competition – Bully Media Inc

You heard it here first …

We’re starting a podcast.

Not because it’s trendy. Not because “everyone has one.” And definitely not because we needed another thing on our plates. We’re starting it because there are too many conversations happening off-camera that deserve to be heard — the real ones, the uncomfortable ones, the funny ones, and the ones that never make it into a perfectly edited video.

If you follow our work, you already know we don’t do polished-for-the-sake-of-polished. Our world is loud, chaotic, opinionated, and built on real experiences — wins, mistakes, lessons, and a lot of trial by fire. The podcast is an extension of that. It’s a space where we can slow things down just enough to actually talk, reflect, and say the things that don’t fit into a 60-second clip or a build montage.

This podcast isn’t about teaching you how to build something step by step. It’s about the people behind the tools. The mindset. The behind-the-scenes decisions. The stuff no one posts because it doesn’t look good on a highlight reel. We want to talk about the industry honestly — the good parts and the parts that make you want to throw your phone across the room. The successes, the failures, the burnout, the ego, the pressure, the money conversations, the loyalty conversations, the “what the hell are we even doing?” moments.

It’s also not a sales pitch. You won’t hear us reading off scripts or pretending everything is perfect. If something’s working, we’ll say it. If something didn’t, we’ll say that too. Guests aren’t coming on to impress anyone — they’re coming on to talk like real humans who have been in the trenches, made mistakes, learned lessons, and lived to tell the story.

At its core, this podcast is about paying attention — to the details, to the people, to the things most get wrong, and to the truths that get ignored because they’re uncomfortable. It’s about calling things what they are, laughing when it’s ridiculous, and being honest even when it would be easier not to be.

If you’re looking for something overly polished, perfectly structured, or filtered to death — this probably isn’t for you. But if you want real conversations, real opinions, and real stories from people who are actually living it, then welcome. This is us, unfiltered, on a mic — and we’re just getting started.

The Most Important Lesson I’ve Learned Working in This Industry

If there’s one thing this industry has taught me — the kind of lesson you only learn after years of trial, error, and stubbornness — it’s this:

If you don’t know what you’re building toward, everything around you will pull you in a hundred directions at once.

And not gently.

This space is loud. Everyone has an opinion, everyone has a strategy, everyone swears they’ve cracked the code. And if you’re not anchored by something real, you’ll find yourself scrolling Google for escape plans and foreign residency requirements before your coffee gets cold. (Hypothetically. Maybe.)

People see the final outcome — the polished videos, the polished projects, the audience numbers — and assume there’s a straight line connecting all of it. But nothing about what we do is linear. Growth has a personality disorder. Some seasons feel electric and effortless; some feel like you’re dragging the entire internet up a hill.

What has surprised me most isn’t the workload. It’s the emotional weight of leading something that has its own identity now. Wood Bully and Bully Media aren’t just “our businesses” anymore — they are a living, breathing thing with expectations, momentum, and people who rely on it. There’s a responsibility that comes with that, one that grows louder the bigger this gets.

And that’s exactly why Gordon built this the way he did.

Not for attention.

Not for clout.

Not for internet fame.

He built it because he hoped that someday, all of this effort would circle back to his family — to more time, more stability, and more choices than either of us had growing up. Wood Bully started as a way to build something that would outlive the hustle. Something that could create freedom, not chaos. Something that could rewrite what “work” looks like for our family in the long run.

The part people don’t see is that purpose evolves.

It’s not a moment — it’s a discipline.

A practice.

A constant recalibration.

Purpose is what forces you to make decisions that aren’t popular but are necessary.

Purpose is what keeps you from taking shortcuts when the easier road is right there.

Purpose is what stops you from letting ego run the show.

Purpose is what keeps the entire thing aligned when the outside world feels messy.

And in a space where trends flip every five minutes, where platforms reinvent themselves overnight, and where everybody swears they found a “new formula,” that purpose has become the only compass worth following.

I’ve learned that success isn’t one big decision — it’s a thousand tiny agreements you make with yourself:

Who you want to be.

What kind of company you want to run.

What kind of impact you want to leave behind.

What kind of example you’re setting while you build it.

Everything around Wood Bully has evolved. The audience, the content, the direction, the opportunities — all of it has changed dramatically from where we started. But the intention behind it hasn’t drifted even an inch.

We’re here to build something that outlasts trends, noise, and algorithms.

Something anchored in the kind of values that don’t go out of style.

Something our kids can look at and understand exactly what we stood for.

That — not the numbers, not the platforms, not the industry chaos —

is the reason we’re still standing.

And the reason we’ll still be standing ten years from now.

OC Lumber x Wood Bully

If you told me five years ago that I’d be traveling across the U.S. for two months straight with Gordon, building, filming, and chasing an idea that had been in my head for years, I probably would have laughed and told you that stuff just doesn’t happen to anyone. And yet, somehow, that idea — this crazy, half-dreamed, half-insane notion of a traveling carpenter media tour — actually happened. Twice. In 2024 and 2025, we set out on what became the OC Lumber Tour, and it was everything I thought it would be and nothing I expected at the same time.

The whole thing started in January 2024. I’d been talking about the traveling Wood Bully idea for years, begging Gordon to do it. And then, out of nowhere, we met Casey ( in person anyways) And Casey had been thinking the exact same thing. For a moment, it was almost unreal — like someone finally spoke the same language we’d been dreaming in all along. From that instant, everything clicked. Casey became more than a planner or organizer; he became a guide, a partner, and someone whose expertise we leaned on in ways I can’t even describe. He knows every hotel in the country, but he also listens, believes in your vision, and somehow manages to make chaos feel manageable. Having him there made this impossible dream feel achievable.

We left for the first tour on June 29, 2024, right after our son’s grade 12 graduation ( he graduated with honors 🎉) We drove to Washington, D.C., jumped on an overnight auto train to Sanford, Florida, and began the whirlwind. From there, we drove down to the Keys, settling into a hotel in Marathon right on the water. Huge iguanas wandered around the pool, completely unbothered by humans, and it was one of our first “holy shit, we’re actually doing this” moments. Florida stole my heart immediately.

From Marathon, the stops came fast: Key Largo, Fort Lauderdale, Fort Myers, Cape Coral(which Gord kept calling Cape Canaveral – I have the videos to prove it!) Sarasota (Siesta Key sunsets!), Bradenton, Winter Haven, and Orlando — after Orlando we flew home for four days for our son’s birthday. Then Clearwater, St. Pete Beach, a pizza stop in tiny Tarpon Springs, Hudson, Daytona Beach, Jacksonville, Savannah, Dutch Island, Charleston, Greenville, Birmingham, Nashville, Knoxville for a competition series, Charlotte, Wilmington (where we surprised Gordon for his birthday), Newport News, Baltimore (never again), Atlantic City, Barnegat, Long Island, Butler, NJ, and finally Providence, Rhode Island.

Every day was early mornings, building or appearances, sleep, then driving to the next city. Just Gordon and me traveling together. I handled production, logistics, and everything at home, while Gordon was the creative genius on camera. Casey and Kevin were there almost every stop, keeping everything organized, anticipating problems before they happened, and somehow making the tour feel possible. Casey’s dedication went far beyond logistics — he was our mentor, our problem-solver, the calm in the chaos, and someone who believed in us when we were still figuring out if we believed in ourselves.

Some moments were unforgettable. Watching Gordon, who couldn’t swim, get on water skis ( TWICE! ) was absolutely hilarious — and terrifying. He had practiced swimming in hotel pools for days beforehand. He was sore for a week. I laughed so hard I cried ( I also have videos of this). And there was that pizza in Wayne, New Jersey. I swear I dream about it all the time. And then there were the contractors everywhere recognizing Wood Bully — telling us we’d inspired them, taught them what they knew, or motivated them to start their own companies. That part hit me in a way nothing else did. All the chaos, stress, and long drives suddenly had meaning.

2025 was different. We went back to the drawing board and decided to slow down. Instead of flying in and out of job sites in a day, we stayed a week, really building relationships, learning from crews, and creating more meaningful content. We started in Detroit with Theo Von ( watching his stand up show ), then Cleveland, Massachusetts, Boston, Fargo (a two-day drive!), Short Grass Resort in South Dakota, Billings, Montana (where our brand-new vehicle broke down, nightmare), Toledo for the Owens Corning headquarters, and finally a bowling alley hangout before heading home. Spending more time at each stop made everything feel more connected — less rushed, less stressful, and way more rewarding.

Even the tough moments are now part of the story. The Billings breakdown could have broken me emotionally — six of us stranded, rentals, flights, logistics — but we somehow made it work. That experience taught me more about adaptability, patience, and teamwork than anything else on either tour.

Through it all, the biggest lesson was about people. Casey became family. Contractors became friends. Gordon and I learned how capable we really are, how adaptable we can be, and how incredible it feels to turn a five-year idea into a tangible reality. I also learned that I can thrive in chaos, that I can hold everything together when needed, and that relationships — real, honest, human relationships — are what make the grind worth it.

If I had to sum up both tours in one sentence, it would be: holy shit, that was epic. I can’t wait to do it again, and I know that with Gordon and the incredible people we met along the way, the next chapter will be even bigger.

I put some photos at the bottom because writing about this just doesn’t do it justice –

-Samantha

Q: How do you price brand partnerships? Is there a formula to make sure you’re not undercharging or overcharging?

When I asked Gord this question, he didn’t hesitate. He said, “No. There’s no formula. The best advice I was ever given—and it actually makes sense—is you charge what the market will allow.” He explained that in this space, we’re not negotiating with regular people who saved up for their backyard. We’re dealing with corporations. These companies are handed budget money, and their job is to take that budget and generate as much buzz and visibility as possible. So when they come to you, they’re not coming with emotion or personal sacrifice. They’re not stretching their personal savings. They’re looking for a return.

“That humility, that blue-collar shame that gets built into us from the time we’re kids—the idea that we shouldn’t ask for more, or that we don’t deserve more—that’s wrong. Corporations don’t care what your rates are. They care what fits in the budget. They’re not taking it personally. Smaller companies might take it personally, and honestly, you might have to avoid those, the same way you avoid small construction jobs that cause more trouble than they’re worth.”

He pointed out how strange the landscape is. “These companies will go pay ten times more to a magazine that nobody reads anymore, or a TV show that doesn’t give them proper credit, or some outdated website with no audience. They’ll throw huge amounts of money at dead marketing channels, but hesitate with creators who get millions of views. That’s the part people forget—you’re not just making content. You’re editing, producing, hosting, broadcasting, and your likeness also costs money. You’re basically the production company, the network, the actor, and the editor, all in one.”

Then he made the comparison that most creators never say out loud: “We actually perform better than TV. Our company reaches more people in a month than HGTV does. So technically, we should charge more than a traditional TV commercial. But we don’t. And that’s because the space is still new, and a lot of the decision-makers are older. They don’t always understand the value they’re getting.”

What about when a brand gets offended by your price? Gordon was blunt: “If someone’s offended that you asked for the rate you feel you deserve, that’s not someone you want to work with anyway.”

He also talked about something that creators rarely discuss publicly—the tension with certain marketing directors. “Some smaller companies hire marketing directors who went to university, got their marketing degree, and they’re very proud of that. They look down on people like me—a construction worker who one day tossed his apprentice a phone and started this whole thing. But now they need me to push their product. They’ll give you attitude, try to micromanage your edit, or ‘fix’ your video. Yet when you look at their socials? Nothing going on. They might know a lot academically, but they don’t know what I do.”

He wasn’t bitter about it—just realistic. “You have to ignore the egos. Keep moving. Don’t let someone else’s pride or credentials make you doubt your worth.”

Then he said something I think every creator should hear: “You can’t take yourself too seriously, but you’ve got to know what you’re worth. And you can’t work backwards. You can’t work for free. You can’t work just for money. And you can’t let your ego drive the bus.”

He talked about creators who will do massive work for almost nothing, just so they can say they have a “paid partnership.” “That’s an ego thing. It’s not business. For me, I’ve always stayed away from paid partnerships. I don’t want my whole page to turn into a commercial. I don’t think that helps build a brand. In fact, I think it hurts it. You’ve got to be selective. You’ve got to pick partners who understand value and respect your work.”

In the end, Gord’s answer wasn’t a formula—it was a mindset. Know your worth. Know the market. Don’t let old-school thinking or someone else’s ego convince you that you deserve less. And price based on value, not fear.

Q: In YouTuber vs. Real Carpenter, how much is real and how much is staged? Are there rules or time limits we don’t see?

When I asked Gordon this, he didn’t even let me finish the question before he jumped in.

He said, “There’s nothing staged. Literally nothing. When that timer says ‘go,’ and when that timer says ‘stop,’ that block of time is sacred. There are no shenanigans, no retakes, no recreating anything for camera. That time is competition. We take that part extremely seriously. Everything else you see—the interviews, the talking heads, the commentary—those are done before or after, not during. Sometimes on the longer builds we’ll call a break halfway through so everyone can breathe, grab water, maybe film a couple quick interviews, have some food, but the timer stops. I usually don’t leave those breaks in the final edit because they just don’t make sense in the flow of the story, but they’re real. The competition itself though? Completely legitimate. The timer is real. The rules are real.”

He added, “Even the judge has no idea what’s happening. They’re completely blind. Except for that one time where we tried having the judge watch the whole thing—that was an experiment, and we won’t be doing that again. Fun to try, but yeah, not happening again. It’ll always be blind from now on.”

When I asked him about materials, he explained that the goal is always fairness. “The usual structure is two identical piles of materials. You pick what you want to build within the parameters, and both piles have more than enough to do any style you can think of for that type of challenge. Now, we’ve had a couple of the bigger episodes where, because of budget, competitors could request special items. I can’t buy two of everything—we don’t have a million dollars to make an episode—so sometimes someone would ask for something specific. And then the other guy would complain that he didn’t get the same special thing. It turned into chaos. So no more special things. Equal piles only. It keeps it simple and fair. And honestly, when people lose, they get sore. They’ll point out things we didn’t even think about. That actually helps us keep improving the rules so they’re impenetrable. Equal time, equal materials, equal parameters. That’s the formula.”

So I asked him what he says to the people online who comment that it’s rigged.

He said, “They’re just saying that. People say things. Sometimes we edit episodes to look closer than they were because that’s how storytelling works. So the audience thinks it was neck-and-neck when really one person absolutely dominated. But if we showed it exactly as it happened, it might not be as fun to watch. Then people get mad because in their head, the guy who lost ‘almost won.’ But they weren’t there. And some people think I care whether I win or lose. I don’t. I’ve lost before. I want this thing to be bigger than me. This competition is for the entire carpentry community. Carpenters deserve representation, respect, a platform. People watch reality shows where someone cooks a steak. I promise you building a house is harder than cooking a steak—I know, because I cook steaks after building houses. No disrespect to chefs, but what we do deserves a spotlight too.”

I asked him how competitors and judges are chosen. Competitors apply through the JotForm link that’s in every episode description. “Skill level matters,” he told me, “but attitude and availability matter way more. We’re working around the camera crew’s schedule, my schedule, the judge’s schedule, sponsors, materials… so many moving parts. Sometimes we make a shortlist. If you’re worried because you don’t have a million photos of perfect work, don’t be. We’re looking at how you represent yourself and whether you can actually show up.”

For the judges, he keeps it simple. “The judge has to match the challenge. I’m not bringing in someone who tiles bathrooms to judge a staircase. That makes no sense, and it’s not fair to the tradespeople watching at home. And to the people saying I know the judges—yeah, I do, because our industry is small. But they don’t see anything beforehand. They show up on judgment day, they’re handed a scorecard, and that’s it. They have no context. They’re blind for a reason. And honestly? I think some of them want me to lose. Some come in thinking they’re going to pick the other guy just to see me go down. But sometimes they choose the wrong one assuming it’s mine, or they assume it’s the competitor’s when it’s really mine. There’s no way for them to guess. I build something different every single episode, and we flip a coin for which side I’m on, so the judges can’t identify anything.”

Before he wrapped up, he said “My goal has always been to keep this as official and fair as possible. This is one of those things I always wished someone else had done years ago, but now that we’re actually doing it, I understand why nobody did. It is hard. I don’t think TV could do this. I don’t think Netflix could do this. The challenges are too big, the materials are too big, the equipment, the space, the logistics, and honestly the price tag is enormous. That’s why this has to be independent and on YouTube. But I love doing it, and as difficult as it is, I’m not stopping.”

Why We Choose the Brands We Work With (And Why We Turn Others Down)

People see us working with big brands now and think it’s always been like this. Like companies just magically showed up one day wanting to partner with us. But anyone who’s been following us for a while knows that’s not the truth.
We built everything from scratch. We showed up everywhere before anyone even knew our names. We paid out of pocket for every trade show, every flight, every hotel, every meeting — all because we believed in what we were building long before the industry believed in us.
So when people ask, “How do you decide which brands you work with?” The answer comes from years of showing up, learning, getting burned, getting back up, and figuring out what actually matters.
Here’s how we choose — and why we turn others down.

We Only Work With Brands We Actually Use
This one is simple: if it’s not something we genuinely use on the job or in the shop, we’re not putting our name on it.
We’ve spent years in the trades. We know what works and what doesn’t. We know which tools hold up on a real jobsite and which ones barely survive unboxing. So if a brand reaches out and the product isn’t something we’d use in our actual work, it’s a no — even if they’re waving money around.
Our audience isn’t stupid. They can tell the difference between authentic and “I posted this because they paid me.”
We don’t play that game.
We Choose Brands Who Respect the Work Behind the Work
People think content is easy until they’re the ones doing it.
A 30-second video might take:
• an entire day of filming
• lighting
• audio
• editing
• reshoots
• approvals
• travel
• and then the posting schedule on top of it
Brands who understand that this is a production, not a hobby — those are the brands we work with.
If someone wants champagne content on a fast-food budget, we politely decline.
We’re Not the Shopping Network — We’re More Like National Geographic
This is a big one.
Some brands only care about ROI. They want instant sales, instant “use my link,” instant numbers to justify the partnership. And that’s fine — for creators who operate that way.
But that’s not us.
We’ve never wanted to be the “link in bio” people. We don’t run our platforms like a shopping channel.
Our storytelling, our videos, our series… they’re more like National Geographic: You watch, you learn, you get pulled into the world — and along the way, you see the tools and gear we use naturally.
We’re not out here trying to sell products just to make money. We want to showcase brands we believe in — not shove them in people’s faces.
And that’s why you don’t only see the products we use labeled as “paid partnership.” You see them:
• on real jobsites
• in random shop days
• in competitions
• in behind-the-scenes vlogs
• in travel builds
• in the messy, unfiltered real stuff
Because we use them whether the camera is on or not.
That authenticity is why our audience trusts us — and why the right brands want long-term relationships, not just one-off ads.
Loyalty Matters — A Lot
We treat brands the same way we treat people: if you show loyalty, we show loyalty.
We’ve had companies who supported us before anyone else cared. Companies who took meetings when we were nobodies. Companies who respected our time, our craft, and our growth.
Those are the brands we stick with.
And yeah — we’ve had the opposite too. The ones who wanted everything for nothing. The ones who talked down to us. The ones who treated tradespeople like we’re disposable.
Those partnerships don’t last more than one email.
We Run a Media Company — Not a Side Hustle
This is something a lot of brands don’t understand at first.
We’re not two people with phones making videos in between jobs.
We run Bully Media Studios. We run Wood Bully. We handle logistics, travel, production schedules, deliverables, crews, equipment, strategy — all of it.
We don’t guess. We don’t wing it. We’re professionals, and we expect the brands we work with to treat us like partners, not “influencers they can squeeze.”
If a brand can’t respect that, they’re not for us.
Sometimes “No” Is the Best Thing for Our Business
And honestly? It took time to learn that.
Early on, every offer felt exciting. But the more we grew, the more we realized that every partnership affects:
• our reputation
• our credibility
• our audience’s trust
• our relationship with other brands
• our long-term opportunities
A bad partnership can do more damage than no partnership at all.
So now, if it doesn’t align — we say no.
Whether it’s the wrong product, the wrong energy, the wrong expectations, or the wrong intentions… No is a complete sentence.

The Real Reason We Choose the Brands We Choose
Because we built this entire thing with our own money, our own time, our own hands, our own risks.
Because no one gave us shortcuts.
Because we fought for every opportunity.
We choose brands who believe in the work we do — not just what we can sell.
We choose brands who value the relationship as much as the content.
We choose brands who support authenticity, creative freedom, and long-term growth.
And because of that, we have the confidence — and the experience — to turn down the ones who don’t.

Travelling + Being a parent

People romanticize travel like it’s some dreamy montage of airports, hotels, new cities, and “living the life.” But when you have kids—five kids, to be exact—travel stops being glamorous real quick. For us, travel started back in 2020 when my youngest was almost three, and honestly? It hasn’t really stopped since. Most families take a vacation once or twice a year; we somehow built a life where suitcases never get fully unpacked, passports live permanently in our backpacks, and every month we are figuring out what’s next. And sure, there are cool moments. There are memories we’d never have if our life looked “normal.” But nobody warns you about the part where traveling without your kids creates a version of parenting that looks nothing like what people imagine.

People hear “touring all summer” or “trade show season” and picture adventure, momentum, and opportunity. And yes—it’s absolutely all of those things. But it’s also the reality of hugging your kids goodbye for weeks or months at a time, missing birthdays and school events, and knowing that life at home keeps moving whether you’re there to see it or not. Even though our tours, trade shows, and appearances are all within North America, the distance still feels huge. You’re working, creating, and building something meaningful, but a part of your mind is always anchored at home. You think about the routines you usually run, the conversations you’re missing, and all the little things only a parent really notices.

And when you are home? It’s not the “rest and reset” people assume it must be. It’s catching up on everything that piled up while you were away. Laundry, meals, school updates, appointments, schedules, and the hundreds of small decisions that keep a household running. The stress doesn’t disappear just because you’ve crossed a border back into your own driveway—it just shifts from work mode to home mode. Running a household from the road becomes a full-time side job: coordinating schedules through spotty service, FaceTiming during the only hour that overlaps, helping with homework between commitments, and managing life from hotel rooms and highways. It’s a juggling act that no one trains you for.

With five kids, there’s always someone who needs something—support, structure, attention, reassurance—and when you’re away, you feel every single missed moment a little differently. Not in a dramatic or guilt-heavy way, just in an honest, “this is the reality of our lifestyle” way. You parent from a distance, you stay involved however you can, and you remind yourself constantly that you’re doing this for your family, even if it means being physically away from them more than you’d like. It’s a strange balance: loving the work and the opportunities, while knowing there’s always a version of home you’re temporarily stepping out of.

Traveling without your kids isn’t glamorous, and it isn’t terrible—it’s just real. It’s beautiful, messy, fulfilling, overwhelming, and meaningful all at once. It’s the constant back-and-forth between showing your kids what hard work looks like and wishing you could bottle every moment you miss. People see the photos, the projects, the places, the highlight reel. But the truth is simpler: traveling without your kids comes with its own weight, its own sacrifices, and its own rewards. At the end of the day, no trip, no tour, no project compares to walking back through your front door and hearing five voices yelling for you all at once.

And honestly, even with the challenges, I know we’re giving our kids a life I never imagined for myself. They’re growing up with experiences, opportunities, and perspectives I didn’t have—and that makes all of this worth it. We’re lucky, and I don’t take that for granted for a second.

-Samantha

EPISODE PREP: AKA “THE PART NO ONE SEES”

If you have a question, drop it in the comments. I’m planning to post here at least once a day going forward, because apparently I’ve decided sleep is optional.

Right now, we’re gearing up for another YouTuber vs. Real Carpenter episode… except this time, we’ve changed the rules.

It’s officially YouTuber vs. Real Roofer, and we somehow convinced Mark from Them Roof Boys to come hang out with us. Send strength.

People always see the final video and think,

“Oh cool, they filmed a build.”

But after 12 episodes, I can tell you:

We basically run a mini Olympics every time we shoot one of these.

Let me walk you through the chaos.

Step 1: Coming up with the idea (AKA: chaos brainstorming)

Every episode starts with a conversation that sounds something like:

“What if we made them build a roof?”
“What if the roof was sloped?”
“What if it was metal?”
“What if we made them do it in 5 hours?”
“Is that dangerous?”
“Probably.”

And then I turn it into an actual event that won’t get anyone injured or arrested.

Step 2: Materials… all of the materials

Roofs require:

metal
flat stock
fascia
soffit
trough
fasteners
specialized tools
and caffeine strong enough to restart a car battery

Cue me emailing, calling, texting, coordinating, and occasionally begging suppliers to make sure everything arrives on time.

Step 3: The Build Design

This part happens in Gordon’s brain.

He’ll walk into the shop, stare at the wall for two minutes, mutter “5/12 pitch,” and suddenly we have a full blueprint for a 10’ x 10’ roof section with matching A-frames.

He swears it’s a talent.

I think it’s mild possession.

Step 4: Competitors

Then there’s the whole competitor situation:

finding them
confirming they can cross the border
making sure they want to compete
making sure they won’t faint from nerves
getting their sizes for safety gear
sending them 300 details about the day
booking hotels/ flights
answering questions like “Can I bring my dog?” (yes, that really happened)

This part is… a journey.

Step 5: The Crew

Camera crew. Lighting. Audio. Backups. Thumbnails. Interviews.

Trying to keep Chuck from wandering out of frame.

Trying to keep Gordon in frame.

Trying to make sure Cameron doesn’t edit himself into a coma.

All powered by coffee.

Step 6: The Schedule

Every episode has a minute-by-minute breakdown:

crew call
coffee
thumbnails
interviews
Shannon trying to keep everyone on a schedule
build windows
coffee
mid-build moments
Nobody listening to Shannon’s schedule
more coffee
outro
teardown
even more coffee because by then we’re all just running on fumes and hope

After 12 episodes, you’d think we’d relax.

No. The schedule owns us.

Step 7: The Shop Setup

We move EVERYTHING:

tools
materials
camera paths
safety zones
lighting
and sometimes Chuck, if he stands still too long and gets mistaken for equipment

By the time we’re done, it looks like we’re hosting a tradeshow inside a tornado.

Step 8: The Nervous Energy

The morning of every shoot feels like:

first day of school
a boxing match
a family reunion where you like half the people
a field trip with power tools

Everyone’s excited.

Everyone’s stressed.

Someone’s always missing a glove.

And finally… we hit record.

This is the part you see — the builds, the commentary, the chaos, the “did he really just do that” moments, and everything in between.

But behind that one YouTube episode?

Is weeks of planning, prepping, building, organizing, scheduling, emailing, buying, rearranging, and pure “let’s hope this works” energy.

And I love it.

Every stressful, hilarious second of it.

If you want a behind-the-scenes post about:

the competitor selection process
the sponsorship side
how we write the rules
or the REAL reason these builds take years off my life

Just comment below.

See you tomorrow.

— Samantha

THE TRUTH ABOUT WORKING WITH GORDON

(AKA: I Love Him… But Also, Please Send Help)

People always ask me,

“What’s it like working with Gordon every day?”

And I never know where to start, because the experience lands somewhere between:

• business partner

• husband

• tornado

• golden retriever with tool belts

• genius

• chaos generator

• and entertainment channel all in one human

So here it is.

The truth.

What it’s really like working with Gordon.

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1. He has two modes: Silent Carpenter & Stand-Up Comedian

There is no in-between.

One minute he’s laser-focused, cutting a perfect angle in complete silence.

The next minute?

He’s talking to the camera like he’s on his own comedy special, making jokes I’d never think of in a thousand years.

You never know which version you’re getting — it’s honestly half the fun.

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2. He can build anything… but he cannot find anything

Gordon can build a deck from scratch with six boards and a dream.

But ask him where the tape measure is?

Suddenly it’s:

• “Where did YOU put it?”

• “It was JUST here.”

• “Someone moved it.”

• “It’s gone forever.”

Meanwhile, it’s behind him.

Always behind him.

Every. Single. Time.

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3. He forgets he’s mic’d

This happens DAILY on the road.

He’ll start talking about the most random out of the box stuff, and then our team immediately hears it through the headphones like:

“…the mic is still on.”

He does not learn.

He will never learn.

We’ve accepted it .. but thank god he hasn’t used the bathroom mic’d up yet ( although its probably coming )

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4. He is allergic to sitting still

If Gordon has to sit through a meeting longer than 8 minutes, his knee starts bouncing like he’s trying to launch into orbit.

He’s built for movement.

For doing.

For being hands-on.

So when he does sit still?

It’s suspicious.

Like “What are you planning?” suspicious.

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5. He has a memory like a steel trap for builds… and absolute Swiss cheese for everything else

Ask him the pitch of a roof from two years ago?

He remembers.

Ask him what he had for lunch?

He does not.

Ask him the measurements of a job from 2022?

He’ll tell you to the millimetre.

Ask him to remember what time our flight is?

Good luck.

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6. He gets recognized… everywhere

Grocery store?

Drive-thru?

Airport security?

Random parking lot in another country?

Someone always goes,

“Hey… Pay attention Brian!!”

And Gordon instantly goes from human being to celebrity:

“Oh hey man, how’s it going?”

“Let’s get a picture.”

“What are you building right now?”

He loves people, and people love him — which is why this whole thing works.

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7. He works harder than anyone I’ve ever met

This part is serious.

Behind the jokes and the chaos and the cameras, Gordon is:

• up all night editing

• the last one to stop – he answers messages LATE into the evening

• professional

• respectful

• loyal

• committed

• and genuinely invested in every build, every episode, every partnership

He doesn’t half-do anything.

If he’s in, he’s all in.

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8. He is NOT a planner — that’s my job

If it were up to Gordon, he would:

• film whenever

• travel whenever

• just “figure it out” when we get there

Meanwhile I’m behind him with:

• schedules

• shot lists

• itineraries

• approvals

• logistics

• backup plans

• backup backup plans

Our dynamic works because we’re opposites in the best way.

He builds.

He performs.

He shows up.

He brings the energy.

I build everything around that so it actually runs.

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9. He makes everyone feel seen

Whether it’s a massive sponsor or a brand-new builder with a small following, Gordon treats everyone like they matter.

He listens.

He asks questions and answers questions

He lifts people up.

He tells them they’re good at what they do.

That’s rare.

And it’s one of the reasons this brand exploded the way it did.

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10. He is the reason this whole crazy thing works

Working with Gordon is:

• nonstop

• unpredictable

• hilarious

• exhausting

• inspiring

• and never boring

He’s the heart of Wood Bully.

The face of our content.

The reason people watch.

And the glue that somehow keeps this wild, growing, ever-evolving business grounded.

Without him, none of this exists.

Without me, he’d miss every flight and show up to the wrong job site.

So it balances out.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

— Samantha

BEHIND THE SCENES: WHAT I DO, WHAT I DON’T DO, AND HOW I BUILT THIS WITH GORDON

People always ask,

“How do you and Gordon work together and live together without killing each other?”

Fair question.

Because the truth is: we’re together 100% of the time.

We run a company together.

We travel together.

We film together.

We plan together.

We parent together.

We build everything in our life… together.

But it didn’t start off smooth.

And my role today is nothing like what it was in the beginning.

So here’s the truth — the full story.

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In the beginning, I wasn’t in the driver’s seat. I was running beside the car.

When this whole “let’s make videos” thing started, I wasn’t running the business.

I was:

• helping on the side

• suggesting ideas

• filling in gaps

• fixing things quietly

• catching problems before they became problems

• trying to keep everything from catching fire

It felt like Gordon was driving the car at full speed, pedal down, music blasting…

And I was literally running beside it, doing everything I could to keep up.

Not because he didn’t value me —

but because he didn’t want to give up control.

This was his thing.

His identity.

His comfort zone.

His creative world.

And I understood it… but that didn’t make it easier.

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Gordon didn’t want to give up control — and I didn’t want to fight him.

If you know Gordon, you know this:

He likes things done a certain way.

He’s used to handling everything himself.

He’s independent.

He’s stubborn.

He’s protective of his work.

And at first, that meant he didn’t want help.

Not real help.

He didn’t want to hand things off.

He didn’t want someone organizing him.

He didn’t want someone “telling him what to do.”

Even if that someone was me.

So we struggled.

The business was growing faster than either of us expected, but he kept trying to hold all the reins.

And I kept trying to support him without stepping on his toes.

It was like trying to run a media company with one hand tied behind my back.

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And then one day… something shifted.

I don’t know the exact moment, but somewhere along the way, he realized:

• he couldn’t manage everything alone

• he needed structure

• he needed someone thinking 10 steps ahead

• he needed clarity, organization, and planning

• he needed a business partner

• not a helper

• not an assistant

• not someone “running beside the car”

He needed me.

And I stepped in.

Not as a backup.

Not as a silent partner.

Not as a shadow.

But as a business owner.

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Today, we switch seats. Driver’s seat. Passenger seat. Whatever the moment needs.

Sometimes I drive:

• planning

• scheduling

• contracts

• strategy

• business deals

• negotiations

• logistics

• decisions

• systems

• crisis control

• making sure everything actually gets done

Sometimes he drives:

• creative direction / brand direction

• building ideas

• on-camera energy

• storytelling

• production flow

• the heart and personality of the brand

And sometimes we switch seats mid-drive, depending on the day.

That’s what makes us work:

We don’t fight for one seat.

We trade them.

We share them.

We understand that the business needs both of us doing what we’re good at.

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What I do now

Here’s the real list:

• help run Bully Media

• manage sponsorship communications

• handle contracts

• plan filming

• coordinate travel

• manage deliverables

• handle all communication

• build the systems

• keep everyone on track

• make decisions no one wants to make

• put out fires

• stand beside Gordon while he shines

• help him shine brighter

• AND TRY to build my own presence through it all

Basically, I help run the company while Gordon mostly runs the camera and the tools.

And we need both to make this work.

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What I don’t do

I don’t:

• pick up a camera anymore (unless I have to)

• edit

• pretend I know the right saw blade

• climb ladders

• cut metal

• dig holes

• handle manual labour

• try to act like Gordon

• try to compete for his spotlight

He’s the builder.

He’s the on-camera personality.

He’s the spark.

And I don’t have to be him.

I’m me.

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How we stay together when we’re together all the time

We’re opposites that fit:

• He’s spontaneous. I’m structured.

• He’s creative chaos. I’m organized chaos.

• He jumps. I calculate.

• He makes people laugh. I worry about the business.

• He hates being told what to do. I hate when things lack direction.

• He builds. I build the plan.

And most importantly?

We respect what the other brings.

We don’t compete.

We don’t try to outshine each other.

We don’t fight for space.

We made space for each other — and that’s why it works.

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I helped build a social media company — not by being loud, but by being the foundation.

People see Gordon and assume the whole thing is him.

And he IS the face.

He IS the brand.

He IS the reason people show up.

But behind every video, every partnership, every trip, every event, every episode, every opportunity…

There’s me:

planning, organizing, pushing, supporting, structuring, guiding, deciding, building the parts no one sees.

We built this together.

Each in our own lane.

Side by side.

And now?

I’m not running beside the car anymore.

I’m in the front seat —

and he trusts me enough to let me drive when I need to.

— Samantha