As rookies in 1979, The Eat lit up the scoreboards in South Florida punk clubs, garnering hit after knockout hit before literally dozens of adoring fans. Success seemed certain until loose lips, substance abuses, and one too many Jets games on TV sent them to an early shower, just as they were hitting their stride. Years passed, and the faithful never forgot, yearning for those long summer nights of yore, getting together with the Brothers O'Brien for an evening of intellectual scum rock and smartass love songs, slammin' with your best girl, and pukin' out back afterwards. Little wonder the call went out, echoing from West Kendall almost to the Palm Beach County line; "More EAT! More EAT!" Sure, it might've been broken english from Haitians demanding second helpings, but no matter. The Eat are up off the couch, playing louder and faster than ever, and whining about it at a fever pitch, so don't miss any opportunity to see them; Parcells is coaching the Jets now, y'know...
(Okay, so the buggers don't want me to do their little page for them... they wanna do it themselves. Oh, how 1979 of you. Fine. Be that way. I'm still Eat Fun Club member #00000001 and someone oughta put up a coupla pictures of their records or something. The ones that record collectors (you know, those guys who buy discs and never play them) are paying hundreds of $$$$ for. So follow the links as they reveal a thing or two about the greatest middle-aged punk rock has-beens in the world. It goes something like this here.)
My Pages - The Records / Pictures and Posters
Real EAT Pages - Kenny Must Be Stopped / True Eat Stories / Jesus Loves Liz Balmaseda
At Least This Page is by
(The guy who helped bring you "God Punishes The Eat")