Science says that in the Pacific there’s an island of trash the size of Texas.
Aloha! and welcome to the Great Pacific Garbage Patch!
What we lack in beaches, we make up for in atmosphere. The atmosphere is thirty nine percent plastic. Did you know that plastic comes from dinosaurs? One of the many perks of our accommodations here is that there is somewhere in the neighborhood of zero dinosaurs. No life is possible here.
First, toss your luggage into the ocean. Everything you could possibly need is strewn about, within about two hundred miles of where you stand. If you want to watch cable, find a television. If you find one of our local iguanas, well, that’s between you and the iguana.
Feel free to ask anyone you meet for directions or a local home-cooked meal. The locals are as friendly as they are nonexistent. If you find any hidden beaches or narrow coves, you are seeing a mirage. Either that or the back cover of one very old magazine.
As you walk around and sip on any CapriSun brand Sex-On-The-Beach gulp-bags you might find, contemplate yourself as a consumer. Think about what got us here – a Boeing 747 spewing diesel exhaust, perhaps? If there is any escape from your capitalist nightmare, it is here, surrounded by useless typewriters and dead, very dead fish that played some rusted N64 until their hearts wore out from endless, endless grind to get more points.