Thousands of revelers congest the streets of Old Town Key West during the 10-days of Fantasy Fest in late October, oblivious to the frantic, often humorous, and sometimes frightening maneuvers businesses go through to make the revelry appear spontaneous.

Wednesday, midway through the hedonistic festival, the Hog’s Breath Saloon, at Front and Duval streets, briefly closes at 7 p.m., and begins its hectic routine to clear its furnishings.

“We move the entire restaurant and bar seating and tables to the roof,” said Art Levin, the manager-in-charge for the saloon’s 11th annual Fantasy Fest event, the “Homemade Bikini Contest.”

“We get it done in about 30-minutes,” he said. “It’s like a trail of ants moving everything up the one staircase to store on the roof.”

With a crew of 22, the downstairs is cleared and staff begins to assemble the event’s stage in the limited space of the main dinning room.

While Levin begins working on the bikini contest preparations at least a month a head, most headaches are on show night.

He points toward the saloon’s commercial icemaker and laughs. “It couldn’t make enough ice to get us through that night.”

During the event, Levin puts two rented supermarket-style freezers in the closed kitchen, to hold bagged ice.

“Of course, the ice has to arrive,” he said. “It always does, but sometimes it’s too close to deadline.”

For four hours that night the small, frozen crystal-like cubes are as valuable as diamonds, because without them there’s no cold beer, no frozen drinks, and no chilled mix drinks. Ice is invaluable, for a few hours.

Stage construction noise, yelled orders, along with the bar backs running mixes, ice, beer, and liquor to the two bars, fills the saloon with as much noise as when customers holler and scream for service and sing along with the on-stage band. Organized chaos, Levin calls it.

Off to one side of the temporary stage, away from the contestant’s entrance, there’s a small pit-like section cutout for the media.

“One year we had MTV here,” Levin frowned and shook his head. “They needed this, they needed that and they put up high-powered lights for their cameras and then, in the middle of the contest, they begun to take everything down. That was real chaos. They were done and we weren’t halfway through our show.”

The contest went on without a hitch, he said, but there’d be a lot of thought given before another TV crew would be allowed to light the event. Sound checks are constant, Levin sighed, because if the sound goes down during the contest, the crowd goes wild and not in a good sense.

While the situation downstairs moves along in its chaotic process, others on Levin’s crew prepare the upstairs Writers’ Room for the event’s VIP Party; tickets cost $150, and include a buffet and open bar.

Office space is turned into dressing rooms for the contestants and the large open bar area has a small stage in one corner and the buffet table in another. At 9 p.m., the VIP Party starts and the line of men and women that have been waiting for an hour or longer are allowed upstairs.

Bill Hoebee, the morning radio personality on Clear Channel’s Sun 99.5 FM radio, has emceed the event for five years. He begins the night in a tuxedo with a red vest.

“This is all a blast,” he said between sips of rum and coke, his signature drink. “I’m always impressed with the creativity of the women on stage. This is the most fun I have all year.”

After comments from friends on how well he looked in a tuxedo, Hoebee laughed. “A couple of years ago, one of the contestants’ bikini was made of cake icing and by the time I finished interviewing her on stage, my rented tux was covered with icing, too. That made for an interesting conversation when I returned it.”

The room fills quickly with thirsty guests lining up at the bar, contestants signing in, getting their number and shown into the dressing room, and space to move about becomes limited. As contestants leave the dressing rooms in their skimpy homemade bikinis, they are walked through the crowd to the small stage and interviewed by Hoebee.

Third-generation Conch, Toni Michelle Gage, won the contest and its $1,500 first prize, in 2007, with a teacup bikini design.

“I always wanted to enter the contest and as my 40th birthday approached I knew it was now or never,” Gage laughed wide-eyed. “I had the support of my husband, Rick, and my daughters and I did it and won. It was fun, letting my hair down and once I was on stage all the stress was gone.”

Gage credits friend Jim Malcolm with the design of her bikini.

“We talked about it for weeks and when I saw Jim’s drawings, I loved the outfit,” Gage said.

Gage walked through the VIP Party, did her interview with Hoebee, and never lost her nervous smile as guests asked to have their photo taken with her. Most of the 30 contestants walked the room, as flashes on cameras popped and even cell phones were taken out to capture photo opportunities.

The ticket to the VIP Party looks like a concert’s backstage pass and hangs around the holder’s neck with VIP Party in large red letters. Levin, with his badge, moved through the crowd like a guest.

“I put my game face on,” he said, “and check on the bar and buffet.”

Levin keeps an eye on contestants, as they mingle with ticket holders.

“This is not an event for a shy person, but we usually have one or two contestants who get cold feet before show time and their friends make sure they drink a little more than necessary,” he said. “We do not allow anyone intoxicated to participate.”

The contestants have their numbers printed on their left shoulder with a marker. If the program went according as planned, the contestants head downstairs to the loud and crowded room in numerical order.

“It doesn’t happen,” Levin, laughed, “Someone is always in the bathroom or not ready or backs out.”

By 10 p.m., the show begins and Levin has been behind the scenes making sure that any problems with the sound system have been fixed, the ice has arrived, the beer is cold, and the contestants and judges are sober; Hoebee’s tux jacket is off and he is already sweating as he introduces contestant number one, or two, or three, depending on who is ready and willing to go first and he sips from his rum and coke as the crowd roars its approval.

Nudity is not allowed in the homemade bikini event, but everything else is permissible. Along with icing, bikinis have been made from paperclips, liquorish, fishnet, wax, teacups, lobster traps, Q-Tips, and just about everything else imaginable.

Matt Trehan, general manager of the Ocean Key Resort, Zero Duval St., owns the title of King-of-Events in Key West. When he was a manager at the Hog’s Breath Saloon, general manager Charlie Bauer left it to Trehan to come up with a classic event for the saloon’s Fantasy Fest participation. He created the Homemade Bikini Contest.

“I think that was in 1996,” Trehan said from poolside of the oceanfront resort. “I was the emcee until I left and came to the hotel.”

Part of his challenge from Nobel House, owner of the resort, was to come up with a Fantasy Fest event.

“Dé-jà vu,” Trehan laughed and drank ice water. “I couldn’t steal the bikini contest, but I saw some real talented airbrush artists in town and thought of exposing their work on a living canvas, the body.”

Trehan took that idea and turned it into the Living Art Airbrush Expo, an event that fills the resort’s Sunset Pier on Friday night of Fantasy Fest.

“It’s a little risqué and like upscale burlesque, without being offensive,” he said.

Two days prior to the event, the pier is stripped of its tables and chairs, a large stage is constructed at the end of the pier and drink stations are placed in strategic locations.

“We had an official from Nobel House in the audience that second year, I think it was, and we didn’t have the drink stations in place and I was being told by staff that he wanted another drink,” Trehan sighed. “I called for drinks from the stage, as I emceed the show, but the hostesses couldn’t get through the crowd.”

It was a learning experience, he said and the next year drink stations were in place along the pier.

“I wanted the event to follow the feel of Fantasy Fest without debasing women and I believe this is a good example of taste and art and beauty,” Trehan said. “Talented artists turn the human body into a living canvas.”

Airbrushing the bodies takes a lot of time, so the artists work off premises and when the women show up, well before the 9 p.m. start time, escorts walk them backstage.

The women help each other backstage, too, with last minute hair adjustments, hugs, and admiration for the design the artist chose. The chatter goes from witty to friendly to anxious, as everyone waits for the show to begin. Some of the contestants that have been involved before, advise the newcomers to keep an eye on the emcee while on stage and they’ll forget the crowd.

Grand prize is $1,500. And the pier is crowded and loud long before show time, the waterside is dark, and excitement blankets the contestants and the ticket holders.

A maximum of 30 are allowed to participate. Trehan, at least six-foot, with dark features and wavy dark hair, started the tuxedo idea at the Hog, is in one for the contest and within a few minutes of getting on stage, the jacket comes off and he grabs the mike and begins introducing the contestants, to the cheers and whistles of the attendees. Off to the bayside of the pier, boats slowly prowl the waters trying to see the show for free.

General admission is $10, but a backstage pass costs $150 and includes mixing with contestants, an open bar and light food.

“Thing don’t change that much,” Trehan laughed. “Boyfriends, husbands of the contestants come up afterward and complain because their girlfriend or wife didn’t win.” He hunched his shoulders and shook his head, “I learned at the Hog about that, so I always point toward the judges and let the complainers know I had nothing to do with scoring.”

If you are talking to a regular of the Green Parrot Bar, on the corner of Whitehead and Southard streets, one of the first things you learn is the bar was named one of the ten best in the world in the May 2000 issue of Playboy. To prove it, the article is framed and hanging on the wall outside the men’s room.

John Vagnoni, owner of the bar, credits ex-bartender Vicki Roush with putting on the Parrot’s first body-painting contest.

“It’s like a fire drill these days,” Vagnoni said from his seat by a glassless window. There are no glass windows in the bar. Decorative metal works replace glass, leaving the bar open to the elements. “We move the pool tables and most of the stools and we go to plastic cups during the event Saturday afternoon.”

Unlike other contestant-involved events, the Parrot’s body-painting contest doesn’t offer a big prize or require long registration forms.

“I think this began in ’97 because some of our customers were body painted and all the regulars argued over who looked the best,” Vagnoni recalled. “So, to put an end to the argument, Vicki started our body-painting contest. I don’t remember who the judges were and I don’t think anyone remembers, but that’s how it began.”

Bob Decker, a local businessman and sailor, has entered the contest a few times. His wife, Fran, a local artist, helps paint him.

“Yeah, men can sign up, too,” Vagnoni laughed. “You can’t be painted here, the bar’s too crowded for that, but just show up before 3 p.m. and put your name on the list.”

The contest averages 20 contestants, he said.

“As it is, it takes emcee Tom Luna until 7 p.m. to finish the show,” Vagnoni said. “I think everyone that participates does it for bragging rights, more than anything. Grand prize is only $100.”

At 8 p.m., Saturday night, the annual parade begins across the street.

The Parrot, unique with a large parachute attached to the ceiling over the bar, has a sculpture by John Martini on one wall, old and new posters advertising the famous and infamous blues bands that play the bar on weekends all over the place.

The official name of the contest, for Fantasy Fest promotions, is the Green Parrot’s Experimental Art and Torso Tapestry Contest, said Roush.

“It always amazes me how many people crowd in to see a little painted flesh on stage,” Vagnoni said. “There’s more nudity walking the streets.”

Roush recalls the first contest being a little more rowdy and wild, but said it had become tamer.

“It comes off without a hitch,” Vagnoni laughed. “And I like it like that. If you want to see pandemonium, show up Halloween night, that’s our wild and crazy party.”