In 1960s LA, a phone rings

“Hi there. Shatner Residence. William Shatner is not home right now, but if you’d like…”

“Hi Bill, you can stop that. It’s Toni… your agent?”

“Oh hi… Toni… Sorry about that, you know how it is…”

“Yeah… Hey, listen Bill… we’ve got a problem. It’s about your singing career…”

“What’s up?”

“We’ve discovered you can’t sing.”

“Damn!”

“Oh well, you just going to concentrate on the acting now?”

“I guess I… No wait! Wait… I know what I’ll do: I’ll just speak all the lyrics.”

“Will that work?”

“Yeah, yeah… I’m sure it will. It’ll make me seem… avant garde… and eccentric!”

“And people won’t just think it’s a laughable joke and buy your records for novelty value alone?”

“No, no… Toni… this is the 60s! Velvet Underground… Andy Worhol… everyones doing things in an off the wall… beatnik kind of way… the French will love it! I’ll be a star and I won’t just be associated with Star Trek for the rest of my life. When people think of Bill Shatner… they’ll think… kooky beatnik guru… the guy that says it how it is… rather than just singing it.”

“Erm, yeah… ok… I’ll uh… I’ll see if I can book you some more studio time. Ok?”

“Yeah Toni, Thanks.”

“No problem Bill…”

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