The Mutually Beneficial Agreement

Today is day 4 of my quest for free stuff. I'm trying a new "approach" to asking each day, and today's method - the mutually beneficial agreement...

Dear Food Network,

Please forward this to the someone in Marketing who has enough clout to make weighty decisions. This is not a joke… it is a serious request.

Dear Food Network Marketing Executive (hopefully the lovely Susie Fogelson),

I’ve been a loyal fan of the Food Network for years. I was watching cooking shows on your network before it was considered ‘cool’ – back when Bobby Flay was just some guy on Grillin’ and Chillin’… back when Ready, Set, Cook was an innovate, although highly unappreciated, new game show… and back when Iron Chef (the original) was still making its blossoming American audience squirm at the thought of eating squid ink and bonito flake ice cream. I say all this not to brag, but to make the point that I am and have been for years, a devoutly loyal fan.

I’m sure you’re overwhelmed on almost a daily basis by croaker sacks full of viewer mail. And one could hardly blame you if were more than a bit put off at the idea that some Joe on the street felt as if he were in a position to demand an autographed copy of Paula Dean’s latest cookbook or perhaps pitch an idea for a new cooking show, showcasing only Lithuanian cuisine. So let me assure you. I am not seeking an autograph, nor am I here to pitch an idea for a show. I am simply looking for a mutually beneficial arrangement - an“I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine” kind of a deal.

What I propose is this: please send me something… like a Food Network T-shirt or a Food Network pen or a Food Network oven mitt – anything you have with your brand on it. What I’m looking for is the satisfaction of saying, “hey, I wrote Food Network and look what they sent.” What I offer in return, is an invaluable branding opportunity you might otherwise miss. Wherever I go in my Food NetworkT-shirt or whatever occasion I might have to pull out my Food Network pen, I assure you that a conversation will ensue through which I promise (I will even put it in writing if it strengthens my position) to encourage those around me to tune in and watch some of the many wonderful programs your network offers. And while I make no quantifiable guarantees, I will say that I can be quite persuasive.

Thank you for your time, and I thank you in advance for the t-shirt.

Kind Regards,

Ben Dismukes

PS – I wear a men’s large.

PPS – If Susie ever actually reads this, could she send me an ‘on-air sign’ on the new season of “The Next Food Network Star” – like maybe flash a peace sign or give a little wink into the camera. That would rock!

The Environmental Appeal

Today's letter of supplication is directed at Altoids - the curiously strong breath mints. Actually, it's directed at the people behind the mints. The approach - the conscientious environmentalist.

Dear Altoids,

I discovered you about 14 years ago, while gallivanting around Europe as a young twenty-something in search of adventure. Thanks to you and your incredibly ingenious trademark minty flavors, my life has been deeply enriched. You see, it was on the same excursion on which I discovered your breath mints that I met the woman who would later become my wife. Coincidence? Maybe, but who knows what might have resulted had my breath not been so clean and minty fresh. I might well have found rejection instead of love. So it is with a debt of gratitude that I write to you today.

For years, you’ve been my number one fresh breath provider. I cringe to think of all the rancid air you’ve spared the world from over that time. And I’m just one person. Imagine assembling all Altoid users world-wide and taking away their breath mints for a few days. Then have them all breathe into an apparatus that could extract the stink from the air. Can you fathom the collective funk of such an extraction? That’s what you mean to the world. So, I think we all owe you our deepest thanks.

In fact, I’m quite confident the environment would be in a critical state… as well as a stanky state… if not for you folks and your marvelous mints. Think of what all that putrid breath would have on global warming. Talk about melting ice caps. You rock, Altoids!

In return for rocking so hard, I’m now asking that you consider sending me a courtesy tin of passion fruit sours, or perhaps a tin of ginger mints. You don’t have to, and I sure don’t think that you owe me or anything crazy like that. However, it would be really nice of you. And I have been a loyal customer for years and years. Either way, I’ll still trust my breath to you guys. I mean… I’m just sayin…

Looking forward to hearing back from you.

Thanks always,

Ben Dismukes

PS-I would also like a cool Altoids T-Shirt, please (free advertising for you guys). I’m a large.

Big Mac, Anyone?

As you may or may not know (depending on how often you read this blog), I am on a mission to get as much free stuff as I possibly can. I haven't heard from the Starbucks folks yet, but it hasn't even been 24 hours yet, so no worries there. Today's project... McDonalds. Given their website comment form restrictions, I'll have to send this via snail mail, but here's a sneak peak.

Today's approach: the humanitarian appeal.

Dear folks at McDonalds,


According to your website, “We all have a duty to act responsibly. To do good. Participate in the lives of others. It’s about taking pride in the world we live in, and dealing with the important issues. It’s about being there for us.” And while I’m not so sure I would have put a comma between the ‘in’ and the ‘and’ in the 4th sentence, I appreciate the sentiment, nonetheless.


It’s in the spirit of this quote that I’m writing you good folks today. In times such as these, we’ve all got to band together and do what’s necessary to get by. Most of us have lost our faith in the financial and economic systems which, just a few years back, seemed to be indestructible. Many of us have lost our jobs. Some have lost homes. But despite it all, we each maintain the common thread that binds us together. We’re a brotherhood (and I use the term in the most gender neutral way I can think of). And as brothers, we rely on each other when times are tough.


As such, I am swallowing my pride and asking McDonalds Corporation for help. I don’t want millions of dollars, even though I have a reliable source that tells me that you guys are actually doing pretty well right now. But I would like a helping hand. Please send me 2 gift certificates that can be redeemed at the restaurant of my choosing, so that me and a guest can enjoy a Big Mac together. I promise that, while there, I will spend some of my own money on some other product, such as a coke or some fries, or maybe even a ‘Baked Apple Pie’. I love your pies. I remember when they were called ‘Hot Apple Pies’. I’m kinda’ old school.


I have always been a huge fan of your restaurants. Sure, there’s the occasional over-cooked French fry, or the slightly stale bun. But by and large, when you walk into a Mickey D’s, you know what you’re getting, and I, for one, truly appreciate that.


Keep up the good work, and thank you in advance for the gift certificates.


Yours truly,


Ben Dismukes


PS – If you have any McD’s t-shirts lying around, I would like one of those too. I’m a large.

I Have A Question

Dear Blah, Blah, Blog fans,

Recently, I have entered a new realm of civic involvement. I am volunteering my time by serving on a steering committee responsible for the establishment of a charter school in my home town. In assuming this new role, I have, on more than one occasion, had to ask for things I might not have considered asking people for previously. For instance, I recently asked someone to donate about 15 acres of land to our cause. Fearing rejection of the harshest kind, I was shocked to receive a quiet but sure “Ok.”

I am now empowered by this amazingly simple and effective concept.

My favorite book says, “you have not because you ask not.” Armed with a surprisingly confident resolve that often reminds my inhibitions, “the worst they can do is say no,” I am now headed on a journey of discovery.

Friends, I’m inviting you to join me as I seek to push the envelope of this brave new world. Over the next few weeks, I plan to send letters to various companies and individuals, asking for free stuff. I’ll try many different approaches, sending appeals of various natures in a number of directions. But throughout, the mission will remain the same: see how much free stuff I can get.

My first attempt, naturally, is Starbucks. The following is an actual letter I sent to corporate just minutes ago. My appeal is based not so much in honesty as it is in showcasing my story-telling abilities. Some of the “facts” may be “slightly exaggerated”. In any case, we’ll see if it results in anything free.

Dear Coffee Moguls at Starbucks Inc.,

I bet you’re thinking, “Oh no! Another customer writing about the dirty bathrooms in our El Paso store,” or, “Probably some freak who’s mad that he can’t get a peppermint latte in the Spring.” Well, let me put your minds at ease gentlepeople. I am writing neither to inform you of dirty johns, nor to gripe about the seasonality of peppermint flavoring. On the contrary, I’m writing to let you know… you had me at “Grande Raspberry Mocha Frappuccino’.

I remember the first time I walked into one of your stores. I was young and inexperienced, and like a first year sailor at his first port of call, I was overwhelmed with sights and smells I never dreamed possible. A little nervous as those around me spoke a bizarre new language, ordering what I deemed to be “just coffee”, I eventually mustered enough courage to approach a girl, also known as a “barista”, to place an order. “Grande Hazelnut Latte,” I said with an air of fake confidence, oblivious as to what manner of drink I might receive. A few minutes later, when my order was up, I surveyed my prize with hesitancy. I had never seen a drink like this, let alone tasted one. Intrigued, I pressed forward. I raised the cup to my mouth, and the last thing I remember was the sweet, sweet aroma that wafted my nostrils as I soared to unheralded caffeine heights. Instantly, I was hooked… a junkie.

My addiction began with lattes… but I quickly moved on to Mochas, Macchiatos and Frappuccinos. I was buzzin’ hard and often. I had never paid so much for coffee and soon found I needed a way to support my habit. I started turning tricks on the street, but street magicians in my home town are not exactly in high demand – especially after the David Blaine incident. I ended up in accounting at a software company, surrounded by other junkies. We hit the Starbucks party scene hard, every day between 10:00 and 10:15. I was livin’ high and thought it would never end.

But then the economy went down and I told my hommies, “yo man, Bush be trippin’”. And dey was like, “fo’ rizzle.” And then I got a pink slip, and I had to move back to my home town of Nowhere, USA, population nobody. The closest Starbucks is 40 miles away, and while detox was hard, I’d go back to the bottle… er… paper cup… any day. If only I could.

This is my cry for help. Please give a brother a break and send me a gift card for a free coffee… or two (my wife says to say ‘hello’).

Thank you,

PS – I really, really, would like a Starbucks T-Shirt too, if it’s not too much to ask. Think of it as free advertisement.

Move Over “Free Tibet” Bumper Stickers, Now There’s the “Facebook Cause”

I remember the first time I saw it. I was on the off-ramp of the North Avenue exit of I-75 Southbound in downtown Atlanta. I was just a boy – a wide-eyed college student returning from an off campus excursion into the heart of the city. As I waited patiently for the traffic signal to change, I saw the bumper sticker that would have a profound impact on the next 2 or 3 minutes of my life. Plastered on the rear bumper of a white, late 80’s Jeep Wrangler was the phrase “Free Tibet”. Instantly, I was thrown into a state of perplexity the likes of which I had never experienced. Sure, I knew where Tibet was. Even knew a thing or 2 about the geography of the country. But the question that spun around in my brain like the spin cycle on a Maytag was this: just exactly what did the Tibetans need freeing from? Had the place been overrun by yaks? Was the abominable snowman real and living in Lhasa, feeding off the unborn children of Buddhist monks? Had the country been invaded by a horde of Nepalese martial artists skilled in the ways of the “purple nurple” demanding that Tibet relinquish all claims on Mt. Everest? All these unpleasant scenarios flashed before me in a nanosecond.

I soon discovered (soon meaning several years later, with the dawning of Wikipedia) the Tibet had actually been occupied for years by the communist Chinese. Yeah… turns out that the Chinese have slaughtered thousands upon thousands of Tibetans over the years, all the while holding the country hostage and disavowing its favored son, the Dalai Lama – who apparently is not a native of the Andes Mountains as I had previously suspected. All joking aside, it’s actually quite tragic what has happened to the poor Tibetans over the last 50 years. I felt as if I should interject something serious into this blog so as not to enrage the Amnesty International crowd. But getting back to my diatribe…

Instantly, I was bombarded with an overwhelming feeling of… well… being overwhelmed. What could I, Ned Wohlers (pseudonym used to hide my true identity from the Chi-Coms), do to free Tibet? Wasn’t I just one man? And yet, the makers of this bumper sticker didn’t seem to care. Somehow they believed I had the power to free those poor people from Chinese occupation. Or else why bother? And just who were ‘they’ anyway? Was I being recruited by the Tibetan Intelligence Agency? Had this seemingly random vehicle been parked at this traffic light for hours, patiently awaiting my return to campus? Could I be the chosen one of whom it had been foretold, “he shall come from the west, mounted upon his trusted CRX, and he shall rid Tibet of tyranny once and for all.” Or had this message been sent out to anyone and everyone with me being the only one willing to at least consider heeding the call? Perhaps the Dalai Lama himself had engineered this modern day ‘message in a bottle’ and somehow, someway, this jeep had travelled far and wide, only to make its way safely, with message intact, to me. Whatever the case, I determined that come hell or high water, I was going to come to the aid of Tibetans everywhere and free the mother land.

It felt good to envision myself as the liberator of a nation. I thought of all the people who had said I would never amount to anything. They’d all be jealous now. Oh sure, some of them would do well for themselves. Some might even make their first million prior to their 30th birthday. But how many of them could say they freed Tibet? I was on top of the world. I was a hero… a legend. I would be immortalized in literature, and songs would proclaim of my greatness for years to come. My greatness index had outranked that of the vast majority of people who had ever lived. In celebration, I reached over a patted myself on the back.

But alas, as Don Quixote demonstrated, one can only fight imaginary battles for so long before losing a grip on insanity. And my temporary madness subsided as the light changed to green and the little white jeep drove away. Immediately, I was transported back to the realm of reality where bumper stickers are just decorations and catchy slogans are just catchy slogans.

These days, you don’t see as many bumper stickers. At some point during the ‘90’s, society collectively decided it was time to stop wallpapering the bumpers of our vehicles with silly, hard-to-remove stickers, opting instead for the easy peel image of Calvin peeing on some object of disdain. However, thanks to the silliness of Facebook causes, we’re still in the business of recruiting windmill freedom fighters.

Facebook allows its users to start and join ‘causes’, simply by clicking a mouse. Such convenience empowers just about anyone the pleasure of becoming an activist without ever really taking any action at all. Just yesterday I joined the cause “Stop Prostitution in Amsterdam”. It made me feel really good about myself… until I realized that my joining will do absolutely nothing to deal with the actual problem. Wouldn’t my time be better spent by getting involved with a group who is on the ground trying to end prostitution in Amsterdam? Maybe I could volunteer some of my time by helping out or raising money or recruiting folks who will actually do something? Instead, I opt for the easy way out, along with 120 million other Facebook users who are just a click away from making a difference.

(On a side note, I ran across a Facebook cause called “Smacking Stupid People in the Face So hard They Might Get Smarter”. Interestingly enough, it has over 750,000 members and has raised $55 to date. Perhaps they’re fighting absurdity with absurdity, but my gut tells me that the founders actually have a desire to beat up on stupid people, which in my book is just below ending prostitution in Amsterdam.)

Whatever happened to activism in America? Where are the fanatics who organize protests and sit-ins? I remember the good ol’ days when women wearing fur coats could expect to be attacked by loonies with cans of red paint. Have we somehow offended the bombers of abortion clinics in such a way as to communicate that they are unwanted and unloved? Why are the tree huggers no longer chaining themselves to trees?

As I contemplate the sorry state of activism in America, I’m reminded of my dear friends, the Tibetans. Someone has to step up to the plate and help these guys out once and for all. I’d start a cause on Facebook, but at this point, I think we all agree that would be pointless. No sir. This time, I’m going old-school. I’m going to one of the retro, vintage 80’s websites, and I’m going to buy me a ‘Free Tibet’ bumper sticker!

A House With No Crown Molding

I live in a house with no crown molding, and that’s a source of embarrassment to me.

I currently own 2 houses, one of which I no longer occupy. Haven’t for almost 2 years, actually. During that time, it’s been either on the market or rented out. And given that it’s smack dab in the middle of one of the worst slumping housing markets in the contiguous 48 states, it’s been severely devalued. So much so, in fact, its market value is less than half the principle balance of the hefty mortgage I assumed when buying it several years ago. It’s a sad state when you can say with a straight face that a brand new Lincoln Town Car has held its value better than my house has over the same period of time. Nevertheless, sadness is reality, and like so many card players that have gone before me, I was dealt a less than desirable hand. And yet, a lousy game of cards is better than sitting on the sidelines critiquing those who had the fortitude to ante up.

So, because of the sorry state of things, I cannot afford to fix up the ‘fixer upper’ that I currently inhabit. As a result, there are a few details that we’ve neglected, such as crown molding, new bathrooms and a renovation for a kitchen that still houses appliances from the ‘Leave it to Beaver’ era. For this, I am often more than a bit ashamed that I’m not able to provide a better life for my beautiful wife and our 3 adorable children.

I didn’t plan it this way. In fact, looking back, there are many things about my life that I didn’t anticipate. When I was a starry eyed twenty two year old with college diploma in hand, I, like most other American dreamers, wanted my piece of the pie – nice Victorian house in the suburbs, 6 figure salary, kids in the best private schools and summer vacations at our beach house in the Florida panhandle. But, somewhere along the way, I was derailed. No… actually… I was sabotaged.

(Here’s where I probably lose about half of my reading audience. Please you 4… don’t stop reading… I promise I won’t whine… this actually is about to take a turn in a very positive direction!)

I wasn’t derailed by downsizing or an unexpected child or even an unorthodoxly stubborn wife, who refused to play that game the way that I wanted to, although I’m sure she’ll admit to being both unorthodox and stubborn, all the while playing no one’s game but her own. Instead, I was sabotaged by a God who would go to great lengths in order to disrupt my life as long as my life is devoid of His very best for me.

I probably couldn’t satisfactorily describe for you the ways in which God has been ‘tinkering’ with me, so I won’t even try. Any argument I could make would likely be met with skepticism by the agnostic, or even the hyper-religious. But I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, and deep down in the places that matter the most, I am confident that God is the One who has, at times, frustrated me in my attempt to fill my life with all the bells and whistles I have so desperately sought. And please don’t hear me wrongly… God is not opposed to bells and whistles. In fact, I honestly believe He created anything and everything we call good, and in a perfect world, we’d have every bell and every whistle our heart desired. But the problem is, we still live on this side of idealism, and many of us (myself included), have a tendency to pursue toys more than we pursue the One who dreamed us up before time began.

As I’ve come to grips with this merciful and beautiful Saboteur, I have begun to realize that this life has an etherial, temporary quality that pales in comparison to the tangible substance of eternity. I am here for just a moment, though I’ll one day linger on the other side. My time here is preparatory. I’m in the King’s schoolhouse, learning the ways of royalty. And the more earnestly and completely I reach for Jesus in the midst of this life, whether it’s a life with or without bells and whistles, the more completely I’ll reign in eternity.

Whoever we are, whatever our story, God has placed us within a certain specific context of history. That context is not for us to choose. It’s His story. But who we are and who we become is up to us. Will we be all that He intended when He first dreamed of us? Will we say yes to Him? Or will we fight to have our way, even when our way isn’t His way? The choice is ours.

I live in a house with no crown molding, but I’ll take Jesus over woodwork any day.