We were a bit skeptical, don't get us wrong. We had done the math and realized that we discovered Gwar when Michael Dukakis was still in the running for Commander-in-Chief. The last time we had seen them play, during the height of their 10-foot-tall-foam-rubber-cock-and-fake-jizz phase, William Jefferson was trying to explain a certain spot of splooge to the Senate. How would Gwar, the band that convinced our middle-school friends' parents that we had a reservation for the cell next to the furnace in hell, hold up after we had achieved our hard fought, “respectable adult”-hood? How would they stack up against our refined, informed tastes in live entertainment?
