How does a quiet farm girl from Iowa turn into a blood-thirsty Texas skater who wants to stick a spur in your ass? If you ask Wanda Whompya, she'll blame a brainwashed childhood in which she wore pink dresses, sang Celine Dion songs and dotted her "i's" with hearts.

"I tried to be good," Wanda says as she puts out a cigarette on her arm. "But deep down, I knew I was bad." The cries for help came early in her benign existence: Dismembered Barbie dolls. Mailbox bombs. Wanda's thirst for blood only intensified when she ditched her Green Acres life for a gypsy existence with just $50 in her pocket, a fifth of Jack Daniels and a Rottweiler named Tattoo. Only when she killed a man in a bar brawl somewhere in the Bible Belt did Wanda decide to head south for the border. It was during a pit stop east of Dallas, Texas, that she spotted a sign for roller derby outside a skating rink. The first time she laced up her skates and pulled on her black fishnets, Wanda knew she was home in Assassination City. She has been hair pulling and hell raising for almost one year. And the law hasn't caught up to her just yet.