I’m a pretty ambitious guy, career-wise. There are a few ambitions I’ve fulfilled, but many more I have yet to achieve, in the worlds of media and entertainment that I choose to ply my trade. There are times when those goals seem so far away as to be out of reach, but occasionally a bit of news comes along that makes me realise that yes: anything truly is possible. And that happened this week, when it was revealed that Channel Seven’s Sunday Night would be airing a special report on cannabis, with Special Reporter Pete Evans.
Just in case you thought you suffered a mild stroke while reading that last sentence, let me reiterate: this Sunday, Pete Evans will appear on Channel Seven as a special reporter, delivering an in-depth story about cannabis. Which is an appropriate enough subject, given that nobody who wasn’t smoking the stuff would ever dream of actually putting this idea into practice.
You can see how a guy like myself, who dreams of success in publishing, comedy and television far beyond my present humble status, would be cheered by the fact that Pete Evans is now a current affairs program’s designated Ganja Correspondent. Because if Pete Evans can be a Special Reporter, literally anyone can be literally anything. The limitations of human aspiration have officially been lifted. Anything goes from hereon in.
When I talk about Pete Evans, I cannot stress enough that I mean Pete Evans. The chef. The weird paleo-diet anti-vaccination guy. The one with the burnished leather face and terrifying grin. He has made a name for himself by spending half his time telling us that dairy comes from Satan’s nipples and sugar causes autism, and the other half complimenting sweaty suburbanites on their beetroot parfait. He is famous for eating food and saying stupid things about almonds, and Channel Seven has decided that when you put all of that together, what you get is journalism.
What Pete is going to discover about cannabis, I have no idea. Based on past form, it’ll either be that smoking pot makes your face fall off, or that weed should make up 80% of a balanced diet. But hey, in the world where Pete Evans is a reporter, all bets are off. He might reveal that cannabis plants can feel pain, or that bong water is chemically identical to breast milk, or that Harold Holt has been discovered living in Nimbin. Once the words “reporter Pete Evans” have been uttered, it is impossible to set reasonable parameters around what is or isn’t real.
So yes, I think my ambitions are looking pretty reachable right now. Based on the Pete Evans scale of career tangentialism, I reckon I could win a Logie next year, and an Oscar in the next five. I could very well be the next James Bond AND the next JK Rowling. I’m even starting to feel an optimism about my chances of selection for the Australian cricket team that I haven’t felt since I was twelve. If at some point I end up in bed with Lupita Ny’ongo, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Because this is the age of Special Reporter Pete Evans, and the world makes no sense whatsoever any more. And in a world that makes no sense, dreams really can come true.
So thanks, Sunday Night. You’ve made hope come alive for us all.