The temperature at noon on Saturday was an unwelcome 29 degrees, but that didn't stop fifteen teams of costumed revelers from gathering in McCarren Park for the 15th annual running of the Idiotarod. When the starting whistle blew all the idiots tore through the streets of Brooklyn, pushing their tricked-out shopping carts from bar to bar, in Williamsburg and Bushwick and Ridgewood, then crushing them all with a battering ram on the Schaefer Street dead end. That's the event.

It might sound dumb (and it is), but the preparation, energy, and creativity of both the organizers—shadowy collectives known as Idiot Labs and the Department of Homeland Absurdity—and the participants is pretty astounding. At each bar-checkpoint along the route there are a series of contests and activities, usually silly or rude or both, that each team has to complete before receiving their stamp, and racing off to the next stop. Ten elaborate handmade trophies are handed to the winners at the end.

And the carts! Team Ikeatine, who won “Best Engineering”, wore menacing blue plastic cowls and brandished a guillotine powerful enough to slice open a pineapple. Viva Las Idiots pushed around a full gaming table all day. Winners of the “Horniest Team”, Farmers Meet, built a 15-foot high silo atop their cart, and the resemblance to a penis was not unintentional. The breakfast-themed Most Important Cart of the Day passed around toast and cereal to all comers. And the bondage-y Edgar Allen’s Hoes constructed a massive raven, with working, flapping wings. For their efforts, the latter won “Best in Show, and took home $250.

Other carts of note include team Toxic Masculinity Containment; the coffin-shaped Transfusion Trolley, whose mission was to collect enough blood to keep (their version of) Ruth Bader Ginsberg alive for two more years; the bouncy Knights of the Round Table, who in the end were disqualified for using a “granny cart” rather than regulation shopping cart; the bubble-wrap-clad crew of Dude Where’s My Cart?; and the Organ Trail, recipient of a special “Least Sanitary” award for handing out liver, hearts, and dysentery shots, which were as gross as they sound.

Alcohol obviously played a large role in fueling the long day’s journey—and the route this year was especially lengthy, covering almost four miles from McCarren Park to The Deep End near the eastern terminus of Wyckoff Avenue. For most of the racers, it's an about an eight hour event, and I, for one, salute these idiots' stamina and good cheer.