A call from Dad saying, "Let's invite everyone and go drinking in Sapporo," sets things in motion. I'm all for a party, so I rush out without thinking—though I have this bad habit of suddenly breaking into the mime dance, which gives me a bad feeling. Sure enough, when I arrive, the party's already a complete mess. Somehow, my sister and even my father have shown up, swelling the crowd to a chaotic 98 people crammed into Sapporo. Beer and whiskey bottles fly through the air, someone's doing long jumps across the room, and another guy pulls out a TENGA and starts jerking off. Some dude keeps yelling "Konkiti Industrial!" and cracking himself up. Total madness. I was laughing my ass off too, so I'm guilty as charged. I remember downing seven beers and nine whiskeys, then happily wandering around Kitashinchi—but after that, nothing. The next morning, I wake up naked in a hotel room in central Tokyo, not Sapporo. On top of that, my wallet now holds several crisp ten-thousand-yen bills. Must've been one hell of a performance. Well, I don't remember any of it, but damn, I must've been convincing.