About Extra Income Results (EIR)

Genesis (with a lot of mistakes)

Extra Income Results was born in April, 2019. The information on the site is older than the domain. The data has gone through two domain name changes. Why? My initial domain name was easily understood by myself (www.imavetwa.com) but not very intuitive to a visitor.

A decision, to find a new more descriptive domain name, was made. Making the change, whilst imavetwa was still in its infancy, made sense. Therefore, the Search Engine Optimization (SEO) and Analytics data wouldn't be affected. 

The website was redesigned with a new theme and structure. SEO was completed on each page and every error resolved. The site looked fantastic (in my eyes), the domain name was a good choice - extraincomesolutions.com - and all the graphics designed and deployed. When setting up the new domain on my hosting server, a Domain Name Server (DNS) issue reared its ugly head.

The new domain would not transfer over to my hosting platform. A misspelled domain name error was found. A domain was registered missing a letter from the proposed name. To purchase the correct name was more money than I could afford. So, the third and last name was registered, extraincomeresults.com.

Its a good name for the site. My goal is helping visitors. Creating honest, genuine articles and reviews, resulting in them earning extra income online. Reviews on products, strategies and software to get results! No difference exists between myself and my audience. Neither am I smarter, more tech-savvy nor more wealthy than them.

No Difference - We are all the Same

An Irish singer & songwriter, Christy Moore, has a beautiful ballad I feel describes me. The first verse is displayed to the right. That describes many billions of people across our beautiful planet. You will find the song on one of many video hosting sites on the web.

I complete all the site work on a part-time basis. After getting home from work, I spend hours working on my different websites. My dream and goal is the same as most of you. To generate more revenue than I spend and live a more comfortable life. Some may ask, "how are you a guru and teaching this, if you aren't a millionaire?"

You are right, I am not a millionaire or a guru. A lot of the businesses and courses I paid for, I failed at. No deceit or scamming resides at this address. I am attempting exactly the same as you, trying to build a business, another stream of income. My intention is to succeed and to help others along the journey. There is a saying, "those that can do, do and those who can't, teach!". Well, I will not adhere to that saying, I will do and teach. No matter how long it takes, I will succeed.

Story Time

I am an immigrant. At 37 years old, I made one of my best life decisions (and one of my saddest). It was 2009, my savings were in the toilet, thanks to the economic meltdown. In March that year, I qualified to become a citizen of this great nation. My father soldiered in the Irish Army for 29 years. He saw combat in the Congo in 1961 and Cyprus in 1965. Both my grandfathers and great-grandfathers had fought in the old Irish Republican Army to gain independence from Great Britain.

Members of my family died so others could grow up free and as Irish citizens (or in my dad's case citizens of Zaire and Cyprus). To take up the honor of becoming a US citizen, I believed I should earn that right. So, in April 2009, I enlisted in the US Army Infantry. That August, I reported to my recruiter for travel to Fort Benning. Here I was to start 11B OSUT Basic training.

11-Bravo (Infantry) is the Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) or your job in the Army. OSUT stands for One Station Unit Training, you complete the 9 week Basic Training every soldier receives and your Advanced Individual Training in the same location. Upon arrival at the 30th AG Reception Battalion my military adventure began.

30th AG - Making Good First Impressions

30th AG is a holding unit, where want-to-be warriors process into the Army. Here you receive your gear, complete medical exams, get many shots and fill out endless amounts of paperwork. One morning, waiting for the barber, a young Sergeant saw me and nudged his buddies. He laughed and starred at his prey. Over he sauntered.

Now picture a 37 year old, short and squat (5'7" and I played over 20 years of rugby at hooker), bald and carrying more than a few extra pounds. I went to parade rest and he asked me in a Georgia drawl:

  • Sergeant - "How old are you?"
  • Me - "37 years old, Sergeant"
  • Sergeant - "What's your MOS?"
  • Me - "11 Bravo Sergeant"

An eruption of laughter occurred so hard, that he spat in my face. "You won't make it", he turned and walked back to his buddies, laughing and shaking his head. Raucous laughter ensued. Welcome to the Army.

In my group at Fort Benning there was a microcosm of races and nationalities. All waiting to ship to down range to our training units. In the Army, you want to be the gray man. The guy that does everything he is supposed to, to standard. Never get anyone smoked (physical training or PT for punishment), never cause the Drill Sergeants any problems.

Well my age, cubical shaped body and my accent made me into the florescent green man. I stood out like a sore thumb, my barber experience proved that. 

​Tiresome young man

At 30th AG, my next negative interaction involved another trainee. A young man (19 years old) from New York, who believed he was tough. Upon arrival at 30th, you are warned not to fight with anyone. You get caught fighting, you will be separated from the military.

Therefore, I mostly kept to myself. It really wasn't hard. I was old enough to have fathered 95% of the trainees and a few of the Drill Sergeants. Right time, right place and right uniform were three rules to follow. You followed them, you never ended up on anyone's bad side which resulted in getting smoked. 

Out of the blue, this NY kid walks up to me. He "tells" me he does not appreciate my presence at 30th AG. He made a few more remarks. I wanted to take him to task. However, knowing the rules, I ignored him and did nothing. The young pup assumed weakness. From then on, he constantly tried to humiliate me. Every opportunity, a remark was made, mostly telling me or the assembled group, that I wasn't going to make it. Too old, too fat, too whatever.

Hmmm! now I heard that before. Time came for the new recruits to go down range to our training companies on Sand Hill. I was assigned to Bravo Company 1-50th Infantry Battalion. My new, very best friend from New York was assigned to the same company but a different platoon.

​Basic Training - "Shark Attack"

"Get off my f@#king bus, you pieces of sh$t!" the Senior Drill Sergeant yelled. Located in the front of the first bus with all my gear piled on top of me, I got the spray. Scrambling as quickly as I could, making sure I had all my gear, I fell off the bus. Completely missed the steps, face plant. I had to get up pronto. The next guy was probably going to miss those steps as well. Wiping sweat from my eyes, I saw stretched in front of me, a narrow channel of Drill Sergeants (DS), other NCOs and Officers from the unit.

They yelled nice "obscenities of encouragement" at me and pushed me over to help me on my way. First off the bus is not ideal! I ran to a designated spot with an especially irate DS. Apparently, my mere presence and consumption of his oxygen greatly displeased him. With one of my duffel bags, weighing about 30lbs, extended over my head I was to run on the spot until I died (that might not have taken long).

30 lbs is not particularly heavy, until you hold it over your head while nearly 200 guys pile off buses. Waiting for them to get off the bus was a period of endurance. Then wait for them to get to where I was and form a shape similar to a rectangle. The drills went to work, doing what they do best. It involved lots of swearing, lots of shouting and for us trainees, lots of sweating and pain.

​Embrace the Suck

The next 4 fours were a host of physical exercises. Muscles, you never realized existed, screamed out in agony. That agony probably wasn't hard for my muscles to achieve, cubic is not the Army's desired shape. We low-crawled (completely flat, push your head through the sand) for what seemed like miles. Usually, to retrieve duffel bags launched like Scud Missiles by the drills.

Some paid the ultimate price, failed to padlock their duffel bags. This guaranteed gear emptied onto the ground and "accidentally" kicked around in the sand. Thankfully, I missed that torture. Whilst watching guys trying to figure out whose gear is what, with it half buried in sand, is funny. My punishment for padlocking my duffels (doing the right thing), and thereby cheating the drills of their fun, was about to begin.

"Sugar-cookied", wet with sweat, rolling around and crawling in the sand. Get a nice even sand coat for the Senior Drill, as he told of our imminent death or departure from the military. Post some stomach emptying exercises, the DSs grew tired of the punishment. Eventually, they marched us to the platoon bay and we were our assigned rack (bunk bed).

​Tough Guy

What is the point to the story? About two weeks into basic training I saw the nice young New York kid sitting on the bench outside the Company Office. I knew what that meant, I wanted to hear him say it. To say that he quit. So, I asked what was he doing there, was he in trouble. 

"No" he replied sheepishly. He couldn't hack it, washed out and wanted to go home. This guy had a back tattoo of "Death before Dishonor" with Infantry Cross-Rifles, who harangued me telling me I'd fail to complete OSUT. "Oh" I grunted back and went on with my duties, a sense of satisfaction came over me.

​Why are you telling me this?

The reason for the story is prior to the military, I was bullied badly. Not just physical stuff, there was mental too. Being told by people (some I cared for, some I didn't) that I wouldn't make it at (insert any and everything you can imagine in here). Or I wasn't capable of doing this or that. As a young kid, I believed them and that ultimately led to failure. Next came depression, alcohol abuse and persistent thoughts of harming myself.

Even starting basic, I was told I would fail. The difference, the drills weren't there to make you fail. They were there to destroy that mindset and convert it to a "can-do" attitude. That young Sergeant and the New York kid helped galvanize my resolve to make it. Those Drill Sergeants, who I will never forget, taught me (in their own robust way) that you either choose to succeed or choose to fail. 

​A lost friend

A major traumatic event happened during basic and had me ready to quit. It may seem silly to some, but my 18 month old Irish Wolfhound disappeared. I left him with my friend and one day he was gone. Escaped from the garden or stolen, we will never know. He was with me since he was 4 months. We had only been apart for 5 days between then and when I left for training. 

At mail call one evening, my name was called. A letter arrived, this was unusual as I have no family, so who was writing me. I opened the letter and read it. My heart broke as I read my Wolfie was gone. Honestly, I wanted to cry. It was all I could think about and we had live fire exercise the next day. Not good to have your mind elsewhere on the live fire range. It was this event that made me want to give up.

My Senior Drill saw there was something wrong and called me into the office. He had seen the picture of my dog and knew what he meant to me. I asked him to let me go home to find him. Promised, I would return to finish training later. Stupid and naive, I wasn't thinking straight. He obviously declined my request. What if I punched him, he could have me dismissed. He wasn't having any of that. 

​An Example

The Senior Drill explained the other Drill Sergeants constantly spoke about my tenacity, determination and drive (I had to PT through injury). They wanted me to succeed. The old angry Irish guy, who kept up with the young bucks and accomplished everything task they gave, was inspirational. They used me as an example for the young guys. He said I had to finish out training or I wouldn't forgive myself.

I did finish and it felt like a major achievement but I never saw my Wolfie again.

​Whatever happens ...

Having worked myself up, and sufficiently bored you to this point, "let me tell you about this great offer I have ...", only joking! In a long winded roundabout way, I am stating I will make this business a success. It may turn into a stellar million dollar business, success. If you come along with me, we will work to make yours succeed as well.

If it ends as an epic failure then success, you will learn from my mistakes and succeed by not making them. Help and support is what I offer. Working together to improve our lots in life. I chose not to fail at Basic Training. I served a combat tour in Iraq. Eventually left the military as a Staff Sergeant. They were the most enjoyable (saddest) and best years of my life. 

At times, I wish I had re-signed my contract and stayed to retirement. But, life wanted to go a different direction. I completed a science degree. Currently, I am working my graduate degree. I work two jobs and then I'm here, spewing out part of my life story onto this page. It is kind of cathartic to be honest.

​Tired of Being Broke

I am fed up looking at the top 5% getting richer and richer. When is enough, enough? For them. maybe there is never enough. For me, I want to be comfortable; for me that's not worrying can I pay all the bills this month. Or can I survive some unexpected calamity without it putting me in financial strive. 

I know what I want. Building this online business will help me get there. Come along from the adventure. Maybe I'll journal the milestones and major events in the life of the business. I may create a post, to keep me honest and on-track. So, you can see:

"I'm an ordinary man, nothing special nothing grand
I've had to work for everything I own
Never asked for a lot, I was happy with what I got
Enough to keep my family and my home"

Many Blessings to you all!

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