'Pout at the Devil' were formed in 1985 on the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles, California. The originators of 'hair' metal, this quintet of hard-rockin' (and even harder livin') degenerates crawled out of the gutter to kickstart the whole glam metal genre we all know and love today. That is, until fate dealt them a totally raw deal.


After a series of individual acts of providence brought them together (see member bios below), the group quickly established a regime of song writing, groupie screwing and hellraising around the Hollywood area. No stranger to strip clubs, poker joints and tattoo parlours (despite all have a pathologial fear of needles), the Pout boys soon made a name for themselves as a musical force to be reckoned with, as well as possessing the best wardrobe this side of a surfer gypsy punk on crack. Surviving on food purchased by their short-lived exotic dancer girlfriends and good-will packages from porn starlets, each day was a struggle, ultimately bonding the group further musically and spiritually. One time, Randii even said that Jizzy was "kind of okay." But then he changed his mind, and they fought over the last Twinkie.


However, just as PATD looked to be on a one-way ticket to the big time, disaster struck. Out to score drugs after a particularly awesome rehearsal and demo recording session, the band were almost killed when a truck delivering liquid nitrogen crashed on Hollywood Boulevard. The band avoided death or any injury, but events took an even more unlikely turn when the emergency services arrived at the scene to discover all five members covered in the dangerous chemical. Literally frozen to the spot in a variety of confused/awesome poses, the band were taken away to a nearby meth lab to be thawed out...a process that would turn out to be a 24 year ordeal.


Fast-forward to 2009, and a band out of time. Awoken from their cryogenic stasis and thrust into the 21st Century, PATD learned that an unscrupulous record producer - known only as 'The Cowboy' - sold all of their demos to up and coming musical acts after the liquid nitrogen incident. Those demos went on to become the world's most famous rock hits, hailed as classics throughout the world and credited to other bands and songwriters for musical posterity. Robbed of their place in the great History Books of Metal, the band is pissed off and ready to settle the score.


Now the band that started it all are back. And they're here to reclaim their hits - one city at a time.




Coming from a deprived Jewish/German background, Dirk used to work in the Post Office in Norwich Castle Mall. At night he would sit next to the Franking Machine with his acoustic guitar, using the rhythms it generated to write songs like 'No Stamp Required', 'Doin' You (On My Rounds)', 'My Parcel Is Too Big For Your Slot', 'This Package Needs Signing For' and 'Sorry We Missed You While You Were Out.' Then one night he met Razzle at a local puppet show and the two shared a spit-roast in the dress circle with the chick who operates Judy. Dirk came up with the name of the band then and there, as he presented his junk to the 18 year-old puppeteer and instructed her to 'Pout at the Devil'.


Dirk has a seventeen-octave vocal range and his metal screams can actually remove the underwear of smokin' babes in the back row. His hobbies include nailing hot chicks and writing songs about nailing hot chicks.


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Marco was a previous member of renowned skiffle group 'Bobby Crayons & The Goodtimes', playing comb and paper on their minor hit 'Buckwheat Summer'. Visited by the ghost of Lonnie Donegan in a fever dream - who informed him that skiffle was for fags - the young Marco quit the band the next day and sold his soul at the Tasburgh crossroads that same night for the guitar skills of Ralph Macchio. Marco much prefers being in Pout at the Devil to his skiffle days because when he was on comb and paper nobody would blow him after the show, not even guys. Now he's a fretmelting guitar pimp, he gets a constant supply of pussy by not even trying. In fact, he called me up a minute ago and told me he's just returned from the local Catholic Girls dorm where he has been entertaining the chicks with his famous 'cock-silhouettes'.


In his spare time, Marco shoots things and does barbecue. He is currently perfecting his very own brand of special al fresco marinade called 'Platinum's BBQ Rub' and according to the man himself, the sauce provides any meat of your choice with a "badass smokey flavour" and is especially suitable for dabbing on your cock to ensnare a passing carnivore.


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Born Oswald Steinman Faltermeyer III in an affluent area of South Africa in 1968, the young Randii fled apartheid in a crate of papya and passion fruit. Smuggled onto escape vessel 'The Salty Biscuit', in order to pass the time on the three day voyage he was given a miniature bass guitar by the overly friendly captain and his interest in music began. Randii is the intellectual of the group and likes reading on the khazi backstage before a gig: his favourite books are Penthouse and Playboy. He enjoys poetry and writes romantic limericks to woo bitches with, his masterpiece being a fifty stanza epic that begins "There once was a girl from Regina..." He hopes to turn it into a Broadway musical one day and fulfil his dreams of working with Daniel Baldwin.


On Sundays, Randii helps out at the local old people's home and teaches retarded children to paint eggs. Now that he's a Dad, he has just started a shotgun collection and hopes to have them installed in a glass display cabinet to show potential suitors by the time his daughters turn 16.


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The result of a torrid 5 seconds between a US Fighter Pilot and an Avon lady, Razzle was raised on a military air base and learned drums playing in the Lindbergh Hookstratten Marching Band. Upon reaching adolescence and not wanting a career blowing up brown people for Uncle Sam, he tunnelled off the base using only a spanking paddle and a Tawny Kitaen poster. After hitchhiking across the country exchanging weed and Ketamine for gas mileage, the animal-loving Razzle finally settled in Norwich upon reading a fake magazine article that said it had the highest number of wild Turbot in the Eastern hemisphere. In a bizarre twist of providence, Razzle narrowly missed out on a career roadying for The Sticky Puppet Company by meeting Dirk at a performance of Punch & Judy. He recently went through a minor scandal when his sex tape 'One Night on Lambrini's Face' leaked onto the children's channel 'C-Beebies' during primetime hours.


On rare nights off, Razzle judges beauty pageants and became notorious in the late 80's for fingering Miss Yugoslavia in the Queen's box at the Albert Hall.


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In the early 80's, clever-ass scientists discovered a fossilised piece of amber on an island off the coast of Costa Rica which contained the preserved remains of a prehistoric mosquito. Using the latest in boring science, they extracted the blood from it and found that it contained the DNA of dinosaurs. That's right, MOTHERFUCKING DINOSAURS. The scientists figured 'We love playing God, let's see if we can make a dinosaur, it will totally be a good idea' and set to work bringing Godzilla back from the Stone Age. But something went wrong.


Alone one night in the lab unsupervised, twisted assistant Mort Faffenfaff decided to add his own kind of 'sample' to the nearest petri dish. Which, unfortunately, contained the batch of DNA that was to be used in the dino experiment. Imagine the horror on that island when, instead of getting the world's first genetically resurrected dinosaur, the research team found they had created something far more awesome - Jizzy E. Pistolz. Rejected by his creators like some kind of tragic Frankenstein's monster, Jizzy fled the island to the nearest continent: America, where he became a guitar hero.


Pistolz spends his spare time perfecting his special guitar sex moves, which fuse his dino-DNA with a love of fret-wanking and nutting chicks. Signature displays include the Dick-lodocus, Tyranno-sore-ass Rex and the Smegma-saurus. The 'E' in his name stands for 'Everywhere'.


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