Thursday, September 26, 2013

For Immediate Release: Book/Serially Published Face-Breaker Story Pitch

I had a dream last night that the Nag and I went on vacation to a Caribbean resort. You know the type, a generic all-inclusive with generic white people drinking rum runners and going snorkeling and making dinner reservations for the steakhouse five nights earlier than they really should. Great fun, an escape, mimosas, whatevs. ANYWAY, so we check in and I immediately change and head down to the beach. I throw my towel and shirt onto the chair (settle down, the ladies) and walk out into the water, only as I get out about waist deep I see a set of eyes barely breaking the surface and looking straight at me. Not just at me, but into my soul. Still, I take another sip of my drink. Then I return to panic, but before I get all the way there A GIANT ANACONDA LAUNCHES ITSELF AT ME.

Now I suspect you have some questions by now:
1. Did you put on sunscreen? (Yes, sprayed it on in the room)
2. Do they have anacondas in the Caribbean resort islands? (Beats me bro go ask Survivorman)
3. Can Anacondas launch their entire bodies out of the water (I'm pretty sure they can)

I managed to duck out of the way of the monster, hold my drink, and then sprint back to my room-- stopping first at the front desk to explain that a giant man-eating snake attempted to end my existence a mere 50 feet from the limbo contest, all the while making apparent my willingness to accept a room upgrade as proper recompense-- where the Nag was pretty nonchalant about the whole ordeal.

I woke up startled. What did this mean? Why an anaconda. Why this week? Why an anaconda? Why an ... ANACONDA! Roy Halladay. Anaconda. Roy Halladay sick. Anaconda. Roy Halladay anaconda winter 2011. For Fargle's Sake!!! Now I'm not remotely the first person to note the coincidence of the timing involved in the encounter and the subsequent decline in health. In fact, a billion people have said as much.

What I am the first to do is offer to get to the bottom of this. I am proposing a story pitch to any interested journalism entity, whereby the editor of the world's foremost bolg about wanting to go to the zoo with Phillies ace and future Hall of Famer Roy Halladay (check us out online at goes deep into the Amazon to find the snake from whom Roy Halladay wrestled a prone body and get to the bottom of whether or not he/she (see how little we know?) is responsible for our hero's aliments.

This is no small task, but I've assembled some semblance of a plan. I know that I'll need to work with Skeet Reese to re-create the notorious fishing trip's itinerary. Snakeologists will be needed. But perhaps most critical of all will be finding this man:

That's right, naked guy. Previous ZWR EXCLUSIVE journalism "outed" him. Now I just have to get on that river and find him again. And then once I do, we'll find the snake, at which point my crack science staff will take samples to determine if he/she shows any traces of  exceptional work ethic, pinpoint command, or devastating focus. I mean, we might just get lucky and stumble upon him/her one morning climbing trees or using vines for pull-ups.

It's impossible to predict what the chain of events to follow my fining of naked guy and jerk snake will set off-- but that's what makes this so riveting. Beyond that, and most importantly, Roy Halladay deserves the truth.

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