Gwar was awesome, incredibly good fun! Hell yeah! I have the bruises to prove it. The folks at the Candler Waffle House weren’t exactly sure to make of us as we strolled in wet, green and blue, soaked in Gwar juice…but they served us anyway. I suppose when you’re open 24 hours a day, nothing’s weird anymore.
One thing I did not expect from the blood, jizz and miscellaneous gore that spewed upon us was the smell. Not the smell of the liquids, not at all. What was sprayed all over us didn’t have a smell (or a taste—it was running down my face several times, so I got more than one taste of it). The problem is that when you add moisture of any kind to the unwashed population of Ashevegas, you get a freakin’ stench like you wouldn’t believe…like a sheepdog that rolled in equal portions of sauerkraut, dung and patchouli. It was…unholy, horrible, overwhelming at moments.
And then, one other factor that I didn’t consider before the show is that when I am soaking wet and sticky from all the Gwar fluids, the hair of other people flailing about will stick to me. Ohhhh hellllllllllllll, talk about creeped out: not only was my sense of smell being assaulted by the odor, but the crawly feeling you get all over when you see hair plastered to your arm that is not yours that won’t flippin’ come off…ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. Eww. Ewwwwwwwww!
But anyhooooooooooooooooo, Gwar was rockin’ and hysterical and outstanding! A wild, moshing mess we were as we bounced around the front of the Peel covered in who knows what. Good times!! Next year is the 25th anniversary for the band, so hopefully they’ll make it back this way again.