Welcome, one and all, to the August 2026 issue of Defenestration! School’s starting up again, the temperatures are still in the 80s or higher, and the only safe foods to eat in the United States are pretzels and candy corn. Things might seem grim, but at least funny things are still funny, and it’s not yet illegal to laugh. So let’s enjoy the next few months together, shall we? 

At the amphitheatre gates, three girls had been queuing since dawn with amphorae of watered wine, figs, wax tablets and absolutely no chill.

“OMG,” said Livia, scratching HERCULES HAS RIZZ into the plaster with her hairpin. “I would let him clean my stables.”

Henry VIII is dancing. There’s a look of determination in his eyes as he shuffles sideways on the flagstone floor. His costume, his royal accoutrements, add to the solemnity. There is no music, just his dance. The music is coming from elsewhere, and only he can hear it. His gold chain glistens in the candlelight, his shadow mooches a few feet behind its master, elongated. Sidestep shuffle shuffle, sidestep shuffle. Henry VIII is dancing.

Adam’s coffee mug talks with a Germanic accent. Why, he doesn’t know. Words started escaping its coffee residue months ago, and when he holds the ceramic vessel to his ear, it’s like talking on the phone. All in all, the mug isn’t bad, but its claims are suspect. As if some thrift-store trinket invaded England with the Saxons in 449! All the more reason to ignore its prophecy late one Friday.

You learn quickly, working in court, that justice is blind but the courthouse is not.

The courthouse sees everything.

It sees who is late, who is lying, who is about to cry in the bathroom, and who still believes a color-coded binder can protect them from consequence. It sees who says “Your Honor” like a prayer and who says it like a threat.

It also sees wool.