Wifiprgroup opportunities Should NEVER be overlooked

Alisa St. Rock has contacted UJ once again to offer us a fantastic “PR opportunity.” In honor of this great blessing I’m sharing my latest response to a yearly phenomenon. Keep it coming wifiprgroup, you’re doing the work of 1000 Nigerian princes…

Original E-mail from Alisa
Hey there!

I am trying to reach Bradford King. Not sure if this a general band email but I had a chance to check out your Urban Jellyfish EPK:http://www.sonicbids.com/2/EPK/?artist_id=415353

One of our music interns turned me on to your EPK and forwarded it to me to check out. I’m not sure if anyone on our end may have contacted you yet about our tour routing and booking services but I had a few questions about who is and how you are currently handling your booking.

We are finalizing our artists for the summer and fall touring season in which we help to identify, book and route shows and festival appearances for gigging artists. Our booking services are a flat fee service and not based on a percentage of the artists earnings.

For $295.00, we target and contact and pitch 10 markets or up to 500 venues for our tour and booking clients.

Basically our approach is simple–we work together with the artist, in a Do-It-Together, non-exclusive approach, to book our artists at festivals and venues throughout the U.S.

<redacted for brevity>

FYI–once again–the cost for the DIT (Do It Together) Tour Campaign is a flat fee of $295.00.  All of our work is results-driven with a money-back guarantee to deliver results until completion.

We only take on 20 artists at a time, so if you are interested in discussing being a part of this, we should set up a time to speak this week.

Let me know if you are free to this week to discuss routing your next tour or helping you to secure shows that make sense for your music. Let me know the best number and day/time frame to reach you at.

Wishing You Success And Nothing Less in 2015!


Alisa St.Rock

UJ’s Response
Hey there Alisa! Do people tell you that you’re a saint for always rocking so damn hard?

I’ll bet they do, because what you’re bringing to the table for us is nothing short of a goddamned blood diamond mine of endless opportunity. When UJ first received this e-mail template a year ago we we’re a different creature. Not yet adult enough to accept seats on the rocket ship of success that the Wifiprgroup offers to only 20 bands a year! Oh, the regrets of wasted youth, but those days are behind us Alisa.

Now Alisa, now it’s our moment. Together we are entering a golden era of reconciliation… UJ, like Christ (or Xenu, if you’re into that), is reborn. Like a Phoenix from the ashes we have risen in a new four person configuration. Gone are the days of freebasing heroin in a bowling alley parking lot with the bass players mother after a sold-out show for a biker league. All of our paternity suits have been settled and UJ is ready to spend a little bit of our hard earned drug money to “Do It Together.”
Only one question remains…If we pay you double the amount you charge for your promotional services could we instead have your firm just grant us our one dream?

For years UJ has been waiting to shove it’s proverbial tongue into the vagina of any entertainment madam that can guarantee us the pinnacle of success that is a performance slot on Late Night with Seth Meyers. If together we can realize this dream through “hard work” then we as a band can forever bask in the glory of knowing that we are the greatest band Seattle has ever been fortunate enough to birth.

I eagerly await your response.


Sweet are the pangs of waiting
Heavy the clouds of time
Laws confound the beauty
of natures design

Found in the deepest of oceans
Born on the waves of devotion
Harmony seeks the third
Of angelic eyes

All day we wonder
All night we wait
We’ll bring the thunder
You bring the rain

Try adulation in numbers
Three times the gestalt
Honesty sows salvation
Jealousy plants its doubts

The dismissal comes easy
From a throne of thorns
Salvation through judgment
and the worship of norms

Don’t play me as a pimp
Who’s blind to the game
A shelled out player
Who only seeks fame
From the hearts of the many
And the wits of few
Baby don’t cross that line unless you wanna be true

All day we wonder
All night we wait
You bring the thunder
We’ll bring the rain


Sentiment favors the absence of presence
Willingness to forgo this moment for one thought deems superior
The act denies the soil of sun
Flowers remain buried waiting for the better light of yesterday

My father taught me to drive
My mother fed me with vocabulary
My grandparents taught me to fish
My uncle gave me keys to tolerance

Yet to dwell on these moments fondly is to leave the planet
To serve the dying star of my thought
Who’s only reward is to cage me in the conflict of fission
To cut me with a blade made of longing beneath my head held high upon lofty and empty intentions

My father taught me to judge
My mother fed me with complaints
My grandparents taught me to fight
My uncles showed me the path to excess

These checkpoints in memory we hold like ever vigilant soldiers
Trained to kill compassion on sight
Consider the meek a matter of weakness
Only the ones willing to drown in the black oil of nationalist rhetoric are worthy of being alive

We who love competition
We who love the game
We who run to or from deaths door
We, one nation, on whom the sun has set…

Swing till you start screaming

Habits broken and fixed again, numb the pain of his backhand lashes
Drink drives men to sing praises of heavy handed facists
Her love for him built tall walls of stone that took less time than expected
Unholy matrimony kept her striving for a nexus

Get a baseball bat to protect you from the demons

This led to a buffet of men mistaken for the broken prototype
Left her with the convenient excuse of excess
The necessary compensation was two scoops of Catholic guilt
The kind that led Christ beneath Mary’s dress

Step up to the plate, soon you’ll be swinging

Beaten by bad decisions and the distress of a mothers enslavement to her cast
Brother and sister formed the bonds of a secret pact
One bound by the blood spilled in beatings and neglect
History is no long term lover and she makes you fight for her respect

Swing a million times, then a thousand more
Swing till you start screaming, swing till you find the cure

Though your entitled offspring points out the known implications
Shows you scars your mind has traced a million times
He only hope light finally reaches the darkened corners of your mind
Cause his father’s wish was to keep you both afloat in a sea that’s too unkind

So I’ll swing till I start screaming, I’ll swing till I lose my mind
I’ll swing these words and cave the skulls of the demons you leave behind…

Love, Light, Rain, or Pain

We all get a chance to bathe in circumstantial glory
To live a story many will never hear
Wishing we were something, when that’s all we ever were

Broken down, built up again, down and up again
Cells akin to the passions of a whim
The noisy silence hammers our skulls demanding to be let in

Choices matter, then they don’t, making sanity insane
Yet it always feels like living when we drown in love, light, rain, or pain

Drown with us
Drown within
Feel the weight of your own veins

‘Cause it always feels like living when in love, light, rain, or pain


Islands made of trash

Crushing loss, the sensations of defeat
Never impress the dark and tiny angel stirring underneath your feet

Another tepid song by washed up jellyfish on the beach
As giants carry contemporaries to shores you will never reach

Will your voice be heard? Will it scream from brazen brass?
Or build upon the sea of sound another island made of trash?

But it’s my heart
It’s unrefined
It’s pure intention
It’s never-fucking-mind
No it isn’t!
It’s tripe, banal, out of body, and completely out of time

Answers are a given, cause equations never question
They only offer sugar water while preventing any cure

Frustrated with solutions
The diluted dissolution of feigned intentions pure

Will your voice be loved? Will it lead to endless cash?
That’s the route upon the sea of sound to an island made of trash?

But I want worship
A christ-like body
All the attention
Ego unrefined
No you don’t!
You want joy, you want contentment, and a love that will last

Or you can continue nation building from your island made of trash…


Is it impossible to reach?
A sacred space, void of time
Is it impossible to gain?
The fame that traps the willing mind

Is it impossible to imagine?
Failures stench becoming sweet
Is it impossible to fathom?
We are most creative just before we shit

Is the desire to hate fame unwillingness to accept rejection?
Will the rehtoric and duplicity keep you warm?
Or will you finally listen to the wisdom of reckless abandon?

But I can’t! I won’t! I shouldn’t have to!

Force the hand of fate
To ensure a moment of acclaim
Or sing of love, death, and tears instead of succumbing to these wargames


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