The Volgi is the primary and only permanent resident of the Castle. If you see him by the bar in the lounge, do not be afraid to stroll up and say hello. The Volgi is very friendly, and will welcome any visitor who buys him a glass of the Liao drug at the bar.

Do not attempt to pet the yeti.

‘Puter does most of his work in the Castle Rumpus Room, so called because a traditional rumpus results in bloodshed. There he sits at his IBM XT with the Coleco monitor, thumping his thumbs against a keyboard with most of the keys missing. He is so skilled at argumentation that he can defeat pretty much any argument he selects; once, he defeated an opponent using only punctuation.

He’s an avid lover of anything that will make his family apologize for it. When away from the Castle, ‘Puter lives in western Upstate New York where he enjoys in the art of cooking, good manhattans, and shooting the crap out of little woodland creatures.

‘Puter joined the Gormogons in the late 1980s, arriving at our Castle with steamer trunks, an untranslated letter of introduction, some spurious claims of familial relationship to a dead member, and a lizard man.

His essays and thoughts on our site remain among the most popular. Your guess is as good as ours as to why that might be.

GorT has no knees and only one eye that shoots a powerful laser. His massive claw like hands are capable of lifting heavy loads, tearing apart the strongest armor, and even Jenga. His ability to play the violin is, perhaps, slightly more limited. He knows all the quadratic formulas by heart, even the dirty ones.

Despite his total control of emotion, incredible strength, and ruthless combat mastery, GorT truly understands the value of human life and rips apart people only when he feels like it. GorT joined our order in the year 5086, about the same time he stole Hot Pockets’ crisping sleeve technology and brought it back to 1991.

GorT spends time at his cloning facility in greater Washington DC. Were it not for him, you would not be reading this site as most of it is actually hosted in a massive storage facility located in his right heel.

The Czar met the Mandarin in 1287, and in turn the Volgi in 1294. By 1308, both had been successfully recruited into the Gormogons. The Czar enjoys smoking and grilling, firearms, and other forms of violence. On the nicer side, he loves dogs (especially the kind that hunt serfs on sight). The Czar is also a skilled knife thrower, but prefers to handle his executions personally with a massive collection of axes.

The Czar heads up his own okhrana, who are staggeringly incompetent and wrong on just about everything they discover. He uses their information to develop incisive articles for our site involving journalism, science, religion, and politics. He also likes baseball and hockey.

His real name is 吏恆, but the year and place of his birth is impossible to align with this dimension. He often vanishes for months at a time, and spends most of his Castle visits locked in the basement, a spooky glow shining below the door to his lab. He owns a wonderful manticore named Barry that lives in our menagerie. You are welcome to pet it, although it will certainly kill you.

The Mandarin is the originator of the now famous meme of “gut booting,” by which he demonstrates his displeasure of someone, however mild, by kicking him in the stomach. He does not do requests, unless your request is to receive a boot to the gut. This request may be granted without you even asking. Or expecting it.

Some of his lab experiments involve animals, such as the time he put a metronome in front of a cat and watched the cat spend ten minutes swatting it. This seems like a strange experiment to do to a cat, but he swears he had an idea for something when he set it up.

The Mandarin most famously brought us to England in the 1700s, just before we moved to the United States in 1776.

Once, when King Orin of Atlantis fell ill with the Ick, Dr. J. stepped in with an elixir he devised from a combination of minerals, herbs and saps. Curing the king, Dr. J. gained significant notoriety which afforded him the luxury of time to devote himself to his side hobbies which include porpoise racing, the study of supply-side economics, cooking and raising his lovely merchildren alongside his lovely bride the archconservative Mrs. Dr. J.

Dr. J. understands the terrible burden of running a galactic empire, maintaining his world-class cardiological credentials, and frightening millions of alien populations. He also likes Cavalier King Charles spaniels, although he wishes the dogs could be a bit more cavalier than their name would suggest.

Dr. J. spends a lot of time in the Castle complaining about the fragrences in the soap dispensers. He knows a lot about stuff. Seriously, you guys.

His real name is unknown, but because of his strong resemblance to a well-known fictional character, ‘Puter named him Sleestak. The latter is so severely unattractive that usually we represent him with a stock photograph of the television character. There is no mistaking him in the Castle; if you see him shuffling in the hallways, you should consider staying out of his way.

Fortunately, Sleestak will spend most of his day in ‘Puter’s room, leaving only to run errands or fetch hard-to-obtain items around town for his Master. One of his key jobs is Charnel Master of the Castle, which shows that he is much more responsible than little Dat Ho.

How he came into ‘Puter’s care is a bit of a mystery. The Volgi seems to recall that ‘Puter came home after a four-day bender, clutching a large, speckled egg. His memory regarding how or where he obtained the egg was entirely missing, as was his clothing. ‘Puter refused to let anyone cook and eat the egg—or in the Czar’s case, eat the egg uncooked—and locked it in his room. Eventually, the egg hatched, and whatever slithered out imprinted itself on ‘Puter’s horrified face and the reptilian idiot has been living in the Castle ever since. To our knowledge, ‘Puter has never brought Sleestak home to meet his family.

Little Dat spends most of his rare off-time learning unbroken English in order to say he is sorry for folding the Czar’s socks with the heel to the left instead of the right. There will probably be a beating, or at least a serious throttling, for some transgression; for verily he knows what he did in the kitchen, when he thought he could pocket an extra parsnip for dessert. With underlings, you know, you must be very strict in their discipline, even it means fabricating accusations against them.

Inetef-Te-Henqet does not speak English. Inetef-Te-Henqet is incapable of learning new languages, likely because his brain was removed with a hook through his nose during the mummification process and the resin in his skull cavity cannot form new synaptic paths.

2-1B doesn’t require breaks, only a Thunderbolt cable to keep him going when his erbium hafnide batteries run low. Furthermore, he does all of the work that Dr J. would rather pass on, such as lancing ‘Puter’s buttocks boils. Dat Ho likely has a trephening appointment with 2-1B this week, although he probably doesn’t realize it.