VOODOO HOODOO
BY
BOB WRIGHT
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a Halloween special for you the readers, which fits well with both its original release point and what I'm aiming for in the series' yearly timeline.
All persons' personas and indicia are regestered trademarks of World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc. And now, on with one frightfully entertaining story (I hope)...
NOT THAT LONG AGO, IN AN ARENA NOT THAT FAR AWAY...
"We're back again here with WWF Wrestling Challenge, Gorilla Monsoon here with Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, and the bells are indeed tolling as the Undertaker makes his way up the aisle slowly and methodically behind his manager Paul Bearer, in this matchup against Bill Smith," the balding Monsoon casually remarked to the viewing public as he watched the Undertaker's cold, determined march towards the ring, inside which opponent Bill Smith looked visibly worried. So, too, did half the kids along the aisle as the Deadman trudged past them, "This, of course, is the Undertaker's final tune-up match before his big encounter with World Wrestling Federation champion Hulk Hogan on the next Saturday Night's Main Event."
"And I for one know that's going to be one for the ages," Heenan proclaimed, "So mark you calendars, folks, for next Saturday, when you will see Hulkamania die a cruel and painful death at the hands of this man, the Undertaker."
"Now let's not count your chickens before they're hatched, Brain; so many times over these last few years, we've seen the Hulkster face people almost as threatening, almsot as unstoppable as the Undertaker, and each time he's managed to find a little something extra and find a way to win."
"But this is definitely different this time," Heenan insisted, "One, barring some colossal upset right now, the Undertaker will be going into the matchup with Hogan completely undefeated; none of Hogan's opponents could have said that at the time. And second, you simply can't hurt this guy; he's been put through the wringer in more ways than you can imagine and keeps bouncing back; I sincerely doubt Hogan can stop him either."
"Only time will tell, Brain. Undertaker just about finished getting his ring apparatus off, and here we go with his final preliminary match. Undertaker going straight for Bill Smith, flattens him down to the canvas with some big chops there. Now he flings Smith off the ropes-what a blow there!"
"Like I said, you can't stop this guy."
"Will YOU stop, Brain!
"Just pointing out what I'm seeing as a broadcast journalist here."
"Undertaker in complete control of this one, slamming Bill Smith down hard to the mat," Monsoon rolled his eyes at his partner's persistence in trying to annoy him, "As noted, this coming Saturday Night's Main Event should be one special event, because of course the tag team belts will be on the line as well, with champions Demolition putting them on the line against the number one contenders, the Legion of Doom."
"Looks good, but I still think it would have been better if the Powers of Pain had won at Summer Slam; they're more of champions than either of these teams."
"Why am I not surprised you'd say that, Brain; after all, I know you've been thinking of buying another tag team of your own..."
"Now that's not entirely true; my pal Freddie Blassie's more interested in the Warlord and Barbarian..."
"Look at that, what a chokeslam by the Undertaker!" Monsoon returned to the action, "Now hauling...wait, did Smith just make a surrender wave there? Bill Smith apparently having enough, but the Undertaker still bent on burying him alive. Referee didn't see it either, and so Smith now flung like a rag doll into the turnbuckle and crushed like a grape by the Deadman."
"You sure he was giving up? Looked like he was waving to his mother-in-law, if that's who the fat lady there in the front row is," Heenan pointed.
"Speaking of ladies, Brain, how was your little sojourn as one back in August?" Monsoon had to fight from bursting out in laughter.
"Don't bring that up; that was a non-story that the liberals running the presses blew way out of proportion!" Heenan protested wildly.
"Yeah, Brain, you just happened to be wandering around in a dress around a house of ill repute after hours," Monsoon did in fact burst out laughing this time.
"Shut up, shut up, you're being completely unprofessional here, Monsoon!" a clearly flustered Heenan barked at him, "Keep your mind on the match; Undertaker's going for the Tombstone already."
"Undertaker hoisting Bill Smith upside-down, waiting for the signal from Paul Bearer, and here it comes...Tombstone City!" Monsoon proclaimed as the Undertaker smashed Smith to the mat in a hard Tombstone, then casually folded his limp opponent's arms across his chest and held him down for the pin. "Easy win for the Undertaker in this one," Monsoon conceded, "The big guy appears to be ready for his title shot this coming Saturday."
"You bet he is. And now you know what time it is, Gorilla; burial time," Heenan all but cheered the sight of Bearer casually carrying a bodybag into the ring, a triumphal expression plastered on his face. The mortician quickly unrolled it in the middle of the ring, gestured for the Undertaker to roll Smith into it, then helped his man zip him up inside it. "You're next, Hulk Hogan!" Bearer laughed maniacally at the top of his lungs, stepping aside to allow the Undertaker to rush off the ropes and stomp down hard on Smith's head. He then waved the Deadman through the ropes and down the aisle. "Undertaker is ready for his shot at the gold; let's hope the Hulkster is as well," Monsoon concluded, "More WWF action coming your way next..."
"Nice job, brother," Jake Roberts was waiting right behind the curtain to commend the Undertaker on his win, "Just make sure you're harder on the Tombstone with Hogan, to make absolutely sure he doesn't get up."
"My Undertaker and I are well-prepared to win the World Wrestling Federation world championship, Mr. Roberts," Bearer declared confidently.
"Yeah, well, when it comes to someone like Hogan, better to cover all the bases, and I for one would be happy to help snatch the gold from his hands if you'd need it," the Snake volunteered.
"I...don't need...anyone's help," the Undertaker bent down and hissed in Roberts's face.
"Just offering to my best friend, brother..."
"You're on, Mr. Roberts," the official at the curtain called to him, "Feels good to be back after that suspension for hanging Ricky Steamboat, huh?"
"Shut the hell up!" Roberts seized him murderously by the collar, "Do not, if you value your life, point out to me how screwed up Jack Tunney's mind is!"
"Y-Y-Yes, Mr. Roberts," the official gulped nervously and quickly scuttled away. "Well, either way, I am glad to be back," Roberts told Bearer and the Undertaker, hefting his snake's bag over his shoulder. "Excuse me now, it's Damien's feeding time."
He strode through the curtain, his theme now blaring over the arena loudspeakers. "Best friend? I'd say you're his only friend, really," Bearer mused to his man, "Well, the others are waiting for us backstage, and I think I know how to absolutely ensure victory on Saturday. Come."
He raised his urn high and led the Deadman through the bowels of the arena. In about three minutes, they burst through the doors of the locker room, where, sure enough, the other managers in the Million Dollar Corporation were waiting for them. "Good work with that pencil-neck geek, Paul," Freddie Blassie commended him with a strong handshake, "Now all we need is for the big guy here to bury Hogan alive."
"It will be done," the Undertaker mused coldly, "Saturday night...Hulkamania will die...we will bury it...once and for all..."
"Unfortunately, we've heard that before," Sensational Sherri was more skeptical, "Especially with Freddie's guys; they swear they'll get the gold, and then Hogan promptly humiliates them..."
"It's not my fault Loony Liz went dressless on us at Summer Slam, Martel!" Blassie shouted in self-defense, "And I certainly haven't seen you make any effort to win it lately either!"
"Well if I had my own guy, instead of having to hire myself out as hitwoman extraordinaire for all of your guys...!"
"Why are we fighting?" Jimmy Hart quickly cut in to stop the bickering, "I thought we all agreed we'd work together to get all the gold for Don Vincenelli, right Paul?" he asked the mortician.
"OOOOOh yes," Bearer nodded softly, "But my Undertaker is correct; this time we will win the world title. And," he fought from laughing, "I know how to weaken Hogan for the fight without ever having to lay a hand on him."
"Oh really? How, palepuss?" Sherri demanded.
"Do any of you believe in the power of...voodoo?" Bearer asked them, his voice getting lower and more ominous on the mention of voodoo. Despite his earlier appeal to the mortician, Jimmy burst out laughing. "Oh come on, Paul baby, you don't actually believe in all that nonsense?" the Mouth of the South all but ridiculed him, "I mean, I know you and the Undertaker here come from the Dark Side and all, but..."
"Oh it's true, Mr. Hart," Bearer interrupted him, "Courtesy of an old friend of mine, one who has helped keep my funeral parlor afloat during tough times through his curses on others. Perhaps you've heard of him: Papa Shango?"
"Shango? Shango?" Blassie's brow furled, "Can't say that I have, Paul. Is he good?"
"OOOOOOh yes, when it comes to high-grade voodoo curses, he's definitely the best," Bearer laughed coldly, "If you still don't believe me on that," he noticed the others' still skeptical expressions, "Once the show ends and Bobby's off, why don't we head on over and pay him a visit? He'd be more than happy to help an old friend like me, especially with a good offer of Mr. DiBiase's money..."