Here are the SFH demons, which you should print off, slip, and paste to your fridge door for easy reference:
Bjorn von Flapjack III
Slaps skins, wears sunglasses, passes wind in mixed company. Product of an unholy sexual liaison between James Dean and Mister Ed, the horse. Has good hair, but personal hygiene issues persist. Lemmy from Motorhead has been sleeping on his couch for the better part of a decade. Bears a tattoo of a processor chip in his nether regions.
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The Claw
Slashes away at a guitar in the vicinity of his knees, wanders off aimlessly, fond of hockey fights. Demon love child of Mia Farrow and a fellow wearing a tin foil hat. Given the fact that half of his skeletal structure is a fusion of plastic and rusty metal, The Claw has developed a unique set of alternative chording, based upon instruction given to him by a sitar-wielding Yeti in Nepal. Claims to have a family, and has even gone to the extreme of renting one for social engagements.
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The Rayman
Ink-stained, demonic cow-punk from a cave in the mountains outside Calgary, another precinct of Hell. Cranks out big chords on a guitar placebo fashioned out of the bones and skin of members of the Canadian Alliance. Appears calm, but will ignite without warning if someone is talking when he is typing up a grocery list. The tongue? The horror, the horror.
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Kiriakos
Conclusive proof that the Greeks dabbled in demonic practices, and tempted the wrath of God. Howler, screamer, ranter, consumer of many fetid, feral beer products. Has symbiotically welded himself to a PDA. Cannot pronounce the word "sepulchre," even with professional help. Hopes to one day front a band covering theme songs from bad 80s sitcoms. Twisted and mean, but in a nice way. Chicks do not dig him, or his stupid band.
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Winkie
Slaps four strings, eats Hawkin's cheezies, enjoys bench-clearing, stick-swinging brawls. Has been referred to as the Prince of Darkness, as well as many other things we cannot print on the family-friendly Internet, but is merely in Satan's service, and is not actually Satan himself. Rumoured member of clandestine illuminati-styled cults bearing the names Social Blemishes and Hot Nasties. A sellout, in the way that the Glib and Frail is "the national newspaper." Aspires to playing old reggae tunes in a shack. Thinks Paul Martin, Jr. closely resembles E.T.
Slaps skins, wears sunglasses, passes wind in mixed company. Product of an unholy sexual liaison between James Dean and Mister Ed, the horse. Has good hair, but personal hygiene issues persist. Lemmy from Motorhead has been sleeping on his couch for the better part of a decade. Bears a tattoo of a processor chip in his nether regions.
Slashes away at a guitar in the vicinity of his knees, wanders off aimlessly, fond of hockey fights. Demon love child of Mia Farrow and a fellow wearing a tin foil hat. Given the fact that half of his skeletal structure is a fusion of plastic and rusty metal, The Claw has developed a unique set of alternative chording, based upon instruction given to him by a sitar-wielding Yeti in Nepal. Claims to have a family, and has even gone to the extreme of renting one for social engagements.
Ink-stained, demonic cow-punk from a cave in the mountains outside Calgary, another precinct of Hell. Cranks out big chords on a guitar placebo fashioned out of the bones and skin of members of the Canadian Alliance. Appears calm, but will ignite without warning if someone is talking when he is typing up a grocery list. The tongue? The horror, the horror.
Conclusive proof that the Greeks dabbled in demonic practices, and tempted the wrath of God. Howler, screamer, ranter, consumer of many fetid, feral beer products. Has symbiotically welded himself to a PDA. Cannot pronounce the word "sepulchre," even with professional help. Hopes to one day front a band covering theme songs from bad 80s sitcoms. Twisted and mean, but in a nice way. Chicks do not dig him, or his stupid band.
Slaps four strings, eats Hawkin's cheezies, enjoys bench-clearing, stick-swinging brawls. Has been referred to as the Prince of Darkness, as well as many other things we cannot print on the family-friendly Internet, but is merely in Satan's service, and is not actually Satan himself. Rumoured member of clandestine illuminati-styled cults bearing the names Social Blemishes and Hot Nasties. A sellout, in the way that the Glib and Frail is "the national newspaper." Aspires to playing old reggae tunes in a shack. Thinks Paul Martin, Jr. closely resembles E.T.