Tuesday, August 12, 2008

An Open Letter to the Band Formerly Known As Ona





Dear Ona,

You are a bunch of ass clowns. Now, I feel I can say that as we have worked together fairly extensively - for the readers who don't know, Ona was featured in one of the first plays I produced . The band played four songs throughout the show, Dave helped write the script and direct, and starred opposite Shane and myself - not to mention Bear freestyled the overtures and interlude score on his guitar, and Shane took drums one night leaving Omar to cover base and vocals while I marveled dumbfoundedly and forgot all my lines.

So, now that you're caught up Dear Reader, I feel that I can adequately explain why the members of the now defunct Ona are a bunch of shit eating cock faced douchey floppadoogoolus turd sniffing ass clowns.

That might have been a bit harsh, but basically, I'm right. Back in February my production company was shooting our first short film "Video Girl" (no it's not a porno) and we needed a song for the bad ass, super awesome, zoom in on the super hero as she looks out over the city she must now defend ending.

After lengthy discussion with the director Jenn Dorn and pouring over everything from moody yet kick ass rock song to slightly more kick ass yet oddly less moody rock song, it hit me - Ona, Skin and Bones. Perfect. So I immediately call Dave to see if it's all right to use it.

Me: Davelles!
Dave: Roberticus!
Me: Can I use Skin and Bones in a movie?
Dave: Ona broke up.


I could not believe this. The last I heard Ona has just completed recording their new album. I decided to do the mature thing.

Me: WHAT THE FUCK DAVE?!?!? YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS! YOU ARE A BUNCH OF ASS CLOWNS!!


Now, if you are as astute as I believe you to be Dear Reader, you might be thinking, "Wasn't that in February? Isn't it now almost August? Why the hell did this douchecock take so long to write this brilliant appeal to Ona's finer sensibilities?"

Because I just heard the new album (playing now) and it is exceptional.*

So, now that I have called Ona a plethora of silly names, I am able to make another call, for the intention of this finely crafted entreaty is not to convince Ona to reunite. Rather, it is to show those hose peckers (one for the road!) that parting ways was an abundantly stupid idea. The call I am going to make is a simple one, and one that I hope, Dear Reader, you will answer.

If you want Ona to get back together, and tour the fuck out of their new kick ass album, stand up, be heard, show your support and sign this petition by leavin a motherfuckin a comment.

Sincerely,

The Guy Who Thinks Ona Are Douchecocks Until they Reunite

* - Track playing is an unmastered version of "With All Due Respect", recorded around Thanksgiving 2007, at Baker Studios, on Vancouver Island, B.C., and leaked to me by industry insider and nine-time US Olympic gold medalist swimmer Michael Phelps.

8 comments:

Max said...

While I won't use language as strong as yours, I agree with you, "Roberticus." Ona should live a long, prosperous life. That last album rocked!

From the Vault said...

Stay together for the kids!

Anonymous said...

I would like Ona to get back together, and tour the fuck out of their new kick ass album. So, I'm going to stand up, be heard, show my support and sign this petition by leaving a motherfuckin' comment.

Bo Hee Kim

Lara said...

Cheers.

That is absolutely disappointing news that Ona broke up. Who does that? Do they have no respect for others?

Jaimé said...

¡Salút! The show must go on Amigos....¡Para la música!

daniel said...

I for one do not believe they should reunite. But I do love signing a petition, oh joy!

Jesus said...

I agree wholeheartedly!!!!!!!!!

LatherRinseRepeat said...

Hehsoose help us all for being believers in the proverbial dream, o o o o onnnnna. Some of us spent our meager lives' savings on bus tickets to LA and entire bottles of Freixenet Cordon Negro bubbly to consume on the way as a sacred offering to your mystical nature. In those crowds, even at frickin Soho Lounge, we felt like lurid gleeful puppets in the circus dream that floats up from the beds of the Gods of Rock and Roll. But alas, dear and darling quarrelers, the gods are dead. And yet you have the power to rock the blood back into their cocks. Their divine cocks. Abide your collective dharma and rocketh thus on(a)ward.