A bastard saxophonist, spawned from the unholy union of a carnie and a Campbell and abandoned before birth, Ripper now lives in the heart of the Australian desert, surviving on vodka, careless geckos and the occasional American tourist. Ripper has big boots, not enough piercings and hair that defies the laws of gravity, the laws of physics, and the Geneva Convention. (Ripper will now stop talking in the third person.) I like stimulants, The Damned, the word "ocelot", those furry Russian hats, girls with very long hair, Scottish accents and the films of Ed Wood. I dislike scabies, rubbing the wrong way and those irritating "Hey, I'm *wacky*!" bios that are so common nowada- oh. Never mind. Kill me.