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Defenestration: December 2024

Well, well, well. If it isn’t another December sneaking up on us like three Christmas ghosts in a rich old man’s bedroom. Good morning, everyone. Happy holidays. And welcome to the December 2024 issue of Defenestration!

This year has been one of frantic, busy madness, so it’s no wonder that I don’t know where the time’s gone and run off to.

Defenestration: August 2024

It’s still technically summer, and while I know you’re impatiently waiting for the onset of sweater weather, never fear: the August 2024 issue of Defenestration is here, so at the very least you won’t be bored. (At least for now. I don’t know how long it will take you to read six short stories and six poems. Probably not very long. So maybe you won’t be bored for the next 45 minutes. If we’re lucky, the weather will get cooler in that short time and you’ll be able to break out that sweater in your closet that’s been tempting you with is scandalous softness all summer.)

Defenestration: April 2024

Welcome, one and all, to the April 2024 issue of Defenestration, which marks our 21st volume. Yes, Defenestration is now old enough to drink alcoholic beverages in the United States, obtain a concealed weapons permit, adopt a child, and gamble at casinos. So if you don’t hear from Defenestration for the next week or so,

[continue reading…]

Nonfiction

“Where’s Your IUD?” by J.H. Palmer

“Where’s your IUD?” Dr. El-Taj asked.

“Somewhere in Florida,” I answered.

I think I left it behind a Burger King dumpster off U.S. 1, somewhere between Miami and Marathon Key.

Fake Nonfiction

“Stan’s Idiom Store,” by Stan Dryer

The eleven-foot pole. (Useful in touching things you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole)

Fiction

“No Conspiracy,” by Bronwen Everill

I once had a friend who didn’t believe in pirates.

She said, “They’re a conspiracy.”

I said, “why?”

“I’ve never seen one.”

I nodded. I had no idea what she was talking about.

Poetry

“Lament of a Fourth Grade Goth,” by Stacie Herrington

The classroom wall is a journal
that spurns me day after day.
These editors, I swear to God—

Please stop writing about death.
Is everything okay at home?

(How could anything be okay anywhere?)

Visuals

“Why I Attached an ICBM to My Knockoff Roomba,” by Dan Dellechiaie and Hameed Mourani

As a renter, you can either surrender to the vermin that eat all your Chips Ahoy but don’t pay their fair share of rent or you can blow them off the face of the fucking earth. When the sticky traps suck ass and the snap traps don’t clap, I opt for the war criminal’s favorite initialism: ICBM.

Ben & Winslow

Live Out Your Filthy, Goblin-Filled Dreams

Winslow has been involved in the fast-paced world of goblin erotica since at least 2012, when he hired a slightly defective Japanese robot to help him illustrate comics. Looking back at that older comic, it certainly seems… prescient.