I used to work in a club downtown with a massage girl that came in quite regularly. Her and her boyfriend had moved out west from Ontario, and they had a band called 'The Disappearance'. She played the bass, and he the guitar. After some time, she learned that I wuz in a band myself, so we'd shoot the sh*t every now and then.

My band wuz involved with a local radio station at the time, and she'd ask me about certain thingz that made me chuckle. I mentioned about us being on a compilation CD and getting good airplay, and she'd ask me how much the radio station wuz paying us? I'd laugh and say that we were happy with the exposure more than anything, but she'd insist that we should be getting paid. It didn't matter to her that we had gotten everything for FREE from the station like; thousandz of dollarz worth of recording, two thouzand CDz, substantial airplay n' advertizing, plus invitationz to their 'All You Can Drink Anniversary Party'. We were completely satisfied from our stand point, but she believed that we should be making cash from all of this. Two different mentalitiez totally.

I didn't see her for awhile, but she did come back eventually. 'The Disappearance' were recording a hit single that "wuz gonna change everything on the radio." And consistent with her outlook on how thingz should be done, they were going to go down to the station and picket (az striking employeez would), until they got their song played. She had contacted the Program Director at the station, but he wuz 'unreceptive' to her. I wished her good luck on their mission.

A couple weeks passed, and I thought nothing of it. I wuz reminded when she brought me in a copy of their hit single on CD. I took it and asked about their picketing experience. Again, she said the station wuz unreceptive, but she had an opportunity to meet with the station manager. I could see in her eyez that she sensed a conspiracy within the business of rock radio. I went home, and later that night put on her CD out of curiosity. I looked at the sleeve she had printed up, and there wuz an alien head or a rocket ship graphic of that sort of nature. The song wuz called; Superstar, and it wuzn't to bad. You could tell it wuz produced at home, and the singin' wuz kinda of monotone, but overall it wuz pretty good. Nothing mind blowing. But with some professional help, I'm sure they could sell their stuff to someone.

The next time I saw her she told me that they were puttin' together this massive production for a CD release party, and that it wuz going to shake the city up. Around that same time, I had been frequenting a local web site's message board, and her and her boyfriend had started to put up posts about 'The Disappearance' and their need for management to book them on a world tour. The response wuz overwhelming, but not in a complimentary way. Their band, (which wuz new to the scene), got ridiculed pretty badly, and rather than biting their tongue, they yelled back. It wuz like watching high school kidz calling each other namez. "You suck!" "No, you suck!" That kinda thing, but it got worse, and it made 'The Disappearance' look pretty dumb.

A day later, a friend of mine stopped by to see me one day. He wanted to know if I had heard of a band called 'The Disappearance'. The day prior to him coming to vizit me, they asked if he'd invest ten thouzand dollarz into their band, so he wuz curious if I knew anything about them. I mentioned how they were makin' assez of themselvez on a local web site, and it probably wouldn't be a good idea to associate hiz name with them. He told me that they wanted to rent a 1500 seat theater for their CD release party, and he thought that it wuz a pretty f**t up idea himself.

After being absent from the web site for a couple of months, 'The Disappearance' popped up again promoting their upcoming CD release party at the Royal. In their post they spoke of all the big-wigz from the muzic biz that were going to be there, along with a ton of media people, AND that the tickets were selling like hot cakes. Response to their advertizement wuz massive, but everyone said it wuz bullsh*t. Someone looked into it, and it wuzn't a lie. They had indeed rented the 1500 seat venue, and tickets were on sale for forty bux a piece. How many tickets were sold wuz unknown, but it did have everyone talking about one thing; 'The Disappearance'.

The local newz paper had an interview with the guitarist from the band. It said that when he showed up for the interview, he wuz wearing an alien mask with a robe on, and he wuz there to talk about the next big thing; his Alien Rock band and their fifty thousand dollar stage production. The article also mentioned the band'z claimz that people had been stealing their mail trying to learn all of their secrets. The reporter said it wuz pretty far-fetched, but he had to give them credit for believing in what they were doing. Just what it wuz, nobody really knew?

The date of their show came and went, and I didn't go. For fear of what I thought might happen, I stayed home that night. I did however, hang out on that web site waiting to read what anybody had to say about the show. One of the people worked at the theater, so he wuz first to post hiz opinion. For someone who wuz regularly very opinionated on thoze message boardz, he started by saying, "I'm speechless!" I believe he said that there were around fourteen people in the audience, the sound wuz horrible, the fifty thouzand dollar stage production wuz made of shopping carts and tin foil, plenty of heckling took place and the highlight of the show wuz a dancing piece of cheeze!

Months later, I wuz preparing for a show of my own when I got a phone call. It wuz the guitarist of 'The Disappearance' and he wanted to talk to me about my band. He told me how he and 'hiz people' thought that all the bandz from our city sucked, they all had bad attitudez, bla, bla, bla, that me and my band were the only onez who had it together, and they wanted to come n' see my band for future consideration. I found it all extremely funny especially with him sounding like he drooled the entire time he wuz trying to explain this to me over the phone. Basically he sounded none-to-bright.

I left him and hiz people a handful of tickets, and went to my show. They never showed up but it didn't really matter becuz I hadn't felt like being nice about not wanting to be associated with them. Hey no offence, but I didn't need a dummy messin' around with my sh*t. Our show wuz great, and when I did get home, there wuz an email waiting for me. It wuz very in depth, and from 'The Disappearance'. When I finished reading it, I wuz flabbergasted.

To sum it up, it said:
The Program Director of the local rock station and 'The Disappearance' were palz, and together they were putting on a Battle of the Bandz. The winner would get to go on a world tour with them az their supporting act. It also stated that we were the prime candidates for the job, but we had to 'watch ourselvez and stay cool' then they would help us out. We were not to mention anything to anyone becuz of the mysterious stealing of their mail and tapping their phonez. It wuz all top secret information. Then, they accused my camera-guy of video taping their show, and not giving the tape to them. Better yet, he wuz apparently showing the film publicly infringing on their copyrights which called for legal action. (my mouth hit the floor)

I contacted the Program Director to confirm my suspicionz of their liez, and I think he wuz az baffled az I wuz. After some correspondence with him regarding 'The Disappearance Emails', I had an urge to vizit the web site that they had so frequented irregularly before, and wouldn't ya know it... the email that they had sent me wuz posted for everyone to read. I wuz aghast. I sent them a mail saying that I didn't want to be a part of their freakin' gong show, and to go f**k themselvez! They sent me back claiming that someone had stolen the email from their web server and posted it. I forwarded the mail that the Program Director sent me, then they sent me back again, but this time asking me if I wanted to join their band! F**kin' maniacs!

The story ended on a happy note;
My camera-guy laughed, I laughed, everybody laughed, and they flew back to Marz pisst off, never to be heard from again.