Anaïs Ninja (née Pulaski), named after the Cuban eroticist whose writings fueled the hard-f#^k carnal ballet put on by her parents the night she was conceived, is a master of arts both martial and sexual. She was influenced at a young age by the film The Karate Kid, finding special inspiration in the character of Mr. Miyagi. As portrayed by Japanese-American actor Pat Morita, who Anaïs claimed to be the clearest revelation of humanity’s 20th century erotic zeitgeist, and nothing less than “the most sexual person ever to live”, Miyagi-san’s inscrutable magnetism led her headlong into the ninja lifestyle. Countless hours of YouTube tutorials influenced a fighting style that is equal parts Meiji dynasty ninjitsu and old fashioned backlot wrestling. She is equally at home flying off a turnbuckle, or perforating the dishonorable with a karate star to the neck, boobs, taint, or eyeball. Previously content to practice her moves on consenting adults, recent critical disrespect of her first published work of ninja-themed erotica, "Nunchucks: Deadly Weapon or Sexual Toy? (It's All In The Wrist)" has wakened an anger that only blood can purge. Anaïs’ opponents in CLAW may think they’ve seen it all, but they won’t see this Ninja until it’s far too late.

Shake out your boots 'cause The Brown Recluse has arrived! Straight outta the woodpile comes this fierce and tiny predator – a furious whirlwind of fists and elbows (8 of each, to be exact) - and she's out for blood. Once the proud mother to an egg sac of 50 unhatched spider children, The Brown Recluse is on a mission to find the trespasser who stole away with her log home and broke apart her family, but she’ll tangle with anyone who gets in her way. A loner by nature, you’ll now find her in all the darkest corners of your house and imagination – if you’re brave enough to seek her out. Be warned, though: she’ll keep her fangs to herself – usually – but if you disrupt her nest, she’ll disrupt your face.

Descended from a long line of gold prospectors and gold diggers (although subsequent generations of gamblers and goofballs have squandered the family fortune), California’s Gold is a real chiller. Until you cross her. When not starting shit, you can find California’s Gold working on her tan, listening to tunes, hanging with her good friend Mary Jane, and getting her munchies out at the local health food store. If you like organic pina coladas and hearing long, rambling lectures about the benefits of ancient grains and hydroponic kale, California’s Gold is your gal.

If she could turn back time, Cher would likely do a few things differently, chief among them an ill-advised mid-morning hot tub session with the entire Allman family that left her with a previously unseen, slow-burning, and ultimately terminal disease doctors named “Moun-taint Jam Syndrome.” As her condition worsened, she turned in desperation to the infamous Dr. D’Ranged, a mad scientist with experience in the field of rare STDs. A series of unsuccessful treatments further disfigured the Armenian pop-goddess, amongst other things altering her voice permanently (though the resulting sound spawned the synthesized imitation today known as ‘auto-tuning’.) With nowhere else to turn, Dr. D’Ranged sent the rapidly fading Cher to a top secret, mouse-man-operated lab on the site of Ukraine’s most famous catastrophe, where she could be exposed to the only mutative force strong enough to cure her: the ambient radiation of a nuclear meltdown. She has emerged as the (perhaps) mighty CHER NOBYL, and while she now certainly resembles the glorious, Reagan-era Cher of old, what in fact she’s working with is a trickier question altogether. One thing is for sure; the radiation has returned her famous temper and has imbued her with an unshakable belief in her own status as a nuclear superpower. Whether or not the ladies of CLAW believe in life after love, they'd better at least hope for life after death.

There’s a trailer park just outside of town where the kids don’t trick or treat. Domino’s doesn’t deliver there, and even the stray dogs don’t stray too close. It’s an abandoned, god-forsaken place where the weeds grow tall and a thin layer of dirt covers the earth and everything on it, muffling color and stifling sound. Listen closely, though, and you might hear the tinny chatter of a twelve-inch tube TV coming from the rust-rotten single wide all the way in back. That’s the last tenant left, and she’s a nasty, nasty bitch: Dusty Bazongas. She lives for two things, her cats and her soaps, and if anybody messes with either they’ll be crapping their own teeth in no time flat. Time didn’t pass old Dusty by so much as it did settle on her, and hard. She remembers a time when her body was coltish and trim, but those days are long gone, according to her rotten, ungrateful children. Most think of mothers as the protectors of their children, but after Dusty's kids tried to move her into the Last Chance Nursing Home, she delivered a beating that left them slurping their meals through straws. Screw anyone that says she should rot in an old folks' home, she says. Give em’ a taste of my bazongas, she says. And when you’ve got bazongas this dusty, you know just how to use them.

Hailing from the wild woods of West Virginia, Feral Hannah is the ass kickin' ladybeast civilization left behind. She bit off her older brother's ear when she was three months old, and later that year ate two C batteries and burped acid in her dad's face, blinding him forever. When her first birthday party ended with a hired clown in the emergency room, his face covered in tear-streaked white paint and wounds doctors initially attributed to at least three blood-crazed wolverines, Feral’s parents gave her up as a lost cause. They abandoned her to the forest, but if they thought she would die there, they thought wrong. Feral was raised by the meanest wolfpack in Appalachia, who in spite of their addiction to methamphetamines raised her up right, unless you’re the kind of folk who think it’s wrong to kill a goat with your teeth. Life in the wolfpack was happy for a time, but the story of this warrior-animal took a turn when she stumbled on an absent hiker's cache and tasted her first Dorito. At that moment a hunger for human food awoke that burns yet today with the red rage of a thousand flamin' hot Cheetos. Her quest for treats has brought her to the wrestling ring, and she's ready and willing to use every trick the pack taught her. The ladies of CLAW will learn quick: Feral Hannah may not have ever learned human speech, but she did learn how to whoop some ass.

KIKI CARRINGTON (née Royce) began her battle with ennui at four years old, when she suddenly tired of her exclusive preschool’s endless “decoupage with money” craft projects and opted to perfect her sigh instead. Her decades-long pursuit of diversion eventually led her to meet her husband, architect Kendall Carrington, on the croquet lawn at the health club, where he was taken aback to find her experimenting with flamingos and hedgehogs a la Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. After her marriage, KIKI’s struggle with ennui only worsened. In desperation, she founded charity after charity, including The Petit Four Dessert Gala for Small Dogs, Foie Gras for Tots and, of course, The Kendall Carrington Flamingo and Hedgehog Relief Society. But the harder she worked to overcome the burdens of her life, the worse she felt, right up until her proposal for a palate-training wine appreciation course at the local middle school was rejected outright. Unaccustomed to being told no, Kiki briefly lost her composure, grappling the secretary to the floor and beating her with her Hermes handbag. In that moment, she felt a spark she hadn’t felt since she was a toddler. Experimentally, she tackled the principal as well. And as she sat in her cell, waiting for Kendall to arrive with bail, she knew she had finally found the solution to the boredom that plagued her. At least, for now.

KILL BILLIE was born and raised in the swamps of Illinois. Living abroad for 15 years as the lone female assassin in a crew of hit-men, she left the tribe in anger. With the burning rage of a woman avenging her father's wrongful death, KB found the ladies of CLAW to be a welcoming and bloodthirsty group.

When KILL BILLIE is not smashing faces and taking names she practices katana throwing, running her cat grooming truck (The Pussy Wagon), and raising her black mamba. She is a huge advocate of a woman's right to sword fight, but don't get too friendly; even the hint of a hug sends her into five point palm exploding heart technique.

Pizzeus’s affairs with mortal maids were known near and far, but one sizzling lustful night in the small town of Eat-aly, a fervor of ricotta, pepperoni, basil, mushrooms, one egg, olive oil, the spark of passion (active dry yeast) and a very special flour - a child was conceived. As Pizzeus ascended back to his throne upon Mount Mozzarella, a strange baby was born of a mortal woman. The she child was born with muscles and attitude, and strangely to all that laid eyes upon her, her outsides were in and her crust was bared for all to see. LIL’ CALZONIE, found herself different from the other children, she trained and grew strong, because although her outside was doughy and light, her insides were sizzling with the strength of meat and cheese. She vowed to become the superest of foods and let no one defeat her!

My log has something to say: dark forces have leaked out of the Black Lodge and are now festering in Champaign. When this kind of fire starts, it is very hard to put out. The tender boughs of innocence burn first, and the wind rises, and then all goodness is in jeopardy. I fear no man, no beast or evil, sister.

The decrepit old mansion on the edge of town - you know the one - has become the paradise to every lost housecat, orphaned kitten, and retired tomcat. When one walks by, staying strictly on the sidewalk for an unknown deep-seeded fear, the poignant smell of feline piss assaults the nostrils worse than any smelling salt. The owner of this dodgy abode is named Maude. She was once a lovely young woman from the posh part of London. Maude came to America in the seventies to claim that old house that she inherited from a distant relative with dreams to fill it with high society parties and all the babies her womb would allow. Unfortunately, Maude’s idea of a good time was not shared by her American neighbors, and no one cared to put up with her strict mannered parties.

As the years passed, Maude’s stiff upper lip grew stiffer and she grew angrier at her American neighbors for being so bloody inhospitable. One day a small kitten found itself stuck in Maude’s oak tree. When she rescued it, something blossomed inside; her once lost maternal instincts reignited! She began adopting more and more cats until her collection of felines took over the house. She emerged once a week for cat litter and tea, but slowly earned a reputation as quite the nutter. Many local punks began to tease and taunt Maude and her cats. Being the protective parent that she is, Maude turned those tossers arse over tit like a mad woman.

Your mother tells you to beware. The mailman soils himself at least once a week delivering her mail. Even the toughest motorcycle gang refuses to drive down that street. I daresay, MAD MAUDE and her cats are not to be bothered lest you wish for a royal womping!

THE MILKMAID came here to provide Urbana-Champaign with the highest quality, most nutritious milk around. She didn't come here to deal with any shit. Hailing from a tiny dairy farm in a small town in the German Alps, the Milkmaid knows that consistency and order are the name of the game if you want to succeed. Her commitment to staying on schedule and doing things according to plan is obsessive, and you'd best watch your back if you throw a wrench into her plans. Lifting heavy pails of milk, calving in the spring, and wrangling cattle has given THE MILKMAID some serious strength that the ladies of CLAW had better not underestimate.

As skilled with glitter as she is with firearms, RAMBO BRITE wages war against those who seek to oppress others and strip the world of its color. With her ruthless team of Color Kids and condescending talking horse by her side, this cutesy-but-cunning warrior won’t stop until she’s made the world safe for sparkles, rainbows, and light—by whatever means necessary. 

Nobody caught the name of the mysterious, shadow-draped figure that came to claim the body of DUSTY BAZONGAS after her death. Frankly, most were surprised that that anyone cared at all, but that enigmatic character clearly had their own dark agenda. One month later, a humanoid lady-bot was spotted wandering the streets of Champaign, calling herself RUSTY BAZONGAS in a tinny, halting voice. Citizens have no doubt that this metal monster is some new incarnation of the late Dusty after she threatened to "terminate all pesky youngsters" and demanded "a 1.75-liter fuel cell" from a liquor store clerk.

It is unclear at this time what madman (or madwoman) designed this sassy, silver creation, but she was last spotted on a path of destruction pointing straight toward the Champaign Ladies Amateur Wrestling ring. Part whirring metal fists, part impenetrable outer armor, RUSTY has an insatiable drive to watch her stories in peace, and doesn't mind using her superhuman strength to quash all who stand in the way.

From Mount Mozzarella, a heroine rises -- fighting for the glory of her father, the great and mighty Pizzeus -- comes a champion. A demigod of the deep dish, the daughter of dough. The Mighty. The Feared. The SLICE!

From a dark basement office in DC comes medical doctor and former FBI agent, SPOOKY SKULLY! Tired of following her rash and incompetent partner into increasingly dangerous situations involving men in alien suits, SKULLY ditched her life of working for a corrupt Bureau bent on keeping the truth from the public. No longer held back by such things as ‘law’ and ‘protocol’, this ruthless former agent set off on a solo mission to turn her skeptical and scientific eye onto the world. Despite a warrant being out for her arrest in all 50 states, catch SKULLY using her expired FBI badge to access crime scenes and evidence rooms. SPOOKY SKULLY will stop at nothing to uncover conspiracies, kick ass, and save lives!

Born in the Regency era, Jane Austen was living a dreary, predictable life, until, at a high society ball, one of her countless suitors slipped her a glass of beer. With that fateful first taste of hoppy heaven, Jane's life was forever changed. Renouncing her societal obligations, she flipped her family and suitors the bird and moved to central Illinois, where she began to hone her amateur wrestling skills. Eventually, she was discovered and welcomed into the CLAW family. Fueled by liquid courage and pork skins, this Regency redneck will open a can of whoop-ass on whoever stands in her way.

Blessed with unconventional good looks and an amazing smile, VIRGINIA DENTATA first cut her teeth on the pageant circuit as a young teen. Her exceptional maturity served her well onstage but intimidated her peers; although she was successful, something inside her hungered for more. Then, one day, while practicing a particularly strenuous lip sync routine at her local library, she stumbled onto The Feminine Mystique. She devoured it quickly, followed by works by Audre Lorde, Simone de Beauvoir and Eve Ensler, and it wasn’t long before she stopped talking world peace and started talking patriarchy.

Her pageant performances faltered, and the gap between Virginia and the people around her, always large, widened further. Women complained about her big mouth; men found her emasculating. And if you happened to say something misogynist, she’d straight-up bite your head off. The pageant organizers took her aside: attend a feminist anger management retreat or relinquish her crown. Stripping herself bare, she stared into the abyss and abyss stared back. And slowly, she calmed the raging beast inside her. She returned to society ready to spout cheerful platitudes. But make no mistake: she may have muzzled her emotions, but her convictions are as sharp as ever. Rub her the wrong way, and she’ll chew you up and spit you out.

A tragedy befell us all when the crotchety crone Dusty Bazongas passed on under mysterious circumstances. Everyone felt the shock and pain when her remains were secreted from the ditch where her soul left this Earth, leaving those surviving asking a multitude of questions that need to be answered: "Who could that shadowy figure be?" "What will become of those Bazongas?" "Who cares?"

These ringing inquiries were seemingly answered when Rusty Bazongas entered the scene sporting joints made of charged-up tin and the brain of the deceased. But now, after Rusty's demise, yet another shambling creature with a roughly Bazongas-shaped silhouette has been spotted, moaning for brains and revenge.

It's still unclear who's cranking out these monstrosities, but the name given to this undead monster by witnesses to her ripping and suplexing her way through town can be none other than ZOMBIE BAZONGAS, her hunger for flesh only equaled by her desire to tumble all opponents into bloody submission. It isn't known how much of the Bazongas spark exists in this scuffling savage, but the noble souls that dragged their battered bodies to safety after attempting to stop her reported that they heard ZOMBIE BAZONGAS's clear ire at missing The Young and the Restless through her garbled shrieking, her hollow, hungry stare pointing directly at the CLAW headquarters.