AUTHOR'S NOTE: All lyrics (as best as I can determine them to be in this case) are trademarked by their respective copyright holders.
"Mr. Hogan, everyone, so nice to see you," the slouchy man in the pressed suit greeted the group as they entered the WWF headquarters' recording studio, "I'm Simon Albertson; I'm the head recording engineer for the music video."
"Pleasure to meet you, Simon," Hulk shook his hand firmly, "Where are we recording it?"
"Studio C, follow me," Albertson waved them down the hall, "We'll be bluescreening it, so you don't have to worry about doing too much except singing the lyrics. We have several cars set up for you, and models ready so this can really be about girls in cars-well, mostly; we unfortunately don't have any for you, Mr. Rousimoff," he informed Andre, "We couldn't find a car big enough to fit you and a woman together."
"It's all right, Mr. Albertson," the Giant was nonplussed.
"I don't need no model, Si; I've already got the perfect woman right here," Savage rubbed Elizabeth's hair affectionately.
"That's all right, Mr. Savage, you and Mrs. Savage will do fine together; for the rest of you, we've got you paired off," Albertson said.
"You do have the lyrics readily readible for us?" Steamboat inquired.
"There'll be teleprompters in the front of the studio; each of your specific lines will be delineated as it scrolls by."
"Sounds great, dude," Hulk noticed a more melancholy expression on Tito's face. He figured he knew what it was, but nonetheless slid back towards the Mexican superstar. "Too many memories of Strike Force's prime?" he whispered in his colleague's ear.
"Yep," Tito nodded softly, "Every time I hear the song, it takes me back to when Rick and I were flying high. I wish those days hadn't ended, even though it's clear the Rick I knew or thought I knew is dead now..."
"Martel made his own choices, Tito; if he's happy being an arrogant louse as the Model, let him have it; you still stand head and shoulders about anything he could ever be on his own," the champion assured him.
Tito cracked a small smile. They followed everyone else into Studio C, where nine covertibles of every color of the rainbow had been set up in front of a large blue cyclorama. And in front of them stood almost a dozen very attractive women, who shrieked in unison and rushed the wrestlers. "Oh, you're just as handsome in real life!" one of them gushed, all but jumping on top of Steamboat.
"Uh, well, thank you, but I am married, and..." the Dragon tried to explain.
"All right ladies, take your picks and get ready; we're about to roll," Albertson instructed them, "Everyone get set in your cars."
"Right here, Mr. Hogan," a technician directed the world champion to a red Ferrari near the front of the set of cars, "The basis is you're all driving down the Pacific Coast Highway with your women and singing about the pleasures of driving with them."
"Well, I guess that fits the concept of girls in cars," Hulk reasoned, leaping into the driver's seat. "I guess you know me," he asked the lovely blonde who had been selected to drive with him.
"I'm Tanya, Mr. Hogan," she gave him a million dollar smile, "Wow, I mean, I've never met a celebrity as famous as you before."
"Well, good to work with you, Tanya," Hulk told her, watching the staff clear out the studio in preparation for the music video shoot. "You know, I'm not really sure this fits our image, or at least my image," the Boss Man spoke up, looking a little uncomfortable with the situation behind the black convertible to Hulk's left, "And I'm sure if music videos are really the way to promote ourselves as best we can."
"It's called reaching the new generation, Ray old boy," Piper told him, waving for a stagehand still in the studio to open the door to his convertible for him, his leg still in a cast (but nearly healed by now) after taking three Earthquakes at Summer Slam. "And besides, since the last album Tunney commissioned sold out, might as well keep swinging till you strike out. Besides, I always thought this one could use a good music video when Tito and Martel were using it. Well hello, babe," he greeted the attractive brunette he'd been selected to drive with, "Unlike most everyone else here, I'm not married, so afterwards, how about you and I get it on at..."
"Attention everyone, we're just about ready," came Albertson's voice over the intercom in the control room.
"Ready, dude," Hulk flashed a thumbs-up at him and assumed a hard driving position in the car.
"Stand by," Albertson instructed them, "On in five, four, three, two, one..."
The opening blast of the song roared loudly to life over the intercom. Hulk turned the wheel naturally, trying to pretend he was cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway-which wasn't too hard given he'd done it before many a time since his career had taken off. "Stand by, Mr. Santana," Albertson cued him, "And, go."
"They pass you on the road with a smile, and you have to look twice," Tito didn't even miss a beat with the song he'd entered the ring to for almost an entire year, "And you wonder to yourself, could a woman really look that nice? Girls in cars, I love girls in cars..."
Hulk saw his name atop the next set of lyrics. He glanced as affectionately as he could manage at Tanya in the seat next to him. "They always catch your heart and pretend that they just don't care," he sang as well as he could manage, "Running wild and free, my imagination takes it from there. Girls in cars, I love girls in cars..."
"All you girls have gone a bit too far; I'm not safe behind the wheel of my car," Bret and Davey took the next verse in unison, the former looking a little uncomfortable at how close his model was leaning towards him in the seat.
"You know too well you have a serious effect on me; you're my highway fantasy," Savage pulled Elizabeth close with a warm smile.
"Just a minute, just a minute," Albertson's voice came up as the music died out, "Uh, you there, I forget your name, could you please back off Mr. Hart? You're going to be on camera at this point, and that's a little too intimate for what Mr. Tunney says he wants."
"Like he said, yes," Bret tried to push away the woman, almost completely locked around him in an intense embrace, "I know women do tend to like me-that's why I billed myself as The Hartthrob earlier in my career-but I do have a wife, and she's had several long talks with me lately about things that can happen when I'm on..."
He was cut off as the woman started kissing him hard on the lips, oblivious. "OK, give us a minute here," Albertson told the rest of the sound engineers, "I think we need to switch models..."
"Can I help you, sir?" the receptionist asked Shango as he entered the studio, dressed in a trench coat and scarf covering his face.
"You will kindly go to sleep," the voodoo master held up his minature skull necklace, the eyes of which started glowing and smoking. Mesmerized by it, the receptionist keeled backwards and crumpled to the floor, out cold. Shango looked over the desk and examined the logbook. "Studio C," he mused, grinning, "That's where I'm going, then."
He walked down the hall to Studio C, coming to a stop outside the door. He glanced through the window into the control room to make sure no one was watching, then into the studio itself, where the second take was underway, the music audible through the door. He drew the Hulk doll from under the trench coat. "Time to take it up a notch," he snickered, lighting a match and quickly flicking it back and forth under the doll's feet. Inside the studio, Hulk let out a loud yowl and almost leaped out of the covertible in agony. "Cut, cut," Albertson called out as the music died yet again, "Is there a problem, Mr. Hogan?"
"Uh, no, Simon, I...I just had the strange sensation my feet were on fire," Hulk confessed, rubbing at his boots, "I'm OK now, though."
"OK then, let's pick it up right where we left off," Albertson directed the engineers, "Mr. Steamboat, your line."
The music cranked up again. "At sixty miles an hour, any girl could be the star of my dreams," Steamboat belted out the next verse, "When I hit a red light..."
He abruptly stopped as Hulk let out a wail and clutched his arm. The music lurched to a stop again. "Now what, Mr. Hogan?" Albertson was starting to look frustrated from the repeated interruptions.
"My arm feels like someone's twisting it," Hulk gritted his teeth hard, "I'm all right, though; go on."
"You sure about that, Hulk?" Andre looked rather concerned, "Arm and foot pains aren't good signs, you know."
"I'll be fine, big guy, trust me," the world champion assured him.
"All right, Take Four, let's start from the top again," Albertson sighed wearily.
Out in the hall, Shango snickered darkly. "And now for the coup de grace," he murmurred, drawing a long pin from under his cloak. He positioned it over the doll, checked around to make sure no one was looking (and took note of the bathroom right nearby) and glanced through the window. Once Hulk's verse came up again, he jammed the pin hard into the middle of the doll and rushed towards the security of the bathroom. Inside the studio, Hulk stopped mid-verse and abruptly tumbled out of the car, clutching his chest. "Mr. Hogan, what's wrong?" concerned, Tanya jumped out after him, "Are you all...?"
"Move, move!" Elizabeth shoved her aside. "Oh no!" she gasped, seeing Hulk seize up, his hands clutching at his heart, "Call an ambulance now!" she cried to the control room, "I think he's having a heart attack!"
Across town, inside the Gentry Recording Studio, another song session was coming to a sudden stop. "No, no, no!" Jimmy shouted wearily over his megaphone at everyone behind him in Studio 6, "I told you all in the back, don't try to overstage everyone in the front! And project too; you're getting drowned out there!"
"You know, I really don't like people telling me I'm lousy at anything, Hart," Roberts warned him, extending Damien threateningly forward, "If you kick a snake long enough..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, Jake, I'll get bit, we'll all get bit," the Mouth of the South interrupted, "May I remind you, I had the number four song in the country back in 1965; I know how a song should look and feel."
"Then how come it's taking us over thirty takes on this, Jimmy?" complained Greg 'the Hammer' Valentine from behind several pillars of the post-apocalyptic set that had been constructed in the studio for the shoot.
"This has to be perfect, Greg; Hogan has his song on Tunney's latest album, and Tunney's going to make sure it's the best he can get, so we're going all-out to top him," the Hammer's manager told him firmly. He often had his stable record with him on his records-indeed, his ace pupil the Honky Tonk Man-who had only narrowly missed out on entry into the Million Dollar Corporation on a few lower criteria scores-frequently cut his own albums during his spare time. And in addition to the famed Elvis impersonator and Valentine, much of the First Family of Wrestling had in fact gathered to assist the Million Dollar Corporation in shooting the music video this day as well: the Rougeau brothers in their sparking blue and gold capes; tough biker Adrian Adonis, his ever-present briefcase currently being used as a set prop; the rough and tumble Nasty Boys in their spray-painted shades and chain-encrusted leather trench coats; Dino Bravo, Canada's strongest man, along with his personal trainer Frenchy Martin (who had shown over repeated recording sessions that he couldn't sing for his life, and thus Jimmy was resigned to having the trainer from Quebec City just lip-synch); banished former mobbed-up referee "Dangerous" Danny Davis, now a full-on wrestler in his own right. And yet, with all this talent, the song had taken longer to record than he'd hoped.
"OK, starting position again," he instructed everyone, "Let's start from the top again."
"And if you screw up the tapes or audio in there again, I'll have you all fired immediately and make sure you never hold another job as long as you all live," DiBiase threatened the booth engineers, "Because I've had it with the technical screwups from you peons."
"Stand by everyone," Jimmy announced over his megaphone, "Take Thirty-Eight, and action. Bring up the music; hit the riff, Honky, and go when ready, Ted."
The music roared to life, accented by the accompanying tune on the Honky Tonk Man's guitar (designed to add more ambiance). DiBiase sided alongside the Elvis impersonator while everyone else stomped militaristically around the set, trying to look intimidating. "I've heard a lot of idle chatter..." the Million Dollar Man started the song.
"...but it really doesn't matter to me," the Honky Tonk Man gave his guitar a loud blast.
"A lot of you guys want to see me in agony," Blassie leaped forward and shook his cane menacingly at the cameras.
"But the measure of a man, understand, is more than your common patter," Heenan spun in a circle and did a faux moonwalk to his verse.
"It's the way I'll make you eat those words that matters!" Earthquake stomped down hard on the floor for emphasis, almost toppling over several flats of bombed-out buildings. Jimmy suppressed an eye roll as he slid forward for his solo. "If you only knew," he crooned as hard as he could, "What I'm gonna do to you, you'd be running out of here as fast as two feet could carry you. Your destiny belongs to me; if you only kneeeeeeeeeww!"
He stepped aside to let the camera zoom in on Adonis and Sherri for the start of the next verse. "I've got some real bad news..." the biker warned the home viewers.
"And it may involve your body," Sherri longingly rubbed Adonis's flexed biceps.
"You've been talking too much, too long, too loud, but you ain't scaring nobody!" the Nasties roared in delight.
"You see, talk is cheap, when you can't keep your promise of destruction," Roberts hissed softly, thrusting Damien forward for a closeup.
"I think you'll see, because of we..." the Rougeaus proclaimed.
"You'll need reconstruction!" the Sheik and Volkoff bellowed in unison. Both had to scramble quickly out of Flair's way as the Nature Boy came forward to croon the next refrain, "If you only knew what I'm gonna do to you, you'd be running out of here as fast as two feet could carry you, WOOOOOO! Your destiny belongs..."
The music abruptly cut off. "Sorry to interrupt in the middle of a good cut, Mr. Hart, but there's a guy calling himself P.S. on the phone in here; he says it's important," the chief technician called out.
"Oh; be right up," Jimmy jumped in the air in surprise, "Paul, big guy, I guess this means you too," he told the Undertaker and his manager at the back of the set, "Continue recording Ric's solo; we can pick up again when I'm done."
He led the two men from Death Valley out of the door and then through the other door to the recording booth, where a technician was holding the phone for him. "Yes?" he asked into it.
"Mr. Hart, it's Papa Shango," the voodoo master's voice wafted through on the other end. Jimmy waved at Bearer, who picked up another phone in the control room and listened in himself as Shango reported, "Hogan just took a trip to the emergency room for an unexpected heart attack; he's coming along better than I had hoped with this curse."
"OOOOOOOh yes, that is very good news indeed, Mr. Shango," Bearer commended their agent, "But please don't kill Hulk Hogan-not yet, at least. He has to be alive for this Saturday so we can actually take the title from him. Once we do, then you may terminate his life."
"Blast," Shango muttered disappointedly, "Well, given that I gave him a scare, do you wish me to lay low for a while?"
"Probably a good idea," Jimmy told him, "Hogan should be at the arena for the next Superstars taping on Saturday; hit him with something good there. Till then, try not to call us too much. Over and out."
He and Bearer hung up simultaneously. "We're cooking now!" he proclaimed, high-fiving the mortician, "And Hogan can't do a thing to stop us."
"Indeed," mused the Undertaker, "The death of Hulkamania...is now set in stone."
"You said it, big guy. Well, might as well get back to finishing the video," Jimmy bustled back into the studio. "Everything's good, everybody; just a little unexpected strategy session," he announced to everyone else, giving the other managers winks. "OK, start it from the top of the third verse," he instructed the control room over his megaphone, "Everyone together on this, and one, two, three..."
"Please realize...!" everyone shouted in unison as the music roared back on.
"Look in my eyes..." Roberts leaned forward, his eyes wide open and meancing.
"You'd be on your back, out flat..." Perfect and Rude declared simultaneously, each shooting the other a glare afterwards, as if they thought the other was upstaging himself.
"Hit by a Cadillac!" DiBiase bellowed arrogantly. He slid towards the center of the room next to Virgil and the wildly strumming Honky Tonk Man as everyone else slowly stomped forward for the climactic crane shot and went all-out: "If you only knew what I'm gonna do to you, you'd be running out of here as fast as two feet could carry you. Your destiny belongs to me; if you only knew what I'm gonna do..."
One by one, everyone's voices abruptly trailed off until only Volkoff's was left, now singing the Soviet National Anthem instead of the intended song. Oblivious, the Russian superstar continued belting out his country's theme for a good fifteen seconds before he realized everyone was glaring at him and stopped. "Sorry comrades, but I felt Soviet National Anthem would make good addition to song's intimidation factor," he confessed.
"Nikolai, no one cares to hear the Soviet anthem every two minutes!" the Sheik berated his frequent partner, "How I put up with you, I don't know!"
"OK, Sheik baby, no real problem; again from the top," Jimmy instructed, ignoring the loud groans from everyone else. The way their plan with Hogan was progressing, nothing could upset him at the moment...