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December 8, 2006

12.08.06

Pitch a new TV detective show for basic cable, using the formula:

"He helps the police solve crimes no one else can, and he's a [blank]."

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Tanya: Untitled

“You got an answer for us, flower boy?” the deputy sneered.

“Stop calling him flower boy, Bob,” the chief snapped, but the man at the microscope was unfazed by the slight.

“The ‘dust’ you found on the body is pollen. It’s from a rare Brazilian daylily.”

“So the old lady is guilty. She has a flower garden.”

“Her garden’s not blooming in December, Bob,” the chief snorted.

“Exactly. You should check florists, greenhouses, people who’ve traveled to South America recently.”

“How do we find that out?” asked the deputy.

The botanist snapped his briefcase closed. “That’s your problem, hick boy.”

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David: Coming soon to U-62!

[A woman screams in an alley. Her shadow falls across a building.]

[Later, the police swarm around.]

“Anything?”

The forensics guy shakes his head.

“Get me Dead Ted!”

[music sting accompanies the title: Dead Ted: Zombie P.I.]

“Rrrrr,” says Ted.

“Thank God you’re here, Ted. The victim was stabbed 48 times, beaten with a crowbar, and set on fire. Nobody saw or heard anything. What do you make of it?”

Ted sniffs the air. “Brraiinnnsss.”

The Detective looks at the body again. “You’re right! Her brain’s been removed. How did we miss that? You’ve done it again, Dead Ted!”

“Uuuhhhhnnnnn.”

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Jeff R.:The Long Arms of the Law

"A Mathemetician!"

"Been done."

"Damn. Okay, how about a psychic? Or a really smart dog?"

"Done, both of 'em."

"An anthropologist? An alien? What about a total OCD basket case?"

"Done, done, and done."

"Dammit! Okay, how about this: they guy is actually a serial killer himself!"

"Already done. Listen, if you can't come up with something original, I've got six more guys lined up to come in here and pitch this morning."

--Transcript, pitch meeting leading to the green-light for developing Sammy Praxis, Squid Detective, current top cable show in the Friday 9 PM timeslot for three years running.

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Ted: The end of an otherwise inspired career...

"He's a what?!"

"Now, Bobby, go with me on this. Crime scene tape everywhere, stoic and gruff detectives scratching thier heads and trying not to barf. Then this guy comes in, shot only from the right side."

"OK, go on, Stan. Make this better quick."

"So this guy, he looks around on the ground, gets down on his knees and crawls, sniffing like a dog."

"Got it. And then?"

"When he gets up, do a one-shot, tight, on his right eye."

"Last chance, Stan..."

"Pan out, and he's a CONSERVATIVE. Blue shirt, red tie... the works."

"Get out. Try HBO."

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Jim: Who You Gonna Call?

Danny Queen pored over the piles of manila folders. “I have no idea,” he lisped, straightening his blouse. “The evidence points all over the place.”

Adobe Sunshine grasped a sensing crystal in each hand. “Nothing,” she sighed.

The iron lung hissed while Marty Wheelburn, reclining as always, said, “Amazing! All of the most unlikely suspects have firm alibis!”

Fred Enduck sat in the corner, talking to himself.

“That settles it,” ‘Nascar’ Newell drawled. “Let’s get Pete Jenkins in here!”

The assembled detectives groaned.

Basil Willoughby sniffed. “Who would have ever imagined that a Criminal Justice graduate would be so handy?”

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