Here's How a GWAR Super Bowl Halftime Show Would End, According to GWAR
By Jason Roche
Courtesy Slave Pit Inc. GWAR
Recently a petition to have GWAR play the 2015 Super Bowl Halftime Show went live on Change.org.
It's gotten nearly 46,000 signatures, but let's be honest: Even if it had 46 million, we doubt the NFL would let the costumed metallers perform on its biggest event of the year. (Too much blood on the cheerleaders' outfits, for one thing.)
LA Weekly asked GWAR leader Oderus Urungus to tell us what that show might look like. Here's what he said:
Oderus Urungus: What would a GWAR Super Bowl halftime show be like? First we would have to find it. Once there we -- a group of blood-stained intergalactic marauders riding around inside a giant bat -- tailgate in the parking lot. You can imagine the bill for parking, which we pay in feces. After copious amounts of baby kebabs and GWAR Beer, we march inside.
But then, surprise! GWAR has no intention of playing the halftime show. GWAR is there for one reason -- to KILL. We bum-rush the field during the kickoff and proceed to take on both teams. By the end of the first quarter, the field would be a ruin of broken, bleeding bodies and crushed helmets.
Among the first to die would be the officials. The symbolism of five old white guys ordering around 22 young black ones has nauseated me long enough. Hopefully by the end of the second quarter, the shittier team would be decimated. Perhaps it will be the Cowboys, and the half ends by me punting Tony Romo's head into orbit, taking out the International Space Station in the process. Now the halftime show can begin!
We would still have uninspired corporate dwiddle-pop like the Black Eyed Peas, Bruno Mars, Justin Bieber . . . In fact we would have them all. GWAR would sit back on our thrones of metallic opulence as one by one these groveling creatures were led to their deaths. Perhaps we would give them a moment to "sing," before they were hurled into our meat grinder, but undoubtedly they would spend their final seconds begging for their pathetic lives. Their sense of entitlement perhaps would even manifest in their last moments, as a screaming Jay Z disappears into the merciless gears of our murder machine with a final, "Fuck you!"
And you fans of the Puppy Bowl have not been forgotten . . .