Get Out. More.

We actually received a shout-out about two weeks ago in the Hartford Advocate for Scary Bunny #403’s rant on the I-84 billboard slogan– Come to Hartford, I Swear It’s Fun. The Advocate never posted the story online, so we forgot all about patting ourselves on the back here. It happened, really–it did.

And today, the Hartford Courant gives us an update on the controversies surrounding the billboard from Michael Kintner, the Executive Director of the Hartford Image Project, who originally put up the slogan to help fight the city’s negative image problem.

“Mr. Kintner says the sign will come down in a week or two - to be replaced by one touting celebrity entertainers coming to Hartford and saying, “Get Out More.”

So… the new strategy to help change the bad attitudes about Hartford is to advise people to leave town. Well, actually–that works.

While it’s not entirely bad advice, it’s obvious they’re really implying “get-out-on-the-town-more.” But after the fuss about the first slogan–wouldn’t you think they’d be more careful in choosing a new one?

Whatever, it’s all pretty funny how the wheels do spin around (and around and around) in this town.

Send your slogan ideas and we’ll do a few mock billboards with the best ideas (or send us your mocked-up billboards, that works too.)

Winners receive original spray paintings by Scary Bunny #77, who gets artistic at the end of the night after he gets his freak on.

This Pot Rules

From Scary Bunny #4:

Step 1: Pick your favorite street in Downtown Hartford
Step 2: Pick your favorite spot on that street
Step 3: Pick your favorite kind of pot

I just found out that for all of $125 you can sponsor one of those terra cotta flower planters that are all over downtown in the summer. And you get to pick where it goes. AND you can pretty much write what ever you want on them.

I love that you could look down a line of these things on Trumbull Street and potentially see “Northland Investment Group” and “College Street, LLC” next to “Joey Lawrence was here…Whoa,” or “This pot rules.”

I’m thinking of chipping in with a few friends and getting a string of them, like a scavenger hunt where you have to follow the planters from one location to the next. We can use them to direct tourists to all the un-blowy bars downtown.

And, of course, other than the simple joy of seeing Scary Bunny planters all over Hartford, there is the added bonus of the whole thing being civically responsible. But that’s not why I’m getting one. I’m getting one so I can ensure that there’s a pot downtown that says “Seymour Butts.”

We’ll launch our own marketing campaign for the planters: “Sponsor a flower planter. You don’t want the city to look like shit do you?” or “I hardly ever feel like shooting somebody when I’m surrounded by flowers…”

Get pot here courtesy of Hartford Blooms

Run it.

Grand Theft Auto: Thugg City

Well, it’s been one of those dreary weeks that makes us Scary Bunnies just want to cry. Or write miserable posts that would only make us feel worse. Luckily, there are other Bunnies out there to to hand us some tissues via email when we need them most.

Inspired by Scary Bunny #403’s Come to Hartford, I Swear It’s Fun, we received the following from Scary Bunny #44–a beautiful rendition of Hartford at Trumbull Street and Bushnell Park seen through the pixelated lens of Grand Theft Auto. We love it and want more.

Of course, if GTA isn’t your style–there’s always Sim City: West Hartford.

Come to Hartford, I Swear It’s Fun

From a billboard on I-84 in Hartford:

“Come to Hartford, I swear it’s fun.”

This is our sales pitch?

Scary Bunny #403 has an innovative concept: let’s start selling Hartford on its true strengths. Let’s exploit the reputation we’ve spent decades perfecting. Forget the Rising Star. 403’s got a new slogan: THUGG CITY, MOTHERFUCKERS–Providence is for Pussies.

That’s right. Why swear it’s fun, when all we want is to just fucking swear? We can make people think Hartford is the most horrifying city on the face of the earth, a place that makes the shantytowns of Rio de Janeiro look like Upper Montclair. Then, no one will fault us for where we fall short.

Imagine our newfound confidence. Singles scene? Who needs it? Our parks are brimming with toothless whores that cost less than a couple of martinis. A walkable downtown? Why walk? In Thugg City, we speed through town in black Expeditions and tricked out Hondas, slowing only to fire at assorted motherfuckers and throw bags of trash from the window. Bistros? Bah. When we’re hungry, we snatch up rats from our kitchen floors and spread their livers on lightly toasted Wonderbread.

Just think of the respect you’ll get the next time you’re at one of those fancy New York parties.

“So, then,” says the well-heeled hostess. “Where are you from? Boston? D.C.?”

“No, motherfucker,” you reply, spitting bile onto the polished parquet floor. “I’m from Thugg City. Bitch.”

“Sweet Jesus,” she whimpers, her lower lip aquiver. “Please don’t cut me.”

Now that’s worth a fucking billboard.