The surf surrounding Savanua island was full of sea corpses—gathered at the water’s edge, lurking like Nile crocodiles waiting for unsuspecting antelopes to drink at their waterhole. 

If you were unlucky enough to be bitten by one of these zombie-like creatures, with their teeth full of flesh-eating bacteria, the resulting necrotizing fasciitis infection would surely finish you off. 

At first, everybody assumed the victims were being eaten. But in reality, they were dragged to the bottom of the ocean to join the benthic army of Vaekoro, the Killer of Souls, a Polynesian god who ruled the abyss. 

At night and during heavy rainstorms, the sea corpses would come ashore and terrorize the people of Savanua. Clad in swimwear, pirate costumes, sailor uniforms, wetsuits and bikinis, they formed a funky but invincible battalion of soldiers. 

Where the Tide Leaves its Dead, the first novel by author Bray Mattheson, is a story of survival and Polynesian mythology. A novel in which humanity’s response to a monster invasion was profoundly disheartening. 

Casey Davies (sometimes referred to as Casey Jones, a real-life character from history whose life ended in heroic recklessness) is the protagonist of the story. At his side are two extraordinary sidekicks named Puaka and Izzy. 

Puaka was a wild boar who faithfully protected Casey from the encroaching sea corpses. “She was a Hell-Pig, a real mean bitch,” he said at one point. “There wasn’t nothin’ sweet about her.” Even though she doesn’t make it to the end of the novel, she gets a touching sendoff in the final chapter from the author. 

Izzy is a 499-pound gentle giant who crushes every obstacle in his path. He’s a sweet guy who simply wants to get his family off the island and somewhere safe. In the process, he becomes a legend and acquires numerous iconic nicknames like “the Skull-Crusher,” “the Leopard Slayer” and “Eighteen-Wheeler Izzy.” If the author is amenable (and I hope he is), I’d love to see more books featuring this charismatic Polynesian paladin. Fingers crossed.

Like I said earlier, the island’s response to its sea corpse problem is extremely shameful. There is a tribe of cannibals who willingly feed innocent people to the “salt-crusted demons” in wild and orgiastic rituals. There is also an entire city that pits citizens and monsters against each other in daily gladiator-like battles. The whole situation is Caligula-like to say the least.

During the denouement, Casey and Izzy reunite on the beach where all the madness began. Said the author:“The war was over. The god was dead. No more monsters to put down. There was nothing left for them to hunt. And for a long moment, they just stood there, staring at the ocean, not speaking. Just two men who’d survived something unspeakable.” 

[ Where the Tide Leaves its Dead / By Bray Mattheson / First Printing: March 2026 / ISBN: 9798254255765 ]

Marine biologists, comparative psychologists, neuroscientists and cognitive experts all agree that octopuses are smart. Yet their intelligence is so alien—so fundamentally different from our own—that it resists conventional measurement. Some scientists (and science fiction writers) have even speculated that, under slightly different environmental conditions, octopods might have evolved to become the dominant species on Earth in place of humans. 

The giant octopus in Mark Hobson’s latest novel certainly knows what it’s doing. Creeping through the waters of the North Sea, the monster has a singular goal—to assert its place as the world’s undisputed ruler of sea and land. “To find people and to feed on them,” says Hobson bluntly. 

The novel begins when a couple of bodies wash ashore at Saltwick Quay, a small fishing port located at the tip of the North Sea. Dr. Samantha Steele, a forensic pathologist, quickly determines that a deadly deep-sea apex predator is responsible for the deaths. She calls it Octopus abyssalis borealis, a newly discovered species of very large and aggressive octopods. 

Chris Keeble, the port’s harbormaster, isn’t surprised. “When you spend your whole life living and working around the sea,” he says, “you’re bound to cross paths with something horrible.” Keeble, the hero of our story, is a drunken layabout with a notorious past. He was in the Royal Navy at one time, but was dishonorably discharged. 

The British Navy and the Norwegian Sjøforsvaret (along with Steele and Keeble) begin tracking the sea monster. It’s pretty easy to follow because the creature is clearly on a rampage. To complicate matters further, Russian ships are also in the area, and they’re interested in the octopus too.

In Chapter 17 alone, the abyssal beast destroys a lighthouse, a bridge and an offshore oil rig. To top it off, the octopus even pulls itself across land to smash a church full of parishioners. ”The religious sanctuary that had sheltered generations could not withstand the attack and folded in on itself, burying all the people beneath stone and shattered wood.”

The explosive climax takes place back where it all began at Saltwick Quay. The 400-foot creature is utterly incomprehensible. The monstrous, dome-shaped, mottled mantle of the giant’s bulbous head breaches the water, resembling a surfacing submarine. A set of black eyes looks down at the onlookers with an inscrutable, cold and logical gaze. Like the Bible’s Leviathan, it is a beast of immense scale that magnified how puny we all are compared to God’s creations. 

There are a few last-second surprises (of course), but the biggest one comes on the very last page. In fact, Attack of the Killer Octopus has the greatest ending of any novel I’ve ever read. I had to read it twice (maybe three times) to make sure it actually ended the way I thought it did. 

[ Attack of the Killer Octopus / By Mark Hobson / First Printing: March 2026 / ISBN: 979825142118 ]

In the 2011 movie Rise of the Planet of the Apes, a scientist develops a drug that boosts brain function in chimpanzees. As a result, the test subject gains self-awareness and human-like intelligence. Eventually, he leads a revolt of apes against mankind. 

It’s easy to see why this sort of trope is popular in movies and literature—it’s both iconic and instantly recognizable. It also addresses all sorts of philosophical questions about evolution, artificial intelligence and genetic engineering.  

In Rokko, Christofer Nigro’s “smart chimp” novel, a genomics laboratory in Buffalo, NY, discovers a way to create a human-chimpanzee hybrid zygote. “We have finally broken the genetic barriers preventing interspecies fertilization with Homo sapiens,” says molecular biologist Dr. Brett Hubbard. 

Without question, it’s a tremendous scientific breakthrough, but nobody knows exactly what to think when they see the hybrid infant for the first time. Rokko—the fuzzy gray newborn—is a grotesque and awkward combination of humanoid and simian features. “It was ugly as hell,” stammers intern Hollie Lynn Kennedy. 

Six years later, Rokko is a brute. He’s five feet, five inches tall and looks more grotesque than he did during his infant and toddler years. He spends his time during the day reading books and watching the Playboy Channel on TV. 

Rokko is intelligent, verbal, unpredictable and clearly horny. But more than anything, he’s filled with an all-consuming hatred for humanity. One night, in a pique, he pours a jug of Drano down his caretaker’s throat. Watching the man choke and die from the highly caustic alkaline mixture fills him with ecstasy.  

Says Nigro: “Rokko felt euphoric over taking a life for the first time, as years of built-up rage and resentment toward the human species, with which he shared a genetic heritage, had finally been released in a massive cathartic explosion.”

Later, Rokko escapes from the laboratory with an insatiable urge to punish the entire human race. In addition, he’s curious about one specific thing: Sex. “He had long wondered if his half-human heritage would enable him to impregnate either a human woman or a female chimpanzee … or both,” says Nigro. “Moreover, he had longed to put that to the test for reasons partly clinical—but only partly.”

The novel ends with a string of frenzied, ultra-violent episodes. If you’re familiar with Nigro’s earlier work, you already know that he has a knack for writing compelling fight scenes. Here, his ape-versus-man clashes are especially descriptive and engaging.

The multiple rape scenes, however, are especially graphic and brutal. The most disturbing moment occurs when Rokko breaks into the suburban home of Dr. Hubbard, the scientist responsible for his creation. “Your mate is my mate now,” declares the pongid assailant. “What I do is no different than what you did to my mother. Now I do this to you. It is poetic justice. Now shut up! I am busy.” 

[ Rokko / By Christofer Nigro / First Wild Hunt Press Printing: March 2026 / ISBN: 9798993398037 ]

Author Jonathan Janz has a lot to say about Southern Gothic literature in his introduction to a new anthology entitled Screams from the Bayou. The subgenre blends dark and eerie (often grotesque) elements with realistic portrayals of Southern culture. Instead of haunted castles, it focuses on decaying plantations, small towns and deeply flawed characters. 

The swamps of the American South—especially places like Louisiana and the Mississippi Delta—are a big part of Southern Gothic storytelling, says Janz. The heat, isolation and slow rot of the swamp are obvious symbols for a society haunted by the past and the inability to move forward.

“The bayou,” he says in conclusion, “provides a haven for fell creatures and deeds, mortal dangers human and otherwise.” Unarguably, it is the kingdom of nightmares and unutterable evils.

Screams from the Bayou fulfills Janz’s vision of monstrous Southern Gothic literature, but readers have to be patient—things don’t really start cooking until the fifth story. “No place tried to kill a person as much or as often as the wilds of Louisiana did,” says author K.K. Monroe at the beginning of “Dead Water.” Her story of swamp monsters and the burden of family lineage is terrific. It’s probably the best thing in the anthology. 

“Homegoing” by R.J. Joseph is another story I enjoyed quite a bit. When a man rapes and mutilates women and then dumps their bodies in the swamp, he unknowingly creates the Sisters of the Swamp. Their shared trauma is their motivation for revenge, but it also gives them purpose beyond time. “I hoped there would not be another like him to bring us more sisters,” says Fern, the narrator of the story. “But if one came, we would know what to do to save others from spending eternity with us in our little swamp. We, however, would be happy there. Forever.”

Possibly the most outrageous story of the bunch is “The Neighbor” by Ashon Ruffins. A mother relocates to New Orleans for a fresh start after the premature death of her husband. Unfortunately, she and her 12-year-old son Jacob move into a house next door to a creepy old witch doctor.

The mother thinks the guy is harmless, just some old crank who believes that voodoo mumbo-jumbo is real. “My mama may not think you’re up to anything,” says Jacob when he finally comes face to face with his neighbor, “but I know you’re a monster.” The story’s shocking ending will leave readers screaming, “WTF just happened?!”

[ Screams from the Bayou / Edited by Heather Ann Larson / First Printing: March 2026 / ISBN: 9781970383027 ]

To be clear, I’ve read a handful of novels by Michael Cole and they’ve all been pretty good. If you’re looking for straightforward, fast-paced monster action (dinosaur, cryptid, alien or otherwise), Cole’s oeuvre is the place to start. 

But I have to say, despite the dueling “super-giants,” the military response, the unforgiving cryosphere and the (somewhat) quirky characters, I didn’t particularly enjoy Cole’s latest effort. It was bigly disappointing.  

Colossal is the story of two prehistoric creatures caught in the web of a wacky plan from environmental extremists. Damon Caine, the leader of the group, isn’t your typical Greenpeace activist; however, he’s more of a religious ideologue who wants to purify the world and anoint himself as its savior. 

Right away readers learn that Damon Caine is a delusional madman. With a name like that, how could he not be? He’s a Batman villain with a Glenn Danzig song playing in the background. Also, for what it’s worth, he has a raspy voice like Robert F. Kennedy Jr. 

Caine doesn’t make an appearance until late in the book, but his presence is felt on every page. He’s not much of a covert operator though—characters know who he is and they talk about him endlessly. At some point, I was simply turning pages waiting for him to show up. 

Once revealed, Caine doesn’t last long. His diabolical plan is undone in a scant nine pages. Unfortunately for the 10,000 people living in Antarctica’s Camp Boreas (representing McMurdo Station no doubt), they must deal with the consequences of his reckless actions. Because of him, there are now two giant monsters eager to smash their hometown. 

First up is a giant praying mantis. Don’t laugh. A 200-pound mantis is no joke, says Cole. Should its characteristics be anywhere near its chibi counterpart, the super mantis would be a force to be reckoned with. It possesses a strength beyond anything equal to its size. In the history of planet Earth, no creature has been as ravenous or deadly as the praying mantis—and this one was filled with a malice carried over millions of years.  

The super mantid isn’t the only monster threatening Camp Boreas with destruction. There is also a 400-foot lava-spitting Dragon Snake in the neighborhood. Its brown, translucent scales are not dissimilar to medieval shields, helmets and armor. 

The fight between the two behemoths begins with a heavy rumble that rocks the entire continent. On the sidelines, a paleontologist named Dr. Patricia Weldon gasps at the sight before her. She’s an expert on the ancient Antarctica titans and knows she is witnessing the world on the brink of extinction. Who will win the titanic battle? Honestly, I didn’t care. 

[ Colossal / By Michael Cole / First Printing: March 2026 / ISBN: 9781923663190 ]

Deep down we all know the truth. Of all the monsters—big or small, Terran or otherworldly—humans are the worst. Our capacity for cruelty, violence and moral corruption far exceeds that of any fantastical creature. 

With this in mind, editor Chuck McKenzie has curated an awesome science fiction collection of short stories highlighting mankind’s brutish nature. Humans are the true monsters, he says, more real than anything in the universe.  

Humans from Earth!! begins with a sliver of human charity in a story by Daniel Fox called “Home Care.” A woman rescues a wounded space alien stranded in the woods near her house. “Do you like cookies?” she asks the odd little creature in the most motherly way possible. 

The story takes a Misery-like turn when the former nurse starts abusing her patient. She binds him to a surgical table and starts flaying him. She has her reasons, of course—twisted as they may be. 

The remaining stories in this anthology don’t contain even a glimpse of human kindness. The history of Earth is written in blood, says author Mia Dalia in her story “Toxic.” It’s amazing we haven’t killed each other off yet. Something inside of us is inherently evil in ways that are unknowable. 

Occasionally, humans experience some well-deserved payback for their monstrosity. For example, “The Future is Golden” by Anthony Ferguson is about an alien race gifted to humanity by a powerful race from another world. 

At first, these Serak are treated like lowly cattle. But later, humans discover their hidden sexual charms. The creatures’ bodies contain a range of orifices that emit a certain hypnotic aphrodisiac quality. Those lucky enough to experience intimacy with the Serak obtain a state of pleasure so intense that it borders on pain—“a high more euphoric than the finest of Earth’s illicit drugs,” says the author. 

As such, the Serak are eventually groomed for prostitution, taught to walk upright, have their flesh molded by the finest surgeons into objects desirable to the human eye and instructed in the ways of the bordello. There is one particularly special organ, situated near the Serak’s navel region, that affords the most exquisite pleasure of all giving off a charge like the humming of the universe itself. 

The Earth is doomed, however. The Serak are not hookers from outer space at all. “We aren’t gifts for your sexual pleasure,” reveals one alien prostitute to her human lover. “If you know anything about your history, we’re more of a Trojan horse than anything else.”

Beyond these excellent stories, my favorite contribution in Humans from Earth!! comes from Liam Hogan. “The Fallen God” features an alternating narrative that bounces back and forth between the lobster-like inhabitants of a planet called Loferre and a marooned astronaut from Earth. 

The astronaut is (willingly or ignorantly) ignoring all first-contact regulations, and the Loferrians are intently studying their god who fell from the sky. The astronaut’s actions are a textbook example of what not to do upon first contact, and a military tribunal comes to the sad conclusion that Earth will never be able to repair the damage done to the social, intelligent, but pre-technology alien race.

[ Humans from Earth!! / Edited by Chuck McKenzie / First Printing: February 2026 / ISBN: 9781923391093 ]

The latest novel by author Edward J. McFadden III begins with a compelling quote from the Egyptian Book of the Dead—“Your roar shakes the earth, but I am steadfast. O Lizard-Headed One, I call upon Ra, and your voice is silenced.”

Instead of starting with a quote from this famous funerary text, McFadden could easily have pinched a sentence from Erich von Däniken’s infamous effort Chariots of the Gods?—“It is clear that we were visited in prehistoric times by beings from outer space.”

The Jackal’s Gate was more or less a novelized version of Däniken’s fringe archaeological theory. Like Chariots of the Gods?, it presented historical mysteries as evidence for extraterrestrial influence. If you like pseudoscience coupled with aliens and dinosaurs, you’ll probably enjoy this book.  

Arthur Malone, a middle-aged community college professor, was willing to do anything to find his missing daughter—even if it meant traveling back in time 225 million years to the Triassic Period. 

He and his five colleagues made the leap through time while exploring the Valley Temple of Khafre in Egypt. “An amorphous light appeared in the darkness above them,” wrote McFadden. “The cosmos blinked, its infinite expanse contracting to the fragile span of a heartbeat.” Very nice. Leigh Brackett could not have said it any better. 

The Triassic Period was an interesting era in prehistory. It was a time of evolutionary experimentation when dinosaurs and mammals coexisted. Dinosaurs, in particular, were smaller and not as dominant as they would eventually become. 

Malone believed that his daughter Linsey and her PhD thesis advisor Dr. Fariday were also in the “dinosaur domain.” He wanted to “rescue” her, but secretly feared that she wanted to stay in the Triassic Period permanently. For a couple of moments, the author toyed with themes famously explored in The Searchers, the genre-busting movie from 1956. In my opinion, these ideas should have been emphasized more throughout the novel. 

But mostly, The Jackal’s Gate is an isekai adventure set in a strange but not totally unfamiliar world. Millions of years ago, the flat desert terrain of the Giza Plateau was a dense forest interspersed with jagged, upheaved land. And, of course, there were dinosaurs aplenty: Pterosaurs, Kannemeyeria, Sinoconodon, Herrerasaurus, Plateosaurus, Coelophysis, Trucidocynodon and Eoraptor (one of the earliest known dinosaurs). There were also small groups of time-traveling humans who were stranded in the Triassic Period. Some of these people had turned feral, while others were trying their best to build safe communities.

After many trials, prehistoric and otherwise, Malone and his daughter were finally reunited. In the process, they discovered first-hand that Erich von Däniken was right all along—an alien race (which McFadden calls the Toro Ki’) was indeed manipulating Earth’s evolution. Like Chariots of the Gods? claimed, the Mayans, the Egyptians and other ancient cultures had all benefited from the innovative knowledge provided by these advanced beings. 

[ The Jackal’s Gate / By Edward J. McFadden III / First Printing: February 2026 / ISBN: 9781923663114 ]

It all started one midsummer’s night when Martin O’Donnell tried to freeze a small pond so that he and his girlfriend could go ice-skating. Even though he was a wizard with a college degree in magical arts, he botched the spell and created a terrifying blizzard in his hometown that lasted 68 pages. That’s 40 percent of the novel btw.

He stood at the center of the storm acutely aware of how much trouble he was in. He had just polished off a bottle of Prigione dei demoni and was a little tipsy. In other words, he wasn’t exactly at the top of his game. Drunk casting wasn’t uncommon with wizards, but it was ill-advised and damn dangerous. Sloppy sorcery could result in missing limbs, multiple eyeballs or planar ruptures. 

If Martin had understood a smidge of Italian, he could’ve avoided his dilemma completely. Prigione dei demoni—the wine he drank—could be translated into English as “prison of the demons.” As it turned out, the label was a warning—a demon named Stefano was trapped inside the bottle. Drinking it was a huge mistake. 

Now the infernal fiend was trapped inside Martin’s body and was causing all kinds of trouble. The two beings were irreversibly merged. Or were they? A seven-foot-tall vampiress thought otherwise. 

Annie-Dol De Jong (great name btw) was doing her best to separate the demon from the human. She hunted Martin like he was an isolated sea lion pup. When she finally found him, she pounced on him in an instant. Her quivering fangs popped out of her mouth and reached to the bottom of her chin. Martin didn’t have a chance to defend himself. 

De Jong’s bloodletting enabled Stefano to become independently corporal, but the huntress didn’t make it to the end of the novel. That’s too bad. She was a big and charismatic figure—a lot like Big Barda, She-Hulk and Thundra—totally compelling and iconic in a comic book sort of way. Unfortunately, she represented a hoary storytelling trope known as “fridging” in which a female character’s death was used by the author to empower a male character’s story arc.  

When Stefano finally appeared, he slowly morphed into a creature with scaly gray skin, enormous webbed wings, predatory glowing red eyes and row upon row of sharp white teeth. “Horns burst from his forehead,” the author added. “His muscles rippled and expanded, and a goat’s tail appeared out of his rear. In just a few seconds, he had doubled in size and shed his fleshy skin to reveal rough crimson fur.” 

With the help of two eccentric vampire hunters, various members of the Sentient Life Brigade, the Goat Gang and his Mr. Miyagi-like uncle, Martin was able to roll back the blizzard and soundly defeat Stefano. He also learned a valuable lesson: never drink another bottle of Prigione dei demoni again.  

[ That Demon Drink / By Adam Lynch / First Printing: January 2026 / ISBN: 9798245837321 ]

The White Mountain’s Guardian begins with a handful of enthusiastic hikers preparing to scale the steep cliffs of Arizona’s Mount Greer. “The mountain peaks loomed above them like an ancient titan draped in a shroud of mist,” said the narrator. “They whispered secrets of those in the past who had dared to conquer its heights.”

In this case, the chatbot author (here known as Marilyn Whetherhult) was being a bit melodramatic. According to most alpinists, Mount Greer was only considered to be a moderately strenuous hiking spot. It was nothing like Mount K2, for example, the most dangerous climbing experience on earth. 

But never mind, the hikers would soon have more to worry about than steep slopes and unmarked terrain. Townsfolk warned them beforehand about a man-like monster roaming the White Mountains, but they didn’t believe it. They dismissed the stories of Bigfoot as simply fairy tales meant to frighten children.  

It only took one day on the trail for the climbers to come upon the beast. And guess what? Bigfoot’s a chatty fellow. He sat down with George, the de facto leader of the backpacking group, to impart a little woodland gibberish. “You seek to conquer the mountain,” he said, “but the mountain does not yield to those who approach with arrogance or fear. You and your companions must confront not only the mountain but the shadows within yourselves.”

From this moment forward, the chatbot took over the narrative completely. I’m sure at some point a human cobbled together a plot outline with a few bullet points, but the majority of this horrible novel was definitely written by ChatGPT, Squibler, Rytr, Sudowrite or some other soulless software program using artificial intelligence. 

And believe me—The White Mountain’s Guardian was a horrible novel. Possibly the worst novel I’ve ever read. Ugh! The narrative was maddeningly repetitive and stupid (nobody ever said AI was smart), and was often just pretentious, pseudo-profound bullshit. 

Despite these fatal flaws, the story pressed on. The hikers and Bigfoot formed an alliance and began to navigate the treacherous mountain paths together. It was a surreal image, noted the narrator: man and myth traversing the mountainside together. With Bigfoot as their guardian, George and his troop knew they would be safe.

Before their eventual return to civilization, the group encountered bad weather, landslides, wolves and one raging bear. The biggest threat, however, awaited  them at the town near the base of the mountain.

None of the locals of Eagar were happy to see Bigfoot standing in the middle of their town. To his credit, George attempted to defuse the situation with a brief speech. “What you see before you is not a monster,” he told the nervous crowd. “He is a being who exists beyond our understanding. You need to approach him with humility and respect.” The people of Eagar were not easily convinced, however. The local police leveled their weapons at the mythic creature while teenagers threw rocks at him. 

[ The White Mountain’s Guardian / By Marilyn Whetherhult / First Printing: January 2026 / ISBN: 9781291929908 ]

There’s no real shock here. You don’t have to be a card-carrying Porn Goblin to know that The Smegxorcist is a dirty book, brimming with sexy demons and genital secretions. 

And it shouldn’t surprise anyone that The Smegxorcist is also pretty funny. Or, to clarify, it’s about as funny as smegma can be. 

Here’s how author Jeff O’Brien describes his hero’s affliction for the very first time: “Looking down, Jake gasped at the raw, rotten piece of meat dangling from his pelvis. His shaft was decorated with several open sores, leaking blood and steamy pus. His burning dick hole was clogged with something resembling yellow cottage cheese.”

But how did poor Jake acquire his putrid penis pus? After all, people who bathe regularly and scrub their naughty bits usually don’t get these kinds of infections. Spoiler alert: Sleeping with a sexy demoness probably had something to do with it. According to Hygiene 101, smegma isn’t a transmissible disease, but the author nonetheless calls it an STD from Hell. 

Having an “STD” isn’t good news for newlyweds. Jake can’t sleep with his wife because his crotch smells like rotten cheese and overripe vomit. And his sexually deprived bride starts fantasizing about the giant cock she wanted to suck (but didn’t) at her bachelorette party. That’s no way for two people to spend their honeymoon vacation in Cabo San Lucas. 

Jake eventually confronts Lilith (the demon whore) at the office of her obstetrician-gynecologist. Naturally, he’s mad as hell. “You gave me a fucking STD!” he yells. “I know,” she replies, nonplussed. “Dude, I hate to break it to you, but I’m a demon. A sex demon. It’s what I do.”

The only solution to Jake’s problem is to call the Smegxorcist. He knows the price he’ll pay for the cure will be more than he can handle, but he’s got no other choice. His end-of-novel comeuppance is humiliating and exactly what you’d expect.

Unfortunately, I have two negative comments about O’Brien’s latest effort. First, you’d think a book with demon sex would be insanely deviant—but not this one. There are two big thumping sex scenes, and both are surprisingly tame. I’m sure the Pilgrims had freakier sex back in the day. Second, The Smegxorcist is funny, but not clever in any meaningful way. Note to the author: try harder next time. 

[ The Smegxorcist / By Jeff O’Brien / First Printing: January 2026 / ISBN: 9798242933224 ]