BIO |
SONGS |
PHOTOS |
SHOWS |
"Jumpin" Johnny Rapist - Lead Guitar
Obscenely thin due to his heroine addiction and constant drinking, the founding member of the band was a charter member of the mid-west chapter of Anton LeVey's Hotel California. Sporting a wardrobe of shredded red spandex and all manner of spiked-leather accessories, Johnny was diving off stages into crowds long before it was trendy, and usually bashed in a few skulls with his flaming-red flying-V guitar while he was at it. With three-dozen amplifiers turned up to 11.5, he could reduce any power-chord into an ear-bleeding assault of white-noise. Preferring mature women, his back-stage escapades never included raping any female under the age of 25.
Robby Nine - Drums
By all accounts a complete mute, he could only communicate through his cocaine-fueled spastic destruction of a drum-kit. Typically abandoning any semblance to rhythm, his style was more akin to hitting as many things as possible in the length of a typical two-minute song. Although he usually went out in public dressed in one of his many personnally-tailored Armani suits, he was never seen onstage wearing more than a cock-ring. Considered by most as the mellowist member, or reportedly the least felonious, he was in fact responsible for the fire at the band's final venue causing his death and that of 300 fans, security guards and neighborhood business owners.
The Sadist - Bass and Vocals
An orphan by the age of 7, after he brutally slayed his parents with a butter-knife, reportedly for being forced to eat his vegetables, the unnamed child was forcably removed from a trailer located deep in the woods of northern Michigan by police after local hunters complained of the odor. Known infamously in the publishing world as much for his cannibalistic cookbooks and necrophilic pornography as he was for his mumbled and growled lyrics, The Sadist got his unique bass sound by using a razor-blade for a pick. Known for dressing in all black, including his make-up, there remains not a single living person who can identify him with certainty, much to the chagrin of the FBI and INTERPOL, although the corpses of many fans bear the distinct marks of his particular forms of torture.