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In this post I’m going to focus on the latest little incident I just encountered which once again beat the odds and left me still numbered among the living.

To the uninitiated, my name is Ben. After spending most of my waking hours in grain bins over the last decade, maybe I should just start signing my name as Bin.

Before becoming a Bin guy, I owned and operated Ben’s Basin City Tire for 20 years. I also owned Basin Propane. After liquidating those businesses, I’ve devoted most of my waking hours in grain storage containers, corn bins to be exact.

I have also dabbled in the safety consulting business, actively providing numerous and excellent examples so others can learn from my vast pool of experience.  While most experts just sit in an office and talk about safety, I get out there and actively demonstrate. Every day. You know…the proper and safe way to do things and also the improper and death-defying way.

My safety company has focused and honed in on the second category for more than six decades.   My company was established in March of 1955 when I was just a newborn. This vintage company has an excellent record of consistency and on-time performance ever since.

Unfortunately for me but bringing a wealth of knowledge to my safety company, I have been heavily involved and vested in accidents of many kinds and various degrees. Bicycles, tractors, automobiles, airplanes, paper-cutters, parking lots, flying objects, fires, exploding tires, stolen cars and even a few close calls that occurred in bobtail propane trucks. The list is long and getting longer. I’m not sure I’ll live to see the completion of the list.

Fortunately for the propane industry, a major national company bought my propane business some 20 years ago. This has dramatically reduced the chances of a BLEVE in the Pacific Northwest ever since. See, I do take action to make things safer!

PERC should breathe a sign of relief and probably send my safety company a fancy certificate of thanksgiving for my far-sighted sale and exit from the propane business.

If you don’t know what these acronyms stand for, You Tube or Google it. One of the nyms is very exciting. If you’re in the propane business and don’t know what they stand for, get out of the business before it’s too late. Now!

Because I have been in business the majority of my life, you may think I’ve made lots of money. Well, I have but since I’m constantly paying medical bills through the nose, there’s not much left at the end of the day. Permit me to list the various businesses I’ve run and I’ll even give an estimate of the total sales of each of them. Take the following numbers with a grain of salt:

  • Tire business                               1977-2006                Sales approximately $30,000,000
  • Propane business                       1999-2005                Sales approximately $4,000,000
  • Equipment sales                         1999-Present            Sales approximately $2,000,000
  • Safety Consulting sales              1955-Present            Sales approximately $0,000,000

I promised my new bride Michele in 1979 that I would give her all the proceeds from my Safety Consulting business to use for household expenses and fur coats. Needless to say, we’ve had a very unhappy marriage

I’ve been happy with all my companies except the last one. I’m not sure why I have not been able to rack up safety consulting fees, especially since I’ve been doing this one the longest.

My safety company is unique since it regularly features and actually produces high levels of adrenaline, blood pressure through the roof, a pretty amazing tolerance for pain, hundreds of X-rays, countless scars, 27 broken bones, two missing fingers, stitches from tip to stern, some verifiable brain damage and almost no fear whatsoever of any job that might come down the pike.

Since this is probably the first time you have received any instruction from my company, I’m going to offer this introductory safety seminar at no charge. In today’s world, people want instantaneous information so here is my latest instantaneous safety tip:

TODAY’S SAFETY TIP: DON’T BE AN IDIOT!

On the particular morning in question that the sample event occurred (which was just yesterday to be truthful), I will provide instruction concerning:

A–Heights

B–Fast-moving power tools

C–First-aid kits

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Picture snapped just as I was getting ready to slice my bacon.  I’m sitting in the man-lift cage trying to decide which roof section I wanted the blood to be flowing down in.

Incident report from files of Ben’s Safety Company:

Subject went to the top of a corn bin with articulated man-lift to begin disassembling and moving said bin, starting with the roof first. Subject had a screaming wild and lightning-fast grinding tool complete with a six-inch disc. Subject deemed it necessary to cut some bolt heads off in order to gain access through the roof.

I’m sorry. I’ve got to switch back to a first-person accounting since I am not all that comfortable being a subject.

Some people call the tool a “Skinny Wheel”  because it slices through metal (and flesh) like a hot knife slices through butter, I call it a “Slicer”. Whatever you want to call it, it is a handheld machine that should not be used by people (like me) who are three or four gallons short of a full tank.

My slicer and I were zipping through the bolt heads on the bin roof a good 24 feet in the air when I once again forgot a lesson I have learned and relearned at least four times in the last six years. Each of these lessons cost me unforeseen, unplanned and unbudgeted pain, doctor bills and downtime.

Also, I have learned time and time again that the slicer disc deposits little metal filings in my flesh as it carries on with it’s cutting action. This causes the injury to heal two or three times slower than your normal, everyday knife attack would.

Your safety lesson today is to hold on to the slicer with two hands. I cannot stress this point enough! Nor can I deny it is one of those lessons of life easily forgotten by people like me who are just too darned busy to take a deep breath and consider the possible outcome.

This tendency (that is implanted deeply in each of my genes) is at the heart of many safety problems that rear its ugly head for myself and others. This tendency keeps doctors rich, ambulance chasers on the loose and hook makers (for newly-stubbied forearms) in business.

Because I was hovering twenty-some feet up in the air, partially in the man-lift and partially on the tin roof, I used just one hand to operate the slicer while the other hand (minus two fingers, another story for another day. Page 512 in Ben’s safety manual) was locked with a death grip to the man-lift basket.

You know you just can’t be too careful. I say that all the time. Or at least I should.

Little did I know that in the next few seconds I was going to come within an inch of bleeding out with a severed femoral artery.

The slicer didn’t like the way I was holding it (one-handed) so it decided to set itself free and go on it’s own merry way. The metal-destroying, “spinning at 10,000 rpm’s” disc took off from the bolt head being cut and made it’s way in a straight and impressive manner quickly across the bin roof.

I no longer had control of the screaming, flesh-eating machine as it did a little skimming action across my Levi’s in the left-hand lane, or I should say, the left-leg lane. Immediately the Navy blue material turned Blood red. I found out once again that it doesn’t take much time at all for my carnivorous slicer to cover a lot of territory to find some red meat after being released from two-handed control.

I refused to release my grip on the man-lift but was more than happy to let go of the slicer. Luckily, the blood wasn’t spurting. I’ve had spurts before and I can tell you without question they freak you out. Elapsed time to jump in your rig, spool it up to maximum RPM’s and cover the distance to the nearest hospital immediately becomes your top and only priority.

I found out later that this particular “slice” was just over the femoral artery. If it had been a bit deeper, there’s a good chance my bloody fuel gauge would have read empty by the time I made it to the ground floor via the man lift. Five or six minutes is all it takes for a femoral artery to completely bleed out.

I guess another option in quickly dismounting the bin would have been to use good old gravity. My man-lift takes a minute or two to reach the ground. The gravity method from 24 feet up would have been much faster but the nanosecond travel and arrival might have generated another problem or two.

As soon as the two or three cells in my brain that are responsible for safety could dissuade the other two or three cells of my brain from the exciting idea of jumping, I steered away from the jump idea and transitioned my still-intact spirit and body to the ground via the man-lift. I then hobbled toward my pickup.

A stranger had just pulled into the yard and actually heard my weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth during the incident while I was still up on top the bin. When we crossed paths at ground level, he asked me if he should get his first-aid kit in his truck. I thought it might be a good idea since I had seen a little blood on my pantaloons and knew I didn’t have a kit in mine. I don’t know who he was but I’ll call the Good Samaritan uh…Sam.

I’m 62 years old. When I’m feeling healthy, I think I’m going to live forever so who needs a first-aid kit? Or, if I’m having a bad day and run into an accident, I look forward to meeting the grim reaper and I don’t want any first-aid kits blocking my path.

Either way, I see no reason to pack a kit to try to extend the darkening dusk of my fore-ordained existence any longer than necessary. Furthermore, why haul something around that is just going to take up space in my vehicle when I could be using that same space for a six-pack of pop or a stash of candy bars I acquired last week and am trying to hide from my wife?

Sam brought his kit, I dropped my pants and we both gazed in horror. Then we saw the injury.

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For the squeamish I’ve downsized the pic.

Still doesn’t look bad for you? Full-sized picture is located at the bottom of this post after my clarification of the $500 drawing. If you are faint of heart, don’t continue past that point. I’ll post another warning if you are forgetful like me.

I noticed that Sam suddenly looked much less like Geronimo than when we first met and more like a pale face. He reinforced my observation when he shakily uttered something to the effect that he didn’t do well in these type of situations.

I told him to look away and grabbed some gauze out of the kit and placed it over the substantial scratch. I told him that he had to hang on and stay conscious. I gave him instructions about wrapping some tape around the gauze and leg since I’m kind of an expert from way back.

He was able to complete his duties before passing out. I thanked him and quickly hobbled across the lot. I’m not sure Sam heard my appreciation and I didn’t have the time to look back to see if he was still upright or down for the count.

My son Mike just happened to be hanging around this very location so I hitched a ride with him to the hospital. I told him not to rush as I wanted to have enough time to post pictures on Facebook. It worked perfectly as I had 12 comments and 23 “likes” by the time we arrived at the medical facility. I couldn’t have asked for anything more at that point.

During our transport, I changed our itinerary from Lourdes hospital to Lourdes Urgent Care clinic. This astute decision on my part netted a reduction in my bill by several thousand dollars before even arriving.

We parked and I hobbled toward the impressive and expensive-looking medical facility.

However, we were not welcomed with open arms. All the doors were locked and the names of the offices were labeled with long medical terms that I couldn’t pronounce even on a good day without any bleeding. Finally, I desperately banged on one of the doors and told the lady who appeared that I needed help. She said “This isn’t Urgent Care. You need to go out the double doors and it’s straight ahead.”

I was confused because we had just come in that way. Mike and I went back out through the double doors and looked around. There was nothing but a large empty room with stairs and an elevator. I realized then that the lady giving us directions was either not all that bright or she was just trying to prank us. My life was slipping away outside her double doors and she was playing a joke at my expense!

Who would do that?! Then I realized I probably would if it was on a different day and somebody else had the big slice in their pants and a trail of blood in their wake.

I love pranks. However, pranks can be deadly if not properly planned and performed by a professional. I consider myself to be one of the best. David Day, the big wheel at American Standard Manufacturing out of New York which manufactures propane equipment will verify that I am an expert and he is a mere novice.

Details of this learning experience for David can be found in my company’s safety manual on pages 385-387 which is available on Amazon. The manual is titled Recovering Idiot. It is 523 pages of safety tips of every kind.

Anyway, back to the problem of finding the Urgent Care clinic…

About the time I was trying to figure out if the lady was pranking me, Mike looked through the outside doors and saw another building across the parking lot, just in front of where our car was parked. The building was labeled with a huge sign declaring URGENT CARE.

I felt bloody stupid hobbling back across the bloody parking lot since we had bloody parked directly in front of the bloody big sign. (My ancestors are from England and after yesterday’s events I can relate better with them and their language)

We went in and the doctor had me stitched up in a quick hour. The nurse checked my normally sky-high blood pressure and it was 110 over 70, even with all the needles they were sticking in me. I haven’t had a BM, I mean a BP that low since I shadowboxed in the fly weight division. I’ve been fighting my mid-drift bulge and blood pressure numbers in the heavy weight class for 30 years now and was shocked to hear the low numbers.

Either their BP machine was calibrated to make the patients artificially happy or I had dropped enough red liquid to drop the pressure to where it should be all the time. After this, whenever I take a physical I’m going to get the old slicer out and do whatever is necessary to drop the systolic-diastolic numbers like the other day. I can probably knock $50 a year off my life insurance premiums with the lower count. Maybe I’ll give the $50 to my wife and tell her it’s from the safety company.

The clinic’s blood pressure machine performed far above my expectations and the personnel were very pleasant. However, soon I understood why they charged so much less than the hospital. You will too in a second.

After leaving Urgent Care, I went to Walmart to get some antibiotics. As I walked toward the pharmacy, I felt the wrap and bandage that had just been installed on my thigh slide down to my ankle. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a fat old guy to bend over and pull his thigh bandage back up from his ankle while not bending his leg for fear of ripping out the stitches?

But then again, I guess you see that sort of thing at Walmart all the time.

The doctor had said I was not to go back to work under any circumstances. After he left, the nurse told me to keep it elevated.

Mike drove me back to my work site. Following the nurses instructions, I crawled up on the man-lift while trying to keep my stitches from stretching and ascended the 24 feet back up to the top of the bin. I felt pretty good that I had a machine that was able to help me follow the nurses instructions to keep it elevated. And, since I was already up there,  I decided it wouldn’t hurt to cut a few more bolt heads.

For the rest of the afternoon, I cut bolts. With two hands on the slicer.

Feel free to share the post!

A national trade magazine that I advertise in every month has said they might use my story for their August edition. It’s their Safety edition.

This could be your Safety Edition…

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Read the reviews.  Paperback or Hard Cover.

Kindle Book One      Kindle Book Two

Not much time left to be in the running for 500 bucks that soon will be transferred from my clinched fist to somebody’s excited and sweaty palm! If your name is drawn and you have neglected to become eligible, you are going to have a hard time living with yourself and your empty pockets for at least a day or two.

30 seconds is all it takes to sign up. Do it before JULY 15th! Read past posts for details. Contrary to a previous delirious post I made about drawing 3 times every Saturday, I’m changing the rules back to the way it was when I initially outlined the giveaway.

I AM DRAWING ONE TIME  AND ONE TIME ONLY EACH WEEK (Every Saturday) UNTIL AN ELIGIBLE WINNER IS DRAWN.

Caution: My injury is just below in living color.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last chance to look away. Picture of the nasty slice is just below. Just so you know.

I don’t want anyone mad at me for posting an R-rated picture. You cannot say I didn’t warn you.

 

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Just kidding. It’s further down.

 

 

 

 

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I have no clue of my nether region’s status from my vantage point located at a far higher altitude.

But before I get to the zipper part, I’ve got to button up a few things lest I forget.

Michael, our baby boy, got married last week. This is the only wedding picture we took:

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You’ll have to take my word for it. They are a cute couple.

They were married in the LDS temple in Richland. It was a wonderful marriage and sealing performed by a good friend of ours named Lowell. I was one of the witnesses which is important to remember because of what happened later.

After the marriage we had a reception at Mike’s new in-laws.

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If you’re looking for me, I’m the little tiny guy in the suit fifth in from the right, way in the back. I’m far more photogenic here than most of my photos.

Mike married way above himself as did my good wife Michele. Amelia has a great family and for once, we have in-laws that are located in the same galaxy as we are. This will be very helpful as Mike’s kids should be appearing in about 9 months from now and are far more likely to be around both sets of grandparents than our other far-away Utah, Texas and Arizona grand kids are.

So we had a family reunion previously planned at the family cabin at Priest Lake ID. Mike didn’t want to miss the reunion so the new couple decided to make our reunion their honeymoon. This Idaho location was the same place he proposed to Amelia last Thanksgiving. I guess since our family was involved with his proposal last winter he decided to include us in his honeymoon in the here and now.

I can’t think of a better place to spend a honeymoon than with the in-laws.

So we did the reunion/honeymoon thing. It was great. I spent a couple of days reading a biography about Lowell’s dad who I knew well. I enjoyed the book and called Lowell and told him so. For some reason, I completely spaced out on the fact that he had performed Michael’s marriage. At the end of our conversation I said “Oh, by the way, Michael got married Saturday.”

Lowell said that was nice.

That night about 2:00 am, I awoke with a start. I realized the big faux pas I had just made the night before. I felt terrible. I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

I texted Lowell an apology as soon as I got up. Lowell texted me back that he didn’t know what a faux pas was since he spoke German and not French and then wished me and our family the best. I guess he was talking about the honeymoon.

This cobwebbed lapse in my spider cavern got me thinking. I arrived at the conclusion I’m getting Alzheimer’s.

My short-term recall should be recalled. It doesn’t work. Five seconds after I start looking for a tool, I have no idea what I’m looking for. I start out looking for a hammer and I come back with a nail.

Telling my wife about some average near-death experience I had earlier in the day is not possible. When I get to the scary part, I have not a clue how it turned out.

Every time I bump my head lately I hear a hollow echo. Q-tips go in much further than they used to. They even come out the other side now which never used to happen.

I walk around most of the time with my pants unzipped. I am positive I have zipped them up but it seems like every time I check, they are open for ventilation. Old Timer’s must be kicking in.

And then, even as a witness at a very memorable and unforgettable wedding, I forget who has just performed my kid’s marriage. And even worse, I call him up and tell him they got married like it is new news. The truth is that mentally I was kind of patting myself on the back for giving him the fresh news.

Next week, I’m going to start scouring the Tri-Cities old folk’s homes. I’ll see what I can afford and who will take me. Then I’ll write it down since there is no way I’ll remember what they tell me. My only problem will be settling on a date to tell them as to when to pick me up.

Back to the family reunion…

Once we got to the honeymoon cottage, my oldest son Derek promptly took over my duties as commander in chief without a whiff of permission from me. It was kind of a hostile takeover with him acting like Caesar Augustus. He could have at least asked me if he could run things during the reunion. Anybody who would put flowers in their hair and disrobe down to a toga deserves to be given the keys of the kingdom.

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Notice how his wife on the right is completely ignoring him. I get the feeling she does this even when he doesn’t dress up.

Unfortunately, he had to turn things back over to me as he got sick that first night. I think it was the drafty toga.

So during the family get-together, we took a hike up a mountain. We were only 12 or 15 miles, as the crow flies, away from Ruby Ridge.

Our family has been coming up here since 1980. The government did their dirty, lie-packed bulling thing to the Weaver family in August of ’92. It’s likely I or one of my siblings were up here at the cabin while that needless lead-slinging and brutal power play was going on just a few miles away.

Because Randy Weaver refused to be a snitch for the feds, he became their enemy and they blew his wife’s brains out. Sorry about getting off track. Let’s just say I get bothered by some of Big Brother’s antics.

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Anyway, we climbed up the afore mentioned mountain and took a rest with all the grand kids. The adults in the group kept talking about seeing a bald eagle and then laughing. I never saw one as I had such great cell service I couldn’t resist calling a few friends and bragging. The rest of my kinfolk were pointing and laughing at something behind the kids.

As I said, while we were on this mountaintop, I was amazed at the excellent cell service AT&T provided in this way out of the way place. I had five bars on my phone and we were many miles from the nearest settlement. I’ve never had five bars before, even in the metro center of downtown Basin City!

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I just don’t get why I can’t have five bars any other place. You know, when and where I really need it. AT&T is wasting their bars in the middle of nowhere. Makes no sense at all.

So on the last day of our little vacation, one of my sisters called me up and gave me instructions to go out and clean up the dead wood on the hillside next to our cabin and to stack it in a nice little woodpile. I told her I didn’t have a chainsaw there.

That didn’t faze her. And then I asked her if she knew I’m on vacation and trying to recover from Alzheimer’s? She just keep giving me instructions. She went so far as to tell me to send her a picture of the wood pile after we finished.

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I said ok. A couple hours later I Googled a picture of a stack of wood and sent it to her. This is her reply (I kid you not):

“Wow! I love it!”

Everything will be fine until she takes her turn at the cabin and starts looking for firewood.

I love my slightly ditsy and take-charge sister. I’ll miss her after I’m admitted to the home. Or maybe I just won’t remember her.

One thing I know for sure. She’s going to spend a long time looking for that pile of firewood.

 

Not much time left to be in the running for 500 bucks. 30 seconds is all it takes to sign up. Do it before JULY 15th! Read past posts for details.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Gated communities usually house wealthy people and secure gates. Not ours.

All our gate does is keep the mice in and the neighbor’s dogs out. (When we remember to close it.)

But I still like to tell strangers who don’t know Basin City that I live in a gated community.

Money and me. Oil and water. Never sticks together.

Here I am. 62 years of age and still working like a day laborer in a chain gang. And yet at times I can be found handing out cash while my wife watches in bewildered amazement, aggressively shaking her head side-to-side. She really needs to quit the head rotations since after the $500 blog drawing we’ll have no money left for a chiropractor.

Perhaps I’ll share a few of my cash-evaporating experiences for entertainment purposes and monetary teaching moments for the rest of you. And maybe this time I will finally remember to quit giving in to people on the prowl with their hand out.

I’ve probably created the wrong impression that I’m monied since I announced I’m giving away this cash. Tis not the case. This chunk of money is a budgeted advertising expense, not a charitable fling of cash in the wind.

It won’t happen again. I have already handed out way more than my share of lettuce to people’s salad requests.

I am not independently wealthy. In fact, I’m just scraping by. I would have been far more affluent in the cash reserves over these last 50 years except I’ve got this little character flaw of giving in to sad sacks.

This flaw often allows greenback leaches into my inner circle where they fix their sights on my cross-haired bank account. The flaw causes me to believe people’s hard-luck stories, no matter if the tales be true or fiction.

There is no way I am not listed in the SuckersRUs worldwide directory. In big bright bold letters.

I am barraged on a regular basis by scammers. “Who?” You may ask.

Well, there’s at least one guy from Nigeria, and…an alleged paralegal, an ex-con who got a bad rap, a few Les Schwab dudes from the president on down, Indonesians, Chinese mainlanders, and a Dr. Chistopher Miller from the Bahamas (who knows nothing about medicine but has his doctorate and then some in blowing smoke).

I know it sounds confusing but each incident  actually occurred.

I’ve also had many more experiences with less prolific scammers who are no-pay rubber users, also known as dead-beat tire customers. After I finished the mounting and balancing they pealed out, never to be seen again.

Back in my tire marketing days, I was driven by the desire to sell and there were plenty of people agreeing to make payments that ended up never materializing.

I helped many originating from south of the border and a few more from north of that same border. The Northerners usually got me for larger sums than the Southerners just because they had some credit history and could ask for a higher credit limit in my native tongue.

So here’s my first story. A guy I’ll call Bad News drove into my driveway and life with his big SUV ten or twelve years ago. He introduced himself as a paralegal and told me that he’s got all this cash coming in from an impending court judgement in Nevada. He even showed me an impressive ream of court documents that filled a briefcase.

He told me a very sad story and said if I loaned him some dough, he would pay me back double in a couple months. I would be instrumental in saving him from financial ruin. I felt sorry for Bad News and told him he could just pay me back the principle as long as he paid me in the promised time. I had a good feeling of helping someone out as I doled out the dough I was able to scrounge up. (By the time that particular summer was done, the charitible good feelings I initially enjoyed had fled, just like the cash.)

Throughout that summer he kept visiting me with new additions to his old story which required me to shell out more cash. His wife was going to leave him if I didn’t help him pay his bills. He even cried real tears. Or so I thought.

It went on and on. My ill-fated generosity was really putting the pinch on my finances and marital happiness, namely Michele and her empty purse.

I finally had to break his heart and stop the bleeding. “You’ve taken it all” I told him. That didn’t stop him. He kept trying but I had at last drawn the line at buying his line.

I was out around 16 grand from this guy with the crocodile tears. He owned a large rig and would periodically call me and tell me he wanted to see me. Each time, he made another attempt to dip into my wallet.

One day, a few minutes after he had called me to announce another one of his unwelcome visits, there was a knock at my front door. It was a sheriff’s deputy that I  knew who just stopped by to say hi. As we stood and talked outside on my driveway, I heard the rumbling of a rig coming down the road behind the trees.

It was about time for Bad News to show up so I figured even though I couldn’t see him there was a good chance it was the carpetbagger. I got a flash of inspiration and told Deputy Bryan to slam me up against the wall and start frisking me. He said “What?!”

I repeated my instructions and told him to hurry as Bad News was almost in sight. Bryan, with a very puzzled look on his face shoved me up against the wall and started patting me down just as Bad News came into view. He was slowing down to turn in at my place but as soon as he saw the cop car and the uniformed deputy making a realistic-looking arrest, he hit the gas and motored on down the road.

I haven’t seen him since.

We had a good laugh as the rig faded in the distance.

Bryan retired soon after. I think he was worried about being charged with police brutality and a false arrest one summer day in Basin City.

He needn’t have worried. I was grateful for the cop beatdown on that particular occasion.

 

So I’ve penciled in a few more details about the upcoming $500 giveaway…

One Winner. Eligibility is essential.

To qualify for this cash bonanza, you must do two really easy things and one really hard thing:

Easy part:

  1. Sign up to follow this blog in the upper right hand corner.
  2. Share on Facebook Ben’s June 7 Facebook post announcing the madman’s giveaway.

Hard part:

3. Be a friend of mine on Facebook or you won’t be included in the random number generated drawing. You and I must have at least one Facebook friend in common for you to be accepted as my friend. 

If you aren’t my Facebook friend and we don’t share a common friend, comment on this blog post as to which Recovering Idiot Amazon review you liked the most and at least one word as to why.  “Because” will suffice. If you want to go into more detail, feel free.

This Comment rule is intended to separate bogus Friend requests that I receive from people who genuinely want to be my friend and be in my cash giveaway contest. I’ll then accept your Facebook friend request. Friend requests not meeting this criteria will receive no response.

The winning friend will be selected in the numerical order of my Facebook friends as listed on my Facebook page.

Here is the random number generator we will be using to find the winner:  Random Number Generator

I know this random number generator tool is not quite as professional-looking as the Powerball tools they use to give away hundreds of millions of dollars.  However, my budget is somewhat less than the Lotto promoters and my “winner” probably won’t have his or her life ruined like the Lotto winners often do.

However, if you do think the extra 500 bucks is going to ruin your life, please shred the check as soon as you get it. Unfortunately, if you have to do this you’re never going to know if my check was going to bounce or not.

If the winner is picked from among my Facebook friends but hasn’t completed both of the first two requirements, I’ll announce their name and give condolences. If we don’t have an eligible winner, the same process will be repeated the next Saturday and every Saturday thereafter until a qualified winner is drawn.

Most sweepstakes exclude relatives or employees of the awarding company. This one doesn’t since I have many relatives who are part of the mix of my Facebook friends.

If my wife wins, I should probably leave the country.

But wait! I don’t have to worry. She’s not one of my followers.

 

 image3-lowerA quote from the book… 

…”Next, these federally-employed “extortion ladies” told my brother-in-law that he must sign a form admitting he had hired children. They had seen these kids in the orchard and therefore they were his employees. If he did not sign, his apples would never be run on the packing line and would be slimy junk in a few days.

They told him ‘If he wanted his 400,000 lbs of fruit to be released, he must sign a false admission that he had hired kids and he must then give the Department Of Labor a $16,000 cashier’s check to pay the fine it handed him.’ Only then would they release his fruit.

They told him that they were going to make an example out of him. It did not matter that he had never hired kids. They didn’t care. All they wanted to do was hold him hostage for their resumes and egos until he met their blackmail demands”…

Read the reviews.  Paperback or Hard Cover.

Kindle Book One      Kindle Book Two

 

 

I added a customer list at the bottom of our company’s home page last night. But, since I’m an idiot, maybe I shouldn’t have. I’m trying to change my ways at this late date and start listening to other’s advice. Customer list or not?

http://www.moveitinc.com/home.html

 

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Contrary to the title of this post, I do know where I can find it. That 500 bucks will have to be pried out of my wife’s clenched iron fist. I’ll let the RI winner attempt to do that. (Not kidding:)

Concerning my book. I’m already thinking about having another $500 contest concerning a Recovering Idiot book owner/reader (Just don’t tell my wife).

This is down the road a bit but if you don’t have the book, you might think about getting it and studying up. The contest will require knowledge of some aspect or content from the book.

 

   image3-lowerA quote from the book… 

…Since we were their closest neighbors and were a good quarter of a mile away from their outhouse, Brian’s mom had no problem leaving their privy door open that just so happened to face our home and the prevailing wind. She found this greatly diminished the smell factor.

Her open-door policy remained in effect until the day she found out that my dad had purchased a new pair of binoculars…

Read the reviews.  Paperback or Hard Cover.

Kindle Book One      Kindle Book Two

 

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Why in the world would I hand out this kind of dough? Because…

  • My accountant just notified me that in order to get in a lower tax bracket, I need to spend 500 bucks before my tax year-end.
  • I’m lonely and need to purchase a friend. $500 is all I can afford.
  • I need a tax deduction to offset my runaway book sales.
  • I like making things happen, especially when I have $500 rattling around in my back pocket.
  • I like making people happy, even if it costs $500.
  • I think my wife is cutest when her face turns purple. Today it turned a lighter shade of purple when I told her about my cash giveaway. I think the full-blown deep purple coloration will arrive on July 15.
  • I’m an idiot. To confirm, read my book or at least the reviews.

All important aspects of this “sweepstakes” are in bold letters.

One Winner. Qualified drawing.

To be eligible for this cash bonanza, you must do two easy things and one really hard thing:

Easy part:

  1. Sign up to follow this blog in the upper right hand corner of this blog.
  2. Share on Facebook the Facebook post announcing this madman’s giveaway.

Hard part:

3. Be a friend of mine on Facebook or you won’t be included in the random number generated drawing. You and I must have at least one Facebook friend in common for you to be accepted as my friend. 

If you aren’t my Facebook friend and we don’t share a common friend, comment on this blog post as to which Recovering Idiot Amazon review you liked the most and at least one word as to why.  “Because” will suffice. If you want to go into more detail, feel free.

This Comment rule is intended to separate bogus Friend requests that I receive from people who genuinely want to be my friend and in my cash giveaway contest. I’ll then accept your Facebook friend request. Friend requests not meeting this criteria will receive no response.

The winning friend will be selected in the numerical order of my Facebook friends as listed on my Facebook page.

Just to be clear: Following me on Facebook is not what counts in the giveaway. Being a RecoveringIdiot.com blog Follower is one of the needed components. Sharing a RecoveringIdiot.com blog post on Facebook is the other. My Facebook friends will all be in the numbered drawing each week until an eligible name shows up.

Here is the random number generator we will be using:  Random Number Generator

I know this random number generator tool is not quite as professional-looking as the Powerball tools they use to give away hundreds of millions of dollars.  However, my budget is a bit less than the Lotto promoters and my “winner” probably won’t have his or her life ruined like the Lotto winners often do.

However, if you think the extra 500 bucks IS going to ruin your life, please shred the check as soon as you get it. Unfortunately, if you have to do this you’re never going to know if my check was going to bounce or not.

So you may ask “Why is being your friend the hard part? Being your friend doesn’t sound all that difficult.”

You must not know me, eh?

In a nutshell, over the years I’ve heard from so many people how hard it is to be my friend.

The first anniversary card I got from my wife was a do-it-yourself Turkey kit. The caption read “Ben, you need a friend.” If you’re still not convinced, I guess you’ll just have to find out the hard way.

If the pre-qualified winner is picked from among my Facebook friends but hasn’t completed both of the first two requirements, I’ll announce their name and give condolences. If we don’t have an eligible winner, the same process will be repeated the next Saturday and every Saturday thereafter until a qualified winner is drawn.

Most sweepstakes exclude relatives or employees of the awarding company. This one doesn’t since I have many relatives who are part of the mix of my Facebook friends.

If my wife wins, I should probably leave the country.

However, I have to say I’m hopeful the winner is not related to me or I’ll never hear the end of it.

This drawing is going to make someone $500 worth of happy or possibly a few people $500 worth of sad if we don’t pick a winner right off.

Similar to the gamut of emtions we’ll each have when we reach the pearly gates.

Here is the originating seed that spawned this senseless giveaway…

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Mark Maxfield won a measly $50 by simply being a Recovering Idiot Follower which automatically registered him in that drawing. You can read about his good fortune in this blog a couple of weeks ago. I got such a kick out of writing him a check I decided to up the ante by five times the amount of what Mark got. Thus, the $500 figure.

To insure this promotion is on the up and up, I’m going to hire Price, Waterhouse and Cooper to audit the proceedings.

Whoops! After an online search, I just found out PWC will charge me $50,000 just to watch me pick a FB friend. In addition, they want 40% of the winnings.

Ain’t going to happen.

Who needs accountants when you’ve got a mind as good with numbers as I do?

But, I probably better hire an accountant just to keep everybody happy. Therefore, I will hire a former PWC CPA’d person to do the observation. That person will be…drumroll please…Margaret Payne from Phoenix AZ.

Margaret was the only female bean-counter on a 5-person bean-team from BYU that won a national collegiate accounting contest. This is the only reason I have chosen her.

BYU Students Take Top Prize at National xTAX Competition

From Left: Meg Casper, Kodiak Smith, Aaron Zimbelman, Reed Maughan (PwC Mentor), Brian Hunt and Jed Eastman.
From Left: Meg Casper, Kodiak Smith, Aaron Zimbelman, Reed Maughan (PwC Mentor), Brian Hunt and Jed Eastman.

 

This happened back when she was still packing around my last name and before she married Jake who is a real Payne and has always been one.

To be candid, there’s one other small little reason she was acquired. When I said I was going to hire an accountant, I was mistaken. Please omit the word “hire”.

She won’t cost me a dime since she’s my middle daughter and still owes me from back in the day when I changed a few of her really yucky diapers. Her observation will have to take place on Facetime since now I can’t afford the 500 dollar airplane ticket for her to be here in person. . Thanks, Meggie!

Meg will be judge and overseer of the giveaway.

We are doing all we can to insure that the Russians don’t hack into this process.

Disclaimer: In the very unlikely event this little promotion goes viral, contrary to what most of my fans think, I can only do so much in accepting friend requests.

Late-coming entrants will be accomodated in chronological order of application. Those unable to be accepted will have to wait in line until I can get around to accepting their friend request, whether it be in this lifetime or in the world to come, I know not.

Also, in the very likely event that I go bankrupt between now and July 15, I’ll still cough up the 500 bucks. Just don’t tell the bankruptcy trustee or my purple-hued wife.

If you have any questions, make a comment at the bottom and I’ll answer you as soon as we get back from the dermatologist.

Michele’s skin conditon has flared up again.

Good luck. May the best Follower win!

Concerning my book. I’m already thinking about having another $500 contest concerning a Recovering Idiot book owner/reader. This is down the road a bit but if you don’t have the book, you might think about getting it and studying up. The contest will require knowledge of some aspect or content from the book.

 

   image3-lowerA quote from the book… 

I was two years old at the time and toddled around the place in freezing weather while the folks built the house. I probably wasn’t much help. Dad mixed concrete for the foundation by hand and shovel. They illuminated the primitive worksite with the car headlights….

…My future with the capitals “BT” for “Big Trouble” was foretold one cold winter night when I stuck my tongue on the business end of a frozen hammer. The folks got a little concerned when they saw me walking around with a claw hammer hanging out of my mouth.

How to thaw and separate? There was no electricity, heat, or running water. I was screaming and time was of the essence. The only warm substance available was mom’s spit so she started hocking loogies toward my connection point with this foreign object until we finally separated…

 

Read the reviews.  Paperback or Hard Cover.

Kindle Book One      Kindle Book Two