hmm. Pity the children either way.
If you didn't make it to the main stage before the magic hour...
...expect your "fundoshi" to seek out hibernation in warmer locations. Hope you've got a brave proctologist.
Ever wonder what happens to an arse when it's left out in the cold for too long? Wonder no more. You're welcome.
The Okayama FD takes the night off from fighting fires, to break up fights and rescue hapless and trapped hadakas from being trampled asunder.
Safest place in the game is behind one of the temple's massive wooden, skull-stopping beams.
* In case you're left wondering what the hell is going on, go here for last year's admittedly more descriptive recount of the festival.
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So, where's Seymour?
Er, under the bleachers?
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