"Hey!!! What the flip!" yells Shane, as the jukebox vanishes down the bear's gullet, giving a last distorted metallic shriek.

"AWESOME!!!!" comes a cry of delight from the dancer in the Atherley Arms T-shirt.

"You loser!" Shane rages, jumping up and down and spilling beer all over the place. "I paid for that f**kin' song!" He winds up and flings his beer bottle at Gordon Heavyfoot's head. Fortunately his aim is bad. Instead of hitting the bear, it sails just past his ear and crashes into a tray of pickled eggs. Eggs fly everywhere.

The 2 hosers who were eating the eggs both yell "Hey, TAKE OFF, eh?" and start to get up out of their chairs. This is an effort indicating considerable irritation on their part.

"Shane," gasps Don, grabbing his little brother by the arm, "look at them guys! Look at their toques!"

Shane's jaw drops. A little drool of beer foam drifts down his chin. His eyes open up really wide. His mustache quivers...

"Holy Plotz", he breathes. "It can't flippin' be...but it is..."

He walks up to the 2 hosers as if in a trance...Don's hand is frozen to his shoulder...

"You guys are Doug and Bob, aintcha?" says Shane.

"You spilled our eggs, eh?" says Doug accusingly.

Shane and Don instantly fall to their knees on the beer-stained barroom floor.

"We're not worthy! We're not worthy!" they chant.

Doug and Bob stare at them wordlessly.

Somewhere in the distance a wildcat growls, and Chicago is still flat and ugly.

- LH