The “Millionaire Maybe?” Contest… and the Cast Who Tried WAY Too Hard

When we launched the It Happens in Florida “Millionaire Maybe?” contest, we thought it was simple:

Wear our T-shirt.

Get spotted.

Get $5 for a lottery ticket (or a beer—your choice, we don’t judge).

Possibly become rich, famous, and the new mayor of a town with no sidewalks.

But then the cast got involved.

Let us be clear: We love our cast. They’re passionate. Enthusiastic. Slightly chaotic. But when they found out about the contest, they decided to help “promote” it in the most Florida way possible.

Raymond took to handing out shirts at the gas station while shouting, “YOU WANNA BE RICH OR NOT?!” to everyone within a two-mile radius.

Oscar tried to convince an entire bingo hall to wear the shirts by offering to cover their next round if someone “just acted like they won the lottery already.”

And Ashley, bless her heart, started chasing joggers down the beach with a tank top and yelling, “PUT THIS ON—TRUST ME!”

(She was politely escorted off the boardwalk. Again.)

We had to step in when a few reports came in of our cast “aggressively gifting” shirts to strangers in parking lots like they were haunted free samples. One man thought he was being recruited into a very confusing cult. Another woman said, “I thought it was a reverse robbery.”

So yes, the cast may have slightly misunderstood “grassroots marketing.” But their hearts were in the right place. Right next to the cooler full of promotional koozies and a suspicious amount of pickle-flavored sunflower seeds.

Despite the chaos, we’re thrilled the contest is getting attention (mostly good attention, we think). Just remember:

👉 You don’t need to be chased down by a Florida Man holding a T-shirt to enter.

👉 Simply wear your It Happens in Florida gear in public. Check out our merch store by clicking here.

👉 If you get spotted, you get $5. Easy.

No pressure. No yelling. No more cast-led “shirt initiatives.” We promise.

(Probably.)

A Week Without Incident: A Historic Win for the It Happens in Florida Team

We’re proud — and frankly, shocked — to report that it’s been one full week since anyone on the It Happens in Florida crew has broken a bone, caught on fire, or been attacked by angry wildlife during production.

That’s right. After Producer Tara’s now-legendary ankle sacrifice at Cracklin’ Jacks, the team instituted mandatory daily safety meetings.

And wow… have they been something.

Each morning begins with our cast and crew gathered around a whiteboard titled “How Not To Die Today,” where we go over critical reminders like:

• “Don’t chase raccoons. Even if they wink at you.”
• “Gators are not extras, even if they stay still for a long time.”
• “Oscar, no more using fireworks to point out landmarks.”
• “Raymond, the stun gun is NOT a bug zapper.”

To prevent further injury (and possibly a lawsuit), the cast has taken their own precautions, including:

• Wearing floaties on dry land “just in case”
• Creating a buddy system where no one is allowed to operate power tools without a second person to film it for TikTok
• Having a “designated adult” — usually whichever crew member hasn’t had caffeine yet

 

Tara now rolls into meetings on a knee scooter she’s named “Gatorbait,” and serves as both a safety officer and speed bump.

Still, in true It Happens in Florida fashion, the safety meetings have not been without drama. Last Thursday’s session ended with a swarm of bees, an impromptu wrestling match between a man and an inflatable flamingo, and an emergency evacuation due to “unexplained smells.”

But hey — no broken bones. That’s a win.

So here’s to one week of safety. Let’s see if we can make it to two… or at least until next Tuesday.

Stay safe. Stay unpredictable. And remember:

If it’s bizarre, unexpected, or slightly illegal…It Happens in Florida.

“Millionaire Maybe?” Contest from It Happens in Florida

🎉 “Millionaire Maybe?” Contest from It Happens in Florida 🐊💸 🎉

Want to be Florida Rich? That’s like normal rich, but with more gator wranglin' and less IRS paperwork.

Here’s how it works:

🟢 Step 1: Get your hands on official It Happens in Florida merch (T-shirts, doo rags, koozies, even a tumbler or coffee mug).
🟢 Step 2: Wear it proudly (or drink from it if it's a tumbler, etc.). In public. At Walmart. At the gas station. While rescuing your cousin’s pet python. On second thought, wear a mug as a hat if you want. Whatever works. Just be seen with our merch.
🟢 Step 3: If one of our undercover producers (or someone pretending to be one) spots you in the wild rockin’ our gear, you’ll get $5 on the spot. No questions asked.

💸 Use that $5 to buy a lottery ticket and possibly win millions! Or… just grab a beer. We’re not judging.

💬 Bonus points if you shout, “It Happens in Florida, baby!” when we hand it over. (There may be cheering. There may be gators.)

📸 Got spotted? Take a selfie and tag us with #ItHappensInFlorida for eternal social media glory.

📅  This contest is for the entire month of August ... Maybe longer if the $25 we set aside for this contest isn't exhusted by then. Just kidding. But it does end August 31, 2025.

⚖️ And for legal reasons, we must disclose that taking a selfie with our merch is not being spotted. You physically have to be spotted and chased -- we mean approached -- by one of the producers to win. 

🛒 WANT IT HAPPENS IN FLORIDA MERCH? CLICK HERE TO SHOP!

Follow Up: Armadillos, Ambitions, and Absolute Mayhem: The Fundraiser That Raised No Funds

After our last attempt at securing funding ended in minor property damage and a restraining order from a seafood buffet, the cast and crew of It Happens in Florida decided to regroup.

That regrouping happened at the Waffle Castle at 2am.

Oscar said, “What if we did something Florida… something wild… something with ARMADILLOS?”
Raymond replied, “Do they bite?”
Oscar shrugged. That was good enough for us.

Thus was born: The First Annual Armadillo Racing Fundraiser (and Gator-Free Chili Cook-Off).

Let us walk you through how it went:

• Problem #1: No one told us armadillos aren’t particularly motivated to race. They mostly wandered in circles or curled up in balls while our “referee” (a local DJ named Skip) tried to coax them with Funyuns.
• Problem #2: We didn’t check the chili contestants too carefully. Turns out three entries contained “mystery meat” and one had moonshine as a base. A tourist ate two bowls and tried to enter himself in the armadillo race.
• Problem #3: Halfway through the event, a rival gator wrestling team showed up thinking we were poaching their turf. It ended in a dance-off and two sprained hips.
• Problem #4: Our “silent auction” was mistakenly labeled as “swamp auction,” and we may have accidentally sold one of the production vans for $42 and a homemade air horn.

Final tally:

• Funds raised: $11.23
• Bruised egos: 7
• Armadillos still missing: 2
• Sense of humor: Fully intact

We might not have a fully funded pilot yet, but we’ve got something even better: a loyal community, questionable decision-making skills, and a deep belief that this is the show the world needs.

So if you believe in chaotic good and questionable fundraising tactics, consider supporting us. Because when it comes to comedy, heart, and unexpected armadillo encounters—It Happens in Florida.

Florida Man Declares War on HOA in Battle of Wits (Spoiler: Nobody Wins)

By the It Happens in Florida Team

In what neighbors are now calling “The Suburban Skirmish of the Century,” It Happens in Florida's own Florida Man—armed with only a whiteboard, a pool noodle, and an unhealthy obsession with loopholes—has entered into a full-blown intellectual battle with his local Homeowners Association.

It all started innocently enough. Florida Man (who asked to remain anonymous but also wears a cape with his name bedazzled on the back ... it's Scott if you must know) received a sternly worded HOA letter demanding he remove the "unauthorized pink lawn flamingos." There were 72 of them. Arranged in the shape of Florida.

Florida Man responded by carefully reviewing the HOA bylaws—something no other resident had ever dared do—and discovered a loophole that allowed “seasonal displays of wildlife.” So the flamingos stayed, but only after he placed a Santa hat on each one and declared it “Flamingo Winter.”

The HOA escalated. They issued new rules. Florida Man retaliated by hosting weekly HOA meetings on his lawn, complete with free hot dogs, a bouncy house, and a PowerPoint titled "Why I'm Technically Right, and You're Just Mad."

When the HOA limited yard signs to “one per political season,” Florida Man ran for five different offices simultaneously, including “Neighborhood Sheriff” and “Minister of Mullet Affairs.” His signs now outnumber the grass blades.

The final straw? A rule banning “unsightly yard sculptures.” So Florida Man built a life-sized fiberglass gator wearing a tuxedo and claimed it was a tribute to his late Uncle Steve. “Steve always looked sharp,” he explained.

HOA President Marge Whitely has reportedly begun muttering in Morse code and keeps a stress ball shaped like Florida Man’s face. Local news crews have set up a tent on the lawn. A film crew from It Happens in Florida is already rolling.

Will Florida Man prevail? Will the HOA rewrite the rules again? Will someone finally explain why there's a goat in a hammock on the roof?

Tune in next week for It Happens in Florida: Battle of the Gated Community — where logic goes to sunburn.

It Happens in Funding: A Totally Professional, Not-at-All Disastrous Attempt at Getting Money

Well, folks… we set out on a noble quest: to secure funding for the It Happens in Florida pilot episode. A simple goal, really. Just convince some investors that a comedy show about gators, conspiracy theorists, and moonshine-fueled mayhem is a smart business decision. Easy, right?

Wrong. So wrong.

It started with Raymond printing our pitch materials at the local bait shop. "They got a copier next to the minnows,” he said. Unfortunately, the copier was also doubling as a lizard incubator, so all of our brochures smelled like swamp and had mysterious tail marks on them. Still, we pressed on.

Next up: a big investor Zoom pitch. Oscar insisted on doing it from a boat in the Everglades for “ambiance.” What we got instead was fifteen minutes of Oscar fighting off a raccoon with a selfie stick while the investor asked, “Is this part of the show?”

Then we tried a car wash fundraiser. Classic. Except we didn’t anticipate Florida Man entering his airboat into the line, nor the fact that our cast thought “bikini wash” meant wearing inflatable flamingos. We raised $17.50 and a coupon for free fried okra.

We attempted a bake sale… but our “meth-lab lemon bars” were just a branding joke. Apparently, Homeland Security doesn’t have a sense of humor. No one was arrested, but we are definitely on a list now.

At one point, we tried crowdfunding. Oscar posted a heartfelt video asking for support while Raymond accidentally went live from the bathroom with a “Hot Pockets Emergency.” We raised $4. And a can of Off-brand Bug Spray. (Thanks, Aunt Patty.)

In a last-ditch effort, we scheduled a fancy pitch dinner at the only upscale restaurant in town. It went off the rails when our waiter turned out to be an unpaid extra from episode three and insisted on reenacting his “gator whisperer” scene mid-salad. Needless to say, the investors left—quickly—and one of them screamed, “Why does everything smell like fried sunscreen!?”

So here we are. No investors. No pilot budget. But plenty of stories.

And honestly? That’s what this show is all about: turning chaos into comedy. We may not have fancy backers or Hollywood producers (yet), but we’ve got passion, persistence, and an overwhelming number of feral cat cameos.

So if you want to see It Happens in Florida brought to life, consider supporting us. Because at this point, we’ll take cash, check, or a case of Slim Jims.