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Robert Barclay

Softcover, 224 pp.

Ah, Pasifika. Imagine swaying palms and sapphire waters, Gauguin skies and perpetual summer set to the languid strumming of a single, endless ukulele. Yes, you are in paradise. And the best is yet to come, because with so many bare bodies, tanned and slick with oil, Pasifika is where uninhibited sexual desires can’t help but ignite as well. So come and relax away the worries of our dying world, drink cocktails out of reasonably real coconuts, and once the tiki torches are lit, oh my god get ready to get laid too. Any way you like it. The natives, the ones serving you your Tropical Itch, the ones massaging you with their lovely hula hands, well, their only goal is to perform, to provide, and to please those who arrive at their receding shores, a gratitude for giving them Jesus and service jobs in hotels built on top of their ancestors’ murmuring bones. But wait—there’s more! What better booming climax to all this sexiness than the beautiful orgasmic horror of flaming mushroom cloud after mushroom cloud rising into the azure Pasifika sky. After all, Pasifika has long been the largest proving ground for global apocalypse on earth. Didn’t you know the word bikini itself was coined after an atomic bomb devastated a nearby atoll of the same name? It’s that sexy. Now strap in, or strap on, and let the characters of Pasifika guide you into a nightmare vision of the near future in a colonized, climate-devastated, and irradiated Pacific, where the product of our evolution has become the perfection of annihilation, with a raging hard-on, and where the greatest horror may be discovered at the core of our own confused and frustrated desires.

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