Festivals
The only good thing about the hell known popularly as August are the festivals. You wear stupid garish coats and lug heavy mini-shrine encased gods through the streets as people throw water on you and eat whole fish on sticks and maybe an octopus leg and catch goldfish that live forever and get bigger and bigger so you keep having to buy larger tanks and watch semi-synchronized dancing that looks like it got practiced as a group maybe once and listen to drums being pounded by half-naked guys wielding big sticks and stagger home amidst the yukata-clad masses. It's a great time.
Don Your Happis!
It's matsuri season!
Don Your Happis!
It's matsuri season!