Intergalactic space mutants GWAR skinned their way through town just in time for the "boo-season," drawing their divine slaves of the Tampa Bay area to The Ritz to enjoy a safe, non-slick chamber of death and destruction that the venue has ever-so-kindly deigned to host the past few years. If you are offended by the following topics and series of events, one can assume this isn't the sort of show for you: blood, swords, hulking malformed space mutants in thongs, loud music, Hitler, political portrayals, cuttlefish, more loud music, veins, brains, and intestines, decapitation, dissection. Anal probing, no, dangerously penetrating of most sockets - excuse me, all orifices of the human body - yes. Meditative almost. It'd be extremely rude not to mention the ripping, peeling, compassionate clenching of brains, eyes, tongues, and guts. Limbs, who needs them? Sliced like a fine sushi roll, made from a real sushi chef. These are just a few gory details to consider before gracing Gwar with your presence.
The Scumbags of the Universe, mighty overlords and proclaimed rulers of earth are led by a gruesome crack eating addict, Oderus Urungus, whose only barbaric goal is to exterminate and/or enslave the human race. The “re-birth” of Gwar on the planet can only be a successful holocaust with help from his fellow mutants - Balsac, Jizmak Da Gusha, Beefcake the Mighty, and Pustulus Maximus. According to legend, when Gwar was exiled to Earth, they set out to populate the planet with sex raging, body tearing offspring. Things didn't go according to plan and after raping and savaging numerous species of animals, Gwar created man. Man's only purpose from that point on was to serve Gwar, to become slaves for eternity, never allowed to participate in the ingesting of crack rocks.
It's impossible to properly prepare. And really, who wants to? Leave the poncho and goggles at home, and get doused in the glory of gushing arteries, sanguine and vital fluids, as the dribbling warlords make a bid for your soul with hard rock and high gore. This time around, I escaped looking like an extra in Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and now have a single bloodied load of laundry I look forward to attacking with aggressive vigor.