More dirt about yourself:
Little girls. Sugar, spice, and everything nice. All throughout America, little girls are innocence personified, as images of Barbie Dolls, putting on mom's makeup, and marrying Prince Charming flicker through their heads like a television scans through channels.

There are those girls, mostly anonymous, and largely dangerous, whose affections for Easy Bake ovens and puppies were warped by a craving for knee high boots, heavy metal music, and mayhem. The type of girl whose elbows were not obstacles that interfered with proper dinner etiquette but sharp weapons that joyously cracked temples and inflicted concussions.

Rarer yet were the girls who's violent passion were subdued by a veneer of innocence. With fluttering eyelashes, and quivering lips, even the the vilest of sins could be blamed on those nearby. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, these girls inflict carnage and wrath wherever they go, but through cold cunning and guile, escape consequence with ease.

We hope to catch these girls before they destroy us.

This is Randi Stroyer. One of "those" girls who delights in your agony and sneers at your pain. Those who cross her path on the roller circuit had best have a craving for sharp piercing elbows, violent tumbles over the edge, and unending laughter in the face of defeat. Those who confront her directly will be reminded of their encounters by weeks of soreness and broken bones. In a way, her confinement to the Rollergirls league, though a curse for her foes, is a blessing to us all.