It’s here. We’ve made it. Folks, we’ve made it to 20 volumes of Defenestration. That means we’ve officially hit the 20-year mark. This magazine is officially older than some of its contributors. I don’t have anything to say to commemorate this milestone, other than Defenestration is awesome, has always been awesome, and will continue to

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They both cleared some space for the runner to pass by them and looked down the path waiting for them to round a corner of thick forest. But what rounded the corner was no jogger. Or, technically it was, because it was jogging. But it was no human jogger. No, instead it was a 25-foot great white shark. The massive white shark was propelled swiftly down the path on two very toned human legs clad in running shorts and Nike sneakers. Both of their eyes grew wide with terror. Chet’s darkest dreams had come to pass.

We all wondered what in the world when a spaceship materialized over the cul-de-sac, unfurling a rope ladder like a foreign flag, both sturdy and friendly.

Behind St. John’s Pediatric Hospital, a crowd of red-eyed men and women gathered around a large metal box, watching as Amanda Nunn fed the Waynerator+ the fuel it required to create electricity:

“You a beaver allergic to wood,” Amanda said, her voice hoarse. “Call that a dam shame.”

My sister Mindy recently hosted the type of party where acquaintances posing as friends compliment you while simultaneously judging your life decisions and aesthetics. The dialogue is predictably catty. “It’s so ambitious to take on a fixer. You must not be too busy at work.” “I love these floor-to-ceiling windows. What a view! Must be a nightmare to clean.”