[Cue up the "as good as you're gonna get, but could be worse" footage that can only be received from an iPhone 6 video. The back of the head of Wrigleyville's Finest, JOHNNY DORN, outside of famed Chicago bar John Barleycorn. It's Chicago's annual TWELVE BARS OF CHRISTMAS, when the area's dudebros and ladybros and the tourists who don't know any better gather round and visit any wild combination of 50ish Wrigleyville establishments, with varying degrees of liver damage. It looks to be morning, and DORN has his hands on his hips, surveying the scene, sunglasses upside down on the back of his head beneath an elaborate zebra-print Santa hat as he wears a slightly-too-tight tiger-striped shirt and ZUBAZ pants. A quick scan of the crowd reveals lion, jaguar, zebra, and cougar patterns around the bar. The voice of BOOKFACE echoes from the other side of the cameraphone.]
BF: "We're here live, my followers, vlogging our BREAK THE INTERNET ASSES off for your entertainments! It's the Twelve Bars of Christmas. My newest best good friend, The King of Cornhole, says this is the place to be this weekend. Such excitement! I can't remember the last time I hashtag PREGAMED this early, but you know what? New friends, new experiences. Let's do this. Hey Johnny! Don't forget to bring the #ZOMBIES with you when you walk in - free shots!"
[JOHNNY smiles and nods as a group of five DePaul sorority sisters, with heavy bags under their eyes and pink Greek letters on their zebra booty shorts, slowly amble their way towards DORN, eyes focused squarely on their smartphones.]
[SNAP CUT: It's a literal and figurative zoo in the bar. DORN removes his shirt, revealing Christmas lights around his body, emulating Zoo Lights at the Lincoln Park Zoo.]
JD: "MY PEOPLE, YOUR KING HAS ARRIVED!"
[The entire crowd erupts in cheers, as the king of the TBOX Court has graced them with their presence. A pint of pisswater-colored beer is thrust into his hand, and quickly emptied. BOOKFACE is also given a glass, which he sips slowly.]
BF: "A popular man in these environs. I must learn from his ways..."
Random guy: "What are you talking about?"
BF: "You know the Johnny Dorn?"
RG: "Bro. He's the Beer Pong Baron. EVERYONE knows him here."
BF: "I see..."
[SNAP CUT: A completely different bar - Chicago natives might recognize it as the Houndstooth Saloon. Hours appear to have passed based on the lighting outside. DORN is beligerent, as is everyone else in the bar in their various states of zoological attire. DORN hasn't found another shirt. He's got two scoops of Captain Crunch in his hands and makes his way towards BOOKFACE.]
JD: "Bro, you gotta try this, this is called a Cereal Shot."
BF: "A Serial Shot? Like the podcast?"
JD: "The **** you talking about? Just eat it, it's ****in' delicious."
BF: "..."
[DORN pounds down the Cereal Shot like vodka - BOOKFACE tosses it over his shoulder.]
BF: "MMM! Hashtag flavorporn!"
[The camera is jostled for a bit by any number of drunkards, clearly showing a bright pink "I'm a TBOX Virgin" sticker on Bookface's chest.]
Random guy 2: "Ha, you're a TBOX virgin?"
BF: "Yah, what of it?"
RG2: "WE'VE GOT A VIRGIN HERE! VIRRRRRGIIIII-"
[His battle cry is quickly silenced by a BOOKFACE headbutt. DORN cheers loudly, his hand already occupied by a fresh pint. A loud roar is heard off-camera - BOOKFACE quickly pans over.]
BF: ".......FAFNIR??"
[FAFNIR charges towards JOHNNY DORN from across the bar, in full battle regalia and hoisting what appears to be a cooked deer leg. DORN runs away, chugging his beer along the way, before BOOKFACE runs for the assist and cuts out the camera shot.
SNAP CUT: what must be bar 8 or 9 by now. It's seasonably "5pm dark" outside, and the current bar (recognizable to locals as Cubby Bear) is jam packed with the douchebro scum of the earth. It's incredibly packed, and hard to see the focus of this alcoholic documentary. After a time, a few views of JOHNNY DORN make their way to the camera. He's got empty glasses all around him as he muches on FAFNIR's deer leg. Hashtag, WASTED. It's hard to tell how the #zombies are doing, because their general state seems to be uniform at all times.]
BF: "How are you doing, Johnny?"
[The crowd parts a bit. DORN's normally sane, if douchey, face has been replaced by something completely monstrous and foreign. It's unclear whether or not DORN has heard BOOKFACE's question or not. All that IS clear is that chairs are being thrown, counters are being smashed, empty pint glasses are being shattered against walls. SOMETHING has blinded DORN and sent him to a fit of rage.]
BF: "...most intriguing. This may be a hashtag EUREKA. Red Line, I may need to investigate further..."
[FTB]
