Missing since: May 17, 2007 – the day he moved into the "bungalow"

Last seen: No one's actually ever seen him. He was born in (and never comes out of) the House of Thumbs bungalow, where he spends his life writing high school musicals. Even his appearance at gigs is holographic.

Last meal: A hefty serving of his own words; no one was listening.

Answers to: Crackham, Crackman, Crackbot, Wackham, Rachmaniham, Rack 'em up, Rat cum, Sunday Rack Parade, or just plain Wacky.

Non-musical band role: Enforcer of Rules, Layer of Laws, Smotherer of all Mirth

Favourite Thumbs song: The ones House of Thumbs can't play yet.

Favourite venue: The House of Thumbs bungalow.

Genre of choice: All but country and modern pop.

Previous bands: Valhalla, Isolar, Syntropy, Abrasion.

Special move: The Drunken Fence Ram – Wacky Racky has mastered the art of the fence ram and can execute it running or flying. With a difficulty rating of 8.2, Wacky employs this special move late at night on corrugated iron fences to unleash a massive sonic boom as well as devastating pain to both the fence and, well... himself. No one else is harmed.

Musical shame: "Underneath the Radar" by Underworld

Catchphrase: "We need to... Hey guys, we gotta... Are we ready to... Can we figure out... Fuck! We can't talk about anything in this band!"

If he wasn't in House of Thumbs, he'd be: in the bungalow anyway, attempting to learn every instrument ever invented.

Voted most likely: to place himself in self-imposed exile after receiving zero responses to the 153 emails he sent to the band suggesting House of Thumbs covers Act II of Gilbert and Sullivan's "The Mikado".

There's complex and then there's Crackham, a musical genius so misunderstood that he regularly receives letters from scientific organisations urging him to donate his brain for medical research after he dies. His own parents even stopped speaking to him during his teens when he chose to respond to them only by humming notes from the Blues Minor Pentatonic scale.

With no interest in anything outside of the fervent creation of his own music, the man they call Crackpot spends months on end in his studio playing "house" with his extended family of effects pedals and rack gear. He is estimated to have spent something in the vicinity of $700,000 on musical equipment in pursuit of the perfect bass sound and can often be heard sobbing and wailing loudly while playing back bass tones.

When not making "sweet music with the pedals he loves", Wacky Racky can also be found staring vacantly into the distance during conversations on anything else, particularly sport and sex. Has an unhealthy preoccupation with the mythical, 13hz brown-note and hopes to one-day "air" his findings before a packed stadium and video the results.