I’m already a little grossed out by the stylized flesh on the cover, cartoon flies added for effect, before I even pop in this tape. I don’t even know what to expect, but I’m already smelling it – that sweet, ripe, decaying odor that’s as revolting as it is familiar. If that’s the flesh of a skunk, then there’s an additional olfactory element. Let’s just say it doesn’t do the already-pungent mélange any favors.

This is all before “Tit Tat” even gets ten seconds into itself. The violently low synth bass reverberates throughout my whole body, like Road Kill – the band, not the item – has been perched on my chest, sitting there until this very moment, ready to rip an intense series of farts until I’m convulsing in distress and choking on yet another scented accoutrement to this whole thing. The fact that this is even called EAT has me running to the nearest toilet and heaving up whatever little is left in my stomach, while Roadkill cackles maniacally from where I’ve shoved them, continuing to utterly destroy the atmosphere around them with their anal explosions. 

Ten seconds in, people.

Beyond that, Roadkill cooks up a particularly nasty strain of synth-punk, indebted to Suicide, Skinny Puppy, and Butthole Surfers. And while you may never want to eat again after this noxious mini-album, you’ll certainly be going back for seconds on EAT.

(I’m so lame.)