10/03/2026
TOTALLY FU**ED - The comedy movie Documentary, around the world inebriated in 72 hours
Featuring, the soundtrack, "Forget it Away JohnM
Cheech and Chong meets Ali G meets Benny Hill meets The Hangover and 60 Minutes
https://oneworldtouring.com/
https://youtube.com/
Day1
INT. IMAM KHOMEINI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT – ARRIVALS HALL – DAY
The heat ripples off the asphalt like a mirage. The sky is blindingly bright.
A single, shaky HANDHELD CAMERA pans across heavily armed local security guards standing by a parked charter jet.
Enter JohnM. He is wearing an impeccably tailored designer shirt unbuttoned halfway down, long baggy shorts, and Pokémon character Crocs. No jewelry, no luggage—just a half-empty glass of something amber and lethal in his hand.
He takes a slow sip, squints into the blazing sun, and looks directly down the lens.
JOHN (Voiceover / Dry, deadpan) They said don’t come here. They said it’s a diplomatic incident waiting to happen. Well, I brought my own itinerary, and nobody on this tarmac speaks my language. Which is fine, because neither do I right now.
John turns on his heel and wanders past the security detail, completely unbothered, muttering to himself.
Harsh fluorescent light. Polished floors. A long, silent line of passengers. Armed officers stand at measured intervals, faces blank.
JOHN walks straight past the entire line like it doesn’t exist.
He’s in the designer shirt, the Crocs , eyes half-lidded and pleasantly vacant. In his right hand he carries an open bottle of Jack Daniel’s, the black label unmistakable. A documentary camera hovers just off his shoulder. The CAMERAMAN is already nervous.
Two steps behind and slightly to the side walks, Miss Celeste Bright
She is fully covered: a long, tailored manteau, a neat hijab, and a face covering that leaves only her eyes visible. She carries his secondary documents in one hand and a small leather folio in the other. Her posture is perfect. She does not look at the camera. She only watches him.
John reaches the first open booth. A young Iranian immigration officer looks up, ready for a routine interaction.
John plants both elbows on the counter, the Jack Daniel’s bottle still in his hand, leans in close to the glass, and smiles like he’s at a house party.
JOHN
(soft, sincere, completely fried)
Hey brother… you know where a guy can get right around here?
The officer freezes. His eyes go from John’s face to the open bottle of wh***ey to the Crocs and back again.
Celeste steps forward half a pace and places the diplomatic ID and a second laminated credential on the counter without being asked. Her movements are precise, automatic. She does not speak.
JOHN
(still conversational, lifting the bottle slightly)
I’m talkin’ the good stuff. Local. Whatever hits the hardest.
The officer’s eyes move from the bottle to the credentials, then to the fully covered woman standing silently beside him. Something clicks. He picks up his phone, types quickly, and stares at the screen.
A YouTube thumbnail of JohnM performing fills the display.
The officer’s face changes. He looks up at John, then at the Jack Daniel’s, then back at John again.
OFFICER
(quiet, almost to himself, in English)
F**k me… that’s that dude. JohnM. The musician.
John gives a slow, satisfied nod, as if this is the most normal recognition in the world, and takes a casual pull from the bottle.
JOHN
Yeah. That’s me.
(leans in a little closer)
So… point system. Where we at?
The officer is still processing. He glances at Celeste. She meets his eyes for half a second and gives the smallest professional nod.
The officer picks up the desk phone and speaks rapidly in Farsi, but his tone has shifted — less alarm, more “you are not going to believe who just walked up holding a bottle of Jack.”
Celeste already has the next set of papers ready. She slides them under the glass the moment his hand is free.
John taps the counter lightly with the base of the bottle.
JOHN
(to Celeste, casual)
We’re good.
Celeste inclines her head once.
A quiet, muffled “Yes” comes from behind the face covering.
John turns and starts walking toward the restricted exit lane like the conversation is finished, bottle still in hand. Celeste follows immediately, staying exactly two steps behind and to the side, the long manteau moving with her.
Two more men in suits appear, but the original officer is now waving them off while still on the phone, clearly explaining that this is the JohnM… and that he is drinking wh***ey in the immigration hall.
John keeps walking, Crocs squeaking, completely unbothered. Celeste matches his pace without being told.
Behind them the documentary crew scrambles to keep up as the first real movement of the trip begins — not quite a chase, more like an official es**rt that no one fully understands.
CUT TO:
The back of a black official car.
John is already talking to the silent driver about “the local scene,” still holding the Jack Daniel’s.
Celeste sits beside him, fully covered, hands folded, staring straight ahead.
Only her eyes are visible.
They are not calm.
Day 2:
Written, Directed and Acting
John Allan Moody
A One World Touring Production
