Friday, October 06, 2006


Hey, we're back, kids! After my obnoxious plea for all of you to stick it where the sun don't shine and do as I say so, I received a perfect Ask John Eats™ letter in my inbox. So let's keep the introductions brief and get right back to helping people! Are you sitting comfortably? Then let's begin.

Dear John Eats,

My girlfriend and I have been cat-sitting for a friend (of hers) for nearly four months now. This friend was out of town but has been back for a week and hasn't come to visit her cat or make arrangements to pick it up. I like the cat but I am a little sick of cat hair on the bed and nasty poo smell from the litter box. Anyway, I am getting the feeling that this cat is now our cat even though no one has said as much. The real reason I am annoyed is that this friend is taking us for granted and not taking responsibility for owning a cat. I also think she should cut us a fat check for food/cat litter, etc... Do you think this is a battle worth fighting or should I just give in and admit that I am now a cat owner?


Dear Cat-tastrophe,

Boy, situations like these can be really, really awkward. It's just awful when you realize that someone is being inconsiderate towards you. In most cases when encountering behavior of this sort, a person feels absolutely powerless and boxed in, afraid to make a move that will resolve the situation. In others, experiencing this type of situation can make them lash out violently.

It's kind of like the time when I was in college and went to a PIL concert (which, by the way, began with a fight on the dancefloor which quite literally would have made Michael Jackson proud and could only be stopped by police intervention).

Anyway, once PIL got onstage the crowd was pretty thick and I found myself stuck behind two puny little assholes in Depeche Mode t-shirts. They were dancing, which wasn't the problem; the problem was that they were like small children who didn't understand the boundaries of their own bodies, and they kept slapping and bumping their asses against the people around them, myself included. Talk about inconsiderate!!! Jesus H. Christ. So I tried to nicely give them each a shove a couple of times to demarcate a safe area in front of me. It just plain didn't work. They kept up their pansy-ass dervish twirling, and finally I'd had one of their asses touch my stomach one too many times.

So I picked them up and threw them. One at a time, of course. Yeah, they smacked into some other people on their way down, but they got the point. They stayed the hell away from me for the rest of the concert. That learned them.

Oh yeah, then there was the time I was forced to go to a Voivod concert. Christ Almighty, talk about misery. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's F*CKING VOIVOD and their lousy cyber death metal "I wrote these lyrics on the back of my black Trapper Keeper in seventh grade" shit.

Anyway, I was there as a favor to a friend, and he wanted to get right down in front and slam dance (for all you little Pitchfork kids out there, that's what we old farts used to call "moshing" back when you had diaper rash. Yeah, I mean it. Now get outta my yard!). I really didn't want to, but it was my friend's birthday so whatever. During the first song a guy started getting body passed through the crowd. He was a short, shirtless little asshole who was wearing a backwards black baseball hat, combat boots and cutoff army shorts. The first time he came by me, he kicked me in the head. Boy, did that ever piss me off. The second time he came by, he screamed "Hey!" at me so that I'd turn toward him, which, like an idiot, I did. He was being passed around on his stomach this time, and he was coming at me head-first. As soon as I turned my head, he full-on punched me in the face and my glasses went flying. Amazingly, nobody stepped on them and I was able to get them back. But boy, did that ever piss me off.

So I waited for him to come around again. By this point I wasn't even paying attention to the show, I was just waiting to give that little asshole a taste of his own medicine. He got passed toward me again, still on his stomach. When he was in range, I reached out with one hand, grabbed the waistline of his army shorts, and slowly dragged him down off the hands of the crowd and onto the floor. I then proceeded to do something I have never done before or since: I actually kicked someone in their ass. Hard. Twice.

He tried to get up, started screaming at me and looked like he was about to punch me. I just put my finger in his face and said "Don't." In that split second I think he realized that I had a good two feet of height on him, so he ran away and didn't get body passed anymore.


John Eats.

Do you have a question, no one else can help, and you can't find The A-Team? Mail your question to:


Please only send these questions via email. John Eats does not like to be asked questions in person or over the phone, that's during his "Me Time" and he doesn't want to be bothered.


Anonymous eels said...


I had no idea that Depeche Mode got together when they were 13.

12:22 AM  

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