The email subject line read:
> OFFER – NATIONAL PLATFORM: KEEP AUSTIN AWKWARD (Acquisition Interest)
Danny opened it six times before he actually read it.
The sender was a senior producer at Streamtide, one of those "edgy but safe" media giants that turned niche creators into international brands. The email was short but clear.
> We love what you're building. We believe it could be huge.
Let's talk about a national version of your show—bigger reach, full team, real budget.
Think: Awkward in America.
Are you available to hop on a call tomorrow?
Danny read it. Reread it.
Then immediately screamed into a pillow.
The call the next day was surreal.
Two producers in slick home offices, framed Emmys behind them like props. Sandy on the call too, trying to play it cool but clearly buzzing.
Danny sat in his garage with a mismatched sock and a broken chair squeaking under him.
The pitch was slick:
"You'd go city to city. Every episode a new weird corner of America."
"You're the heart, the hook, the 'voice of the lovable misfit.'"
"We'll pair you with a co-host. Someone established. To balance it out."
Danny raised an eyebrow. "Like... a famous person?"
"Not A-list," said the woman with the Emmy. "But recognizable. We're thinking someone like a former Bachelorette contestant, or that guy from the hot dog commercials."
Danny blinked. "I see."
"And of course," the other producer added, "we'll need to clean a few things up. Your style's great—but we'll tighten the scripting, standardize the visuals, maybe lose some of the raw edits."
"People like the raw edits," Danny said.
"Sure," they said. "But networks like polish."
After the call, Sandy asked, "How are you feeling?"
Danny stared out the window at Mrs. Beverly's lawn flamingo slowly falling over.
"Like someone just offered to buy my soul," he said, "but with perks."
Sandy smiled. "Welcome to the majors."
That night, Danny sat with Mrs. Beverly at her kitchen table, helping her sort mail and heat up soup.
She looked at him over her glasses.
"You're quiet."
"Got an offer."
"Pregnant?"
"TV deal."
She nodded. "Same thing, really."
He told her everything.
She listened. Stirred soup. Didn't say much.
When he finished, she asked one question.
"Would they still let you be you?"
Danny didn't answer.
She nodded. "That's your answer."
Later, he called Devin.
"You think I'm stupid if I say no?"
"No," Devin said. "I think you're stupid if you say yes without knowing why."
Danny laughed. "Why are all my friends suddenly Buddha?"
Devin replied, "We're broke. Enlightenment is cheaper than therapy."
At 3:12 a.m., Danny opened his laptop and typed a list.
Reasons to Say Yes:
– Money
– Bigger audience
– Real production
– Validation
Reasons to Say No:
– Creative control
– Authenticity
– No hot dog guy
– It's mine
He stared at the list.
Then added, under Say No:
> – James, seventh grader
– Mrs. Beverly's cat videos
– Because I finally like myself
He closed the laptop.
Didn't cry.
But smiled.
The next day, he called Sandy.
"I want to build this show. Grow it. Reach people. But I'm not handing it over to people who think awkward is a quirk instead of a truth."
Sandy exhaled. "You know they'll walk."
"I hope they run."
"You sure?"
Danny looked around his garage—the chaos, the crumpled Post-its, the drawing James made still pinned on the wall.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm sure."
The producers did walk.
So did the offer.
But something else showed up.
A smaller company. Weirder. Independent. Run by people who actually watched his show.
They said, "We don't want to change you. We want to help you go deeper."
They offered less money.
And more heart.
Danny said yes.