I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Monday, May 16, 2011

Don't Get Your Advertising At This Place.

Complaints? OK, let me see. Well, first off, I take ultimate responsibility for this entire debacle. I should have known that leaving my marketing and advertising to a guy with a piercing through his forehead, and a tattoo of Darth Vader dueling a Care Bear on his face, was a mistake. But the price was right and I thought that at least you would be creative, and could tap into that cool downtown vibe. That being said; are you brain damaged?! The marketing ideas you brought to me are possibly the worst ideas that have ever been put to paper. Your company should be called Moronic Heart, not Neuronic Heart, (what the hell does that even mean?!) I just was looking for some ideas to get the word out about my new Tapa's Bar to the local populace and you came up with the following gems.

My kindergartner could have come up with this, but at least not it's not offensive. Sadly the best of the lot.

Are you comparing my business to a prostitute from Good Morning Vietnam?
I know this might be a difficult distinction for you but restaurant not whorehouse.

Ah, keeping with the card suit theme, clever. EXCEPT it's not! Not only do we not screw our customers,
we also don't hit them. Preemptively; spading my customers isn't funny either.

No, no, no. We never kill people. Never. Ever. Ever.

I'm no marketing genius, but I am pretty sure that listing rat poison in the tagline of your restaurant is a bad strategy. Even if we don't have rat poison in our food. And never have.

I have a family owned business. My wife and daughters work here. We are not Hooter's,
I am not going to sexually exploit our waitresses, (or our waiters, for that matter.)
In closing, give me my money back, you freaking MORON. On a related note; If I ever see you in my restaurant, I will break one of my rules and barely kill you... possibly, with a club. And I will heart it.