Posts Tagged ‘ X.II ’

Defenestration: August 2013

Aug 20th, 2013 | By

Ten years, you guys. This October, Defenestration will be ten years old!

Have any of you ever read slush? Have you ever read slush for ten years straight? After so long a time, Eileen’s lucky to still have her sanity, and I’m lucky to still have my sanity and my rakish good looks. But the slush is wearing us down, and we’re quickly becoming editors on the edge. We don’t sleep well. We don’t eat well. Our nerves have been rubbed raw. I have literally—literally—seen Eileen turn into a Tyrannosaurus over seemingly insignificant things. The other day she almost leveled an IHOP after finding an uneven distribution of blueberries in her blueberry pancakes. This sort of destruction cannot continue no matter how awesome and no matter how many views the resulting videos on YouTube attain.



“Millionaire’s Bestiary,” by Brittany Shutts

Aug 20th, 2013 | By

Vicugna pacos

Everywhere I go, my alpacas come with me. How many alpacas can fit into a car? I can tell you from experience that the answer is five, unless an alpaca is driving. Unlike children, taking alpacas to the supermarket is enchanting. They want to help me reach the highest box of breadcrumbs and offer the ripest bunch of bananas pinched between their toes. With gentle nodding, they encourage me to select the high-fiber cereal for my health. When my crew of beatific quadrupeds parades the sidewalk behind me, people turn their heads and smile. Cheeky children reevaluate their Christmas lists and tug daddy’s arm. My enemies from high school cannot disguise their envy.



“The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives,” by Saikat Sen

Aug 20th, 2013 | By

On June 5th, 2004, at approximately 2109 hours Zulu Time, Ronald Wilson Reagan III was killed in a targeted operation conducted by United States forces. His termination with extreme prejudice was the capstone to a 9 ½-hour firefight involving multiple law enforcement, intelligence, and military agencies, including the “Night Stalkers” of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne) and the “Sunshine Division” of the 40th Infantry (Mechanized).



“New World Love,” by Rory Fleming

Aug 20th, 2013 | By

When the world’s fuel infrastructure fully switched over from oil to “love,” people who once could not afford to drive (or buy) cars were zipping along the abandoned highways. Government agents confiscated the old pollution machines from the driveways. Those who neglected their children, spouses, and friends were stuck. Applications in the mail arrived, offering bailouts. They told us that you could apply for “love stamps,” suspected by skeptics to be Xanax or unfortunate tattoos. People on the outskirts that were born unloved, lived without love, and could not believe in the word to begin with were as crazy as those who once doubted the energy crisis. When I heard the news, I called my parents. They didn’t answer. Then I saw them drive by my window in a Lustang convertible. I knew that thing wasn’t burning any fossil fuels.



“Construction,” by Kelly Kiehl

Aug 20th, 2013 | By

It started with a toe. Well, the three big toes on the left foot. You see, Hadrian (pronounced Adrian, the H is silent) wanted to make a down-payment on an engagement ring for his girlfriend, Hanna. Hanna’s name too possessed a silent H. She said her name like Anna, and had spent her life resenting the fact that her mother decided to spell her name with a silent H. This was the reason that Hadrian and Hanna began to date, but it was not the reason that they fell in love.



“A Letter from a Starfish,” by Matt Kolbet

Aug 20th, 2013 | By

Listen, I can’t speak for everyone else, but it didn’t make a difference to me. I want to get that out right away, and I repeat—it didn’t make a difference to me.

I know you think it did, so that’s why I’m saying it first. You walk along, and you see how many starfish there are scattered along the shore. Frankly, the situation looks impossible, and it is, for one person. I mean, after all, that’s kind of your universal conflict: What is the meaning of my life? What purpose do I serve? And finally, is there some kind of telos that can be shared between me and other people?



“Surprised Baby,” by Tom Mitchell

Aug 20th, 2013 | By

How successful a night? Well, the first guy wasn’t wearing a shirt. That’s what I said: no shirt. It wasn’t in the bar. It was in the function room. That’s the great thing about function rooms, they’ll let you in without a shirt. Pants? Pants’d be pushing it. There’d be problems if you showed up without pants. Speed dating demands pants. Hawaii shorts at the minimum.

Yeah. There’s a side entrance where the smokers stand. It’s cold and full of abandoned beer barrels. You don’t smoke. You don’t notice. His chest? I didn’t really look. It seemed intrusive to look. And, I guess, he wanted you to look. OK. I did look. It was hairless. And he flexed his muscles when he spoke. As if to punctuate what he was saying about going to the gym and masturbating.



“Memories of Mr. Ed,” by Michael Andreoni

Aug 20th, 2013 | By

You might be wondering what became of Mr. Ed, the talking horse from the television series which ran from 1958 to 1966. Few people outside the industry know that Mr. Ed was actually a zebra. The horse originally cast for the role proved uncooperative, and, with production costs mounting, the producers were afraid the show would be dropped from the network schedule. Their inspired solution was a nearby zoo that was willing to lend a zebra. Black and white television of that era rendered the zebra’s stripes invisible to viewers, and the set was reconstructed using forced perspective to make the smaller zebra version of Mr. Ed appear as large as a horse. The popular show became one of the first to be syndicated, with episodes still airing today.



“Lesser Known Literary Cocktails,” by Eric K. Auld

Aug 20th, 2013 | By

The Waiting for Godot: Place two ice cubes in an empty tumbler. Watch them melt as nothing else happens. Wait until morning. Repeat.

The Wasteland: Pour everything you have into the largest glass you’ve got. Hand it all over to Ezra Pound and watch him change everything. Garnish with footnotes.



“A Pinteress’ Someday,” by Katie Seeley

Aug 20th, 2013 | By

We can be modern day mannequins—

Malleable forms of constant perfection.
We are Stepford wives with a mouse’s click.
Pinterest allows us to be anything.
Pinterest allows us to be everything.
Renaissance women reorganizing:
homes transformed with wine corks and mason jars.
And don’t forget glitter. Always glitter.