Two pals, a hot-glue gun and a 10% iou turned easter boredom into an $8 million toy empire

Scott Houdashell still keeps the drill in the same Oklahoma garage where, eight Easters ago, he turned a slow-motion egg-dyeing session into a viral ATM. The device—basically a plastic cup on a cordless spindle—lets kids doodle on a spinning hard-boiled egg instead of watching it soak. It sounds like a joke until you hear the numbers: 10,000 units gone in 23 days, Lori Greiner sealed a Shark Tank handshake, and Hey Buddy Hey Pal now books north of $8 million a year.

A 150k loan from the college fund

Curtis McGill, Houdashell’s co-founder and lifelong jam-session buddy, fronted the seed money by draining his kids’ 529 plans. The terms were simple: $150,000 at 10% interest, payable whenever the eggs started rolling. McGill, who wholesales janitorial supplies, figured worst-case scenario he’d get free refills on paper towels for life. Houdashell, running a small insurance agency at the time, built the prototype between client calls, splattering yolk across actuarial tables.

They shipped the first container to the same insurance office—boxes stacked like Tetris from reception to the restroom. A local toy-store owner filmed a 45-second Facebook clip; within 48 hours it had 3.4 million loops and a wait-list that crashed Shopify’s pre-order plug-in. The pair rented U-Hauls, stuffed them with Eggmantic decorators, and hand-delivered to every indie retailer that answered the phone. Inventory evaporated before Palm Sunday.

Sharks, planes and an unchanged greeting

Television came next. Greiner offered $350,000 for 20% on the spot, contingent on a patent search that confirmed the obvious: nobody had ever bothered to trademark a spinning egg mount. The episode aired in spring 2018; revenue tripled overnight. Houdashell paid McGill back in seven months, then texted: “Can’t wait until you’re a millionaire, buddy.” Translation: if the equity ever converts, both men cross the eight-figure line together.

Today Houdashell flies his own Cirrus to toy fairs; McGill’s three kids attend private universities out of state. They still open calls with the same salutation they used in the band days—“Hey buddy, hey pal”—and insist the company name is less branding than biography. If the toy market tanks tomorrow, the insurance agent reckons he can always go door-to-door again, drill in one hand, egg in the other, friendship intact and compounding at exactly 10%.