Henry Rollins

"Fuck golf! Make it dangerous!" Henry Rollins isn't taking any prisoners; inspired by the plight of a naked crack addict mauled by an alligator in Florida late last year, he seems sure that the threat of being ravaged by the animal kingdom might provide exactly the kind of shock that modern, complacent man requires.

"Mother nature is exacting a jihad on earth!" he reasons, both convinced and excited that the tables might be about to turn on our misdeeds, apparently thrilled that our children might reap some moral benefit from having a gang of rabid hyenas chase them down the street if it means they’ll tidy up their act. Wrapping the flex of his mic around his fist and stopping just short of assuming that famous Black Flag battle crouch by an inch, he doles out disdain at seeing Western imperialism at work everywhere he travels. He communicates eloquently and with a tireless fluency, yet he still finds the sure-footed spaces to slide in nuggets of dry humour: "It’s such a heartbreak to know that I can buy an Oasis CD in Lebanon."

A man about more than just a slew of conspiracy theories and unapologetic anecdotes, Rollins often appears far beyond the misanthrope he claims to be, a warm and affable nutter who speaks more grounded sense than many a politician – a career he’d probably do well to engage in. "I agitate and infuriate motherfuckers, that is my job," he booms with a glint in his eye. This man would make a fine President.