Gwar! Gwar, Gwar, Gwar, Gwar, Gwar! Shirt soaked, pants quite wet, sticky with Gwar blood. Rocked the pit almost the whole time, saving folks from being crushed to death, booted in the face, etc. All of the five men in my group, most of them quite a bit younger than me, claimed to be too old for the pit, and it was too crazy for my lovely spouse, but Ann held her own and came out blood soaked too, love that woman. The crowd wild and drunk with testosterone, heat, blood (real and Gwar), and lack of air, looked fabulous & raw, jagged. Women laughed as they crowd surfed, wowed the fans & band with the tried & true method of baring their tastefully pierced breasts while sitting on someone's shoulders, although Odorous did say "Unfortunately, I prefer the breasts of dogs." Shortly thereafter they brought out the dead dog to squeeze blood out of.
My G.G. Allin & The Murder Junkies shirt shows the blood real well. It dries quietly at home now waiting for the photo shoot, smelling manly. What a great time. Most psychedelic Gwar show ever. The blood would shoot straight for my eyes in rows of streams such that I was able to observed the rounded tips of the bright red streams right up until my eyes snapped shut 0.1-seconds before impact, such crazy fun. Turns out that bloodlust is more than just a pretty word for repeating when out of earshot of others.