Andrew (Drew) Keilman: Vocalist and band leader, he really knows how to lay it down. “This isn’t a fucking game.” He could be heard screaming before violently swiping the Pop-O-Matic Trouble board to the floor and judo chopping his pre-pubescent female cousin’s skull into a sputtering, twitching meat puddle in a notorious 1986 incident, forever cementing himself in Indiana lore as murderous hot-head. “But he has the voice of an angel,” the bailiff said before unlocking Andy’s cuffs and setting him free to terrorize and entertain the world.
Randall (Hot Knife!)White: Lending his chosen instrument in service to his dark master. Randall’s riffs chill the very air and ears of any soul within the auditory dead zone of his amplifier. Other guitarists have been known to lay gifts of wilted orchids and their own fingers snipped off at the second knuckle at Randall’s feet for even a glimpse of the necrotic sorcery that he conjures while performing. So perverted and diseased is his very being that Randall actually cannot be photographed. Any visual representation of him is a photo-shopped assumption of what he looks like under his hat and hood. Dag.
Brendan (Shadowhand) Jones: The end result of an experiment by Irish scientists to create the perfect man, Brendan’s upper body strength and guitar chops are unparalleled. A giant in both bicep and intellect, Brendan’s skull was specifically designed to house his knowledge-engorged frontal lobe which commands Wanderers songs as if by pure instinct. Like the horns of the mighty elk, the pompadour-like structure gives evidence to his superior cunning and sexual virility, and has been the lighthouse towards which many a female ship has sailed in search of harbor only to find ruin upon the jagged rock.
Pat (‘Ole Lurks & Jerks) Shannon: The whimsical suns in the center of Pat’s bandannas are the third eye through which he views the petty and ruinous nature of man-kind. Seeking to shed light upon and ultimately punish the wrongs of the universe, Pat has employed the drum kit as a physic weapon, his thrust-inducing, hypnotic beats at first reverting the listener to the mentality of a child after the exhilaration and shame of their first sweaty, solitary orgasm, then he changes the tempo and seems to speak through the drums, “Liar, Whore, Usurper, Wrongdoer, Bank Teller, See and smell your sins, Eat my cold shit.” Heralded by some as a mystic religious radical profiting off the fears programmed into the Western society, by some as the next incarnation of a drunken God, Pat’s shaded, judging eyes cannot be ignored in the context of the band or the world at large. “Yer damned if yer do, yer damned if yer don’t,” he will whisper into your shivering mind. How he damns us all.
Steve (Predatory Marine Animal) Jackson: Each string on Steve’s bass represents a life he has taken. He hopes to take up the twelve string guitar by his 50th birthday, so anyone who tries to get close to him had “better be in their bessis brehavior (sic)” even while attempting polite conversation with one whose bloodlust is so celebrated. It’s Steve’s method of body disposal which has allowed him to elude prison while openly flaunting his actions to authorities and the general public. “You could grind up human bone and pepper a steak with it. You could eat every part in a month or so,” he’ll say with a leering wink to band mates, clerks, passerby at Guitar Center while slowly, contemplatively moving his hand back and forth between four and five string bass, foaming at the mouth then licking his jowls and swallowing it.
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Influences
the films of george a romero (we are partial to there's always vanilla hahaha)THIN LIZZY, AC/DC, Rose Tattoo, and the Angels (Aussie rock is the best....hell even lizzy's concert in sydney is my fav), Danzig (of course), a little dropkick never hurt nobody, ac/dc, billy joel (america's favorite drunk),gwar, montrose, third world war, men at work marty robbins, roy orbison, mr.cash,ennio morricone, slade, johnny thunders,horror movies, spaghetti westerns, NHB fighing, PBR, his majesty, lucio fulci, fine cigars, and of course, loose women.
It's very hard to rock, be we do it well. Our sound is a unique blend of power chords and ringworm infested gym mats. This should appeal to the ladies.
We formed in the seedy brothels of upper Canterbury, West Sussex, during a long drought of what is now commonly known as "giant crotch". Seeing as how all of us suffered from said ailment, we decided it would be best to form an unholy union that would infest the countryside, leaving women and farm animals only wanting more. With this new alliance in place, the only thing left for us to dominate was....the world.
Now you, my fellow myspace nerd, have the chance to see what real rock and roll is all about. On stage, on the mat, or in the ring, we fucking own.
there will be no need to put me in a trunk seeing as i will be seeing you fucks at wicker park and francos next week.....im also gonna bring a car full of people and try to turn them on to you guys....a shout out would be pretty rad too
Kurt Angle is in my division tomorrow at C3. I hope he is my first match, because I will tech him. That means I will take him down, let him up, take him down, let him up, etc.
