Here's How a GWAR Super Bowl Halftime Show Would End, According to GWAR

By Jason Roche

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 . . .

We would stage our own, with the cheerleaders of all the teams being thrown into pits full of starving hell-hounds. After we are satisfied that there simply are no more shitty pop stars to be killed, or hot chicks to be eaten, the second half can begin.

The orgy of violence would continue unabated until the severed heads of the league's top players decorated the goalposts. The field would be a bloody mush, indistinguishable from the slaughter fields of Verdun. But we wouldn't stop with just the teams playing. Our orgy of death would continue until every player, coach, referee and especially OWNER in the NFL was reduced to a sodden lump of human wreckage, stabbed, torn, and stomped into pulp to the soundtrack of GWAR's bestial grunting.

But it will not end so easily. At that point, we would attack the very fans that had been cheering madly until that point. We would launch an armored assault into the stadium with the goal of slaying all 100,000-plus in attendance (and, for some reason, anyone watching on TV would die, too).

Trying to escape would be met at the exits by legions of our scimitar-wielding slaves. And as this simply supreme show of colossal carnage reached the height of hatred and horror, we would channel the necrotic power of the über-death and summon from the mass-grave of screaming souls a 300-foot tall golem of famed meth cook and fictional character Walter White, who would leap into the air and beginning vomiting his trademark blue meth all over the surface of your soon-to-be totally tweaked world.

This is how GWAR would "play" the Super Bowl.

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