Fifty people died in ICE custody.

Nine murdered by ICE in the streets.

All in the first half of 2026.

This is not the America we wanted to poke fun at while squiffing the hooch on a spliffy doob. We wanted to laugh at the feckless, the powerfully inept, the woefully controversial, the laughably stupid. We wanted to punch-up at dipshits, assholes, fucksticks, twat-waffles, and heinous motherfuckers. And then we wanted to nap and eat Funyuns. Righteous.

But now, those powers of the corrupted and feckless unite and rally around the war cry of greed and ego and brandish cruelty as bludgeons, maces, and missiles to create farcical dramas of self-idolatry steeped in the macabre wailing of the murdered. We are in the mad house and the mad house is us, trapped by the insane administrators of callous death.

The house of America fell to gleeful corruption, but the soul of America still lives. The soul of liberty, equality, compassion, innovation, and care for your neighbors not only exists, but thrives in the Heart of America.

We have nothing to offer but words, and these words are signs for all to read.

A marker. A reminder. Hopefully, an inspiration.

Fifty & Nine (a poem)

By fifty and nine we'll hold the line, against the corrupt, the racists, and traitors.
They've beaten the press, the fourth estate, to watch our social knowledge crater.

With every step a patriot cries "stop killing my brothers and sisters," 
And the protestor asks, because they know that they must, will I be catching an itchy trigger?

By fifty and nine we'll walk the line to death or freedom come. 
For there is no place on an American face to laugh at the boot on your neighbors.

There is an ICE on this land that blows from the East, yet neither North nor snow may feast. It's sourced by the death and the holes in men's hearts, unleashed on our country with teeth.

Fifty have died in their slaughterhouses, in half one year alone. By bullets to faces at stops or protests are another nine now gone.

So when the head of state comes to separate child from funding and family, 
Rise up Americans to his final fall, and make it strong this impenetrable wall, fifty and nine miles long.