Raijin

The story of Raijin begins in 1944. His grand-father was a high ranking officer in the Japanese Imperial Navy. He and some colleagues had been on leave for a few days when they were flying back with a few of their favourite concubines. Their plane crashed over a remote South Pacific island. The marooned crew, after waiting months with no avail for a rescue party, accepted their fate and began a thriving little colony on the island. All throughout, word that the war was over never reached the isolated island, and all boys born on the island were trained to be elite warriors, in the strictest Bushido tradition. Once re-connected to the war effort, these men would unleash swift retribution unto any enemy. But rescue never came for Raijin's father, and so when Raijin was born (like his father, he is named for the God of Thunder), a new generation of warriors emerged.

Last year, a Japanese whaling boat wandered upon the island whilst trying to avoid Greepeace activists. The “scientists” aboard were astonished to find the colony of almost sixty inhabitants, Raijin included. Although raised in traditional Japanese fashion, Raijin was completely unprepared for modern Japanese life. Once he got over the fact that they had lost the war (kinda bursting a huge myth bubble of the invincibility of the Japanese warrior), he is now trying to wrap his head around Hello Kitty, amongst other things. He is seeing a shrink thrice weekly. After contemplating seppuku, he instead turned his physical prowess to dominating the Dance Dance Revolution. He's like a ninja at it.

Tyrone

Tyrone took over his Uncle's barbecue joint, Ol' Jumbo's Chicken & Ribs, in 1994, and has since been churning out some of the best ribs in the Carolinas for the past two decades. That being said, so does Jeb's Oink Pit across town. The smoked rib rivalry between the two has been going on since the Johnson administration, and was for the large part a friendly one. But all that changed last year when Jeb passed on the Oink Pit to his grandson, Jeb III (or Junior Junior, as he is called in the family). Jr. Jr. recently got Netflix, and began watching House of Cards. Seeing the success of the BBQ joint in that series, he began a letter writing campaign to all local congressman & senators to patronise his rib joint. Tyrone, hearing of this, decided to follow suit, and added mayors and sheriffs to his mailing list, too.

Each elected official showing up resulted in photos being taken and sent to the rival restaurant. When Tyrone heard that Jr. Jr. was spreading lies that Ol' Jumbo's was making political donations to the other party, he knew the gloves were off. He snuck in one night and replaced all of Jr. Jr.'s sugar with salt, and paprika with cayenne.

The next day, when he tasted his sauce just before opening, Jr. Jr. had a nasty surprise... and had to cancel an order for a baseball tournament. Coincidentally, Tyrone had an extra thirty full racks already done when the tournament organisers called in a panic to find ribs. Ah... Tyrone.... You sneaky bastard.

Eldrige "Chubbs" Ferguson

Chubbs is perhaps best known as the front-man for his band, Chubbs Ferguson & the Hound Harbor Tugboats. The only seven- (Yes! SEVEN!) time winner of the Southeast Olde-Tyme Music Association artist of the year, he was also inducted last year in Mountain Music Hall of Fame. His talent on the dobro is so extreme, it has become commonplace for other squirrels in the music scene to aspire to having "chops like Chubbs". Unfortunately, since "the accident", Chubbs doesn't tour much anymore. He claims it is because of back pain, but many say it's for the shame of it all. Last spring, after a sold-out show in Wichita, his car was found in the morning wrapped around a telephone pole along Route 15. When the police found him, he was unconscious, and two nubile prairie dogs, half his age, were barely clinging onto life in the back seat. The police report states he suffered a mild heart attack, but most suspect the real cause was his penchant for Zima.

Pearl

The story of Pearl goes back to 1934 in Boise City, Oklahoma. Her grandparents owned a ranch not too far out of town, but, at the peak of the dust bowl, they had to cull the herd. They lost everything. Pearl's family packed up everything Henry Fonda-style and they made their way to California. There, Pearl's grandmother had a younger sister, named Pearl, who was a cigarette girl at the Copacabana Club. It didn't pay much, but she let the family stay with her in a little studio apartment until they were on their feet. Pearl's grandmother found a job as a seamstress at MGM, and her grandfather found a job as a line cook at a diner. It wasn't the high-life, but they pulled through. After the war, the family re-settled in Oregon, and as a tribute, each successive generation named the first-born girl "Pearl". 

Now, you'd think that with a story like that, one would be proud to have such a name, but not Pearl. She's in her twenties and she feels it makes her sound like a granny. As with many Millennials, she doesn't care much for what isn't an Apple product, and is quite resentful of her parents. Why couldn't she just be Jessica or Taylor or something normal? It's something she obsesses over quite a bit, actually... Well, come to think of it, she obsesses over pretty much everything. She's kinda like that. Obsessive, I mean. She is organised to a degree which is beyond anally retentive. (If you were to give her a coal suppository, she'd poop out a diamond). However, she's pretty creative too. By making liberal use of her local dollar store, she makes hand-made glittered file organisers and sells them on etsy. Who says you can't be both orderly and fabulous?

Randolf

Randolf was raised by two English professors in a small New England town. He was given the false impression from a young age that everyone should care about how he feels, so he became a poet. Since High School, he has been publishing the pointless drivel that comes out of him in whatever rag he can find. There seems to be an audience for the crap he writes, but it is mostly made up of other “poets” publishing in the same low-rent pits of narcissistic literature periodicals. To wit:

Flower of Winter by Ràndolf – (Of course, he doesn't use his last name, and adds gratuitous accents.)

Today

I am the apostate

I blaspheme with her touch

The warmth of her sigh

Is a bloom under the solstice.

Long, long night

Lonely no more:

The visions I once had

Are now at home in my temple.

And yet, the guilt

Wilts

As a flower of winter

I mean: what the hell does that even mean? It's like David Lynch is sending texts to himself about... pleasuring oneself? Is he cheating on himself? I don't get it.

Anyway, back to Randolf. Chances are he'll also get his PhD in English Lit, once he finishes his MA, and then get a similar job to his parents (though through an endless string of course loads, never actually getting tenure - that's just the way the wind blows these days). And so the cycle continues.

Udo

Remember that European metal band from some years ago (From, I want to say: Denmark?) that had that really big power ballad? Well, the drummer had an older brother, Udo, who is still resentful for his brother's coke-fueled sex rampage that was the 1997 world tour. While his brother was touring the world, Udo had to stay at home and take care of their ailing mother. He had to drop out of school, abandoning his dream of becoming a lepidopterist . Thankfully the mother got better – turns out her veganism was making her anaemic – and he got a decent job as a night custodian at the Lego factory (so yeah, I was right: totally Denmark). He has to frequently change mothballs in the urinals, but that's as close as he gets to his dream. However! Just this weekend, though, he received a surprise visit from his estranged brother, who, in a bid for reconciliation, is sending Udo to a one-month intensive butterfly seminar in Borneo this summer.

Darren and Chaz

Although Chaz and Darren both grew up just a couple of blocks away from each other, they represent very different versions of the modern Australian man. Since high school, Darren stayed in Wodonga. He's a hard working, salt-of-the-Earth kind of fella. Since technical college he's worked as a mechanic at the local Holden dealership. He listens to Slim Dusty, and cheers on his West Coast Eagles (his dad is from Perth). He and Liz have been together for seven years, now. Maybe this Christmas he'll propose.

Chaz, on the other hand, is a complete tosser. After finishing his year 12 at a private institution, he took a gap year. Actually, it was more of a “clap” year. Whilst backpacking through South-East Asia, he left behind a trail of venereal disease with mostly English and American hostel-dwellers. Now in University, having changed majors six times, he might actually graduate next year. In sports history. Not in engineering like he told mommy and daddy...