It's been a long journey with members appearing, disappearing and then reappearing with alarming regularity over the years.
It's rumoured that as part of their rider – above the bit about denim clad midgets, but below the part about everyone having to speak like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean for one hour of every day - they insist that the dressing room doors are removed and replaced with revolving ones just to keep everyone on their toes.
No one is indispensable in the world of the Turbonegro.
There's been madness, drug issues, some cross dressing, huge dollops of crazy rock and roll and cult like adulation along the way, and do you know what?
They still rock like a motherfucker.
A big neon lit nightmare of seventies glam stomp and punk rock motherfuckery.
They're the Rolling Stones, The Ramones, The Dead Boys and the New York Dolls celebrating the apocalypse, and Sexual Harassment is the definitive proof if anyone ever needed it.
The guitars howl, the bass and drums are thunderous and right to the fore is every single politically incorrect thought that has every crossed your mind.
Turbonegro are the glint of switch-blade steel in the dark alley, the leer on the face of the carnival barker, and the money shot at the end of your favourite moment of adult celluloid entertainment all rolled into one.
Remember the promotional comment of 'you pay for the whole seat, but you will only use the edge of it?'
That should have been about Turbonegro.
In the words of Happy-Tom "Most rock 'n' roll bands start as a riot but end up as a parody. We started up as a parody but ended up as a revolution."
Vive le revolution.