Of cheese, fires & Satan, Or: One of those eternal dilemmas - what do I call my band?

I should not be writing here, but instead writing fiction. The whole reason I became a lowly cheese-seller was so that I could be a-writing the fiction inbetween all the cheese. I did in fact finish a story last week, which made me happy for a good day and a half. But now all I can think of is English Applewood, Swedish Ambrosia, Boursin, Caprakaas, Strzelecki and Seal Bay triple cream. The contents of the cheese compartment in my fridge. Plus jimjams quince paste. And my aunty's quince brick. The Seal Bay won't see out the day.

My room is finally at a livable temperature. Damn delightful old-fashioned timber houses and their inability to hold warmth in winter or to stay cool in summer. Though my housemate's solution last summer, when the house was too hot to be in, was to take the TV out onto the balcony and watch films there at night. That I am looking forward to. But these days it is a matter of navigating the eddies of cold air as you move from one heat source to another. Toby agrees that the open fires in the evenings are lovely. I’ve started calling the fire Calcifer - after the fire demon in 'Howl's Moving Castle', which I just finished reading - which explains its sometimes moodiness and reluctance to catch. Though, of course, the real Calcifer does not go out, but instead feeds himself with logs and keeps the moving castle moving. If we were a moving castle, we could move away from the hockey field when the hockey players are getting too rowdy. We could move up the hill closer to the tram stop when I’m running late for work. We could move into a warmer part of the world while the rest of ascot vale freezes. We need to get us one of thems fire demons.

Kate’s band is looking for a new name. They are currently called 'Left of Crazy’, not 'Left of Catzy' as I just mistyped. They are a melancholy rock band comprising of a redheaded bassist and lead-singer, a longhaired Sri Lankan rockponce lead guitarist, a gay farm-boy drummer and a real cute vampire rhythm guitarist and backing vocalist (also, incidentally, a Doctor Who fan). The names they have so far rejected include:
Little Cat Z (‘too funk’)
Bruise Wheel, and/or Bruise Wheel of Death (‘too metal’)
Smit, Snot and Shpadoinkle (‘we're not like your band [read: we're a *serious* band]’ - bah!)
Sire Whipped (‘no one's no one's sire and none of us are sire whipped')
They are too picky, I say. But please, any suggestions you have, throw them my way and I’ll voice them to the manager. I’ll also add the 'of death' or 'of doom' on the end of them to make them that bit more classy.
Unfortunately for them, the most awesomist, best band name ever, Satan's Bunnies, has been taken. We bunnies of beelzebub should have done something to celebrate on June 6th = 6/06/06 = 666 = our dark lord (voldy)'s day! Do you have to like, rehearse and stuff to still be considered a band?