It was a scorching afternoon at the 14th Rhyolite Renegade Drag Racers party, just outside of Death Valley. My Ma and Pa had single-handedly annihilated all the competition. Daddy was a circus knife thrower with a knack for hydraulics and Mama was a knock-em-dead looker and champ racer. A group of sore losers who called themselves the Rollin Rogues were filled with fire after their humiliating defeat. Mama and Papa were shacked up in the backseat of their souped up ‘76 Chevelle when the Rogues came by with guns ablazin', jumped in the frontseat of Daddy’s wheels and drove off, kidnapping my Ma and Pa - in their own winning dragster. When the smoke cleared, all that was left was Daddy’s switchblade. Left with a mouthful of dust and a gut full of teenage anger, I took to my own, with a burning desire to tangle with the S.O.B.s who took off with my folks and anyone else for that matter. Thus was born: Varla Vendetta, the Switchblade Sister.