Are We There Yet?

Or:
Why, This Is Neenja, Bruni-San!
Or:
My Merchandising Skills Are Unstoppable!
Or:
OHMIGODNINJAGOTBRUNI'D!

Yes, in all instances was an exclamation mark required.

We're exiling in dayjobland, so this'll have to do ya for today. We were barely out of the shower when Gawker's RSS spat this out. The deathmatch between Ninja "I Flattened Tokyo And Now All Your Themes Belong To Us" New York and Frank "I Use The Power Of The New York Times And My Own Acerbic Wit To Damn With Faint Praise, Like An Evil Cloud Made Of Acid" Bruni. The scorecard is here, and we can't recommend the required registration enough.

Frank's thesis is that the tomfoolery of a ninja-themed restaurant is unseemly, and that the food is overpriced. However, we must note that he is not pricing in, as they say on Wall Street, the entertainment value of having out of work actors screech "Go-mayn!" at you the whole time. Frank doesn't like the food belching smoke at him either; proof, if anything else was required, that the dour old f***er never ever went to a Kiss koncert, either. If he was prepared to see it as Kiku, only with the furniture bought from a WIZARD, rather than West Elm, and bearing in mind that the wizard needs to get paid, he might have been less churlish.

The most interesting bit, and proof that Frank is such an adorable writer that he can animate even as he eviscerates, is here:

"You are greeted there by servers in black costumes who ceaselessly bow, regularly yelp and ever so occasionally tumble, and you are asked to choose between two routes to your table. The first is described by a ninja escort as simple and direct. The second is 'dark, dangerous and narrow,' involving a long tunnel and a drawbridge that descends only when your escort intones a special command, which he later implores you to keep secret."

You can probablly book us on a a table right now. But wait, incoming!

For a toddler with a trust fund and a yen for udon and maki, Ninja might be a valid alternative to the Jekyll and Hyde restaurant.

Frank, that hurt. Do we still want to go? HELL YEAH.

We trust that others will do a better job on Frank than someone obviously obsessed with black-clad kill machines.