A Hero for This ICEy Era

Andy Borowitz shared the story of Patricia from Portland. His final paragraph urges readers to share Patricia’s, so here we are.

The Hero We Need Now

How a tiny 75-year-old woman stood up to Kristi Noem’s goons.

Andy Borowitz

Dec 16, 2025

Patricia, two days after her arrest outside ICE headquarters in Portland: “Like many criminals, I felt compelled to return to the scene of the crime.”

One of the great joys of publishing TBR is the time I spend each day in the comments section reading what you have to say.

Last week, this comment from a subscriber named Patricia got my attention:

“Exciting day for old ladies, I was arrested in front of the ICE building in Portland Oregon. The charge was obstructing access to a federal facility. Great optics a 75 year old white woman, 5’2”, 120 lbs., being dragged off by armed DHS officers. I was handcuffed and held for almost an hour. Being a nasty woman, instead of cringing and crying, I made fun of them and bragged about my history as a serial murderer and how being arrested and handcuffed ticked off another bucket list item for me. We have it all on video, can’t wait to show it to the judge.”

If this is the first you’re hearing of this incident, there’s a good reason: the corporate media refused to cover it.

So I decided to share Patricia’s story.

~snip~

Read the rest of Patricia’s story at TBR.

A Dream of Friends

It was a short one. I was young again. Looked like I was in my twenties.

Hustling along through a building, I passed through a doorway and down a short fight of steps. In there were many friends and co-workers. (I realized on awakening that all were male.)

I don’t know how many were there. None of these people have been seen in the last dozen years, and most haven’t been seen or spoken with since the last century.

We were all wearing tee shirts, the sort worn to support sports teams and rock bands. All were young like me. Several of us took seats in a semi-circle around a fire pit which had no fire. Others took seats behind us. We were talking, joking, laughing, playing tricks on one another and just acting silly. I recognized at least Jeff, Gil, Ray, Jim. An ex-brother-in-law was seated beside me on my right. Gil was two seats over on my left.

A man began playing guitar and singing. Dressed in black trimmed with silver, he was seated in a chair off to one side, an amplifier beside him. Despite the amp, he played and sang low. We all needed to stay silent to hear him. The song was his own composition, I was told by another. I don’t remember any of the lyrics or melodies. I remember thinking that he could be a professional. Gil said, “It’s like we’re at a concert.” Ian answered, “We are at a concert.” That exchange brought out some chuckling.

The concert ended. We all stood, socializing. Jeff, who I saw earlier, came in. He was wearing a different tee shirt. It had Roberto Clemente’s likeness and number on it. Clemente had been my childhood hero. Grinning, I went to Jeff and said, “Hello, Roberto.”

Jeff was much smaller than I remembered him being. He was taller than me in RL. Although he looked as he did back when we worked together, he was now a foot shorter. “Hello,” he answered, grinning.

Dream end.

A Chaos Dream

The dream began with great vibes. Returning home, I was being feted as a hero. I’d just slayed a monster, apparently about the fortieth time that I’d done so. Appreciation for me, and my fame, were growing.

First, there was a question of what to eat. A pot roast was being offered; “What would you like with it, Michael?” an elderly woman asked.

“Well, I like those little potatoes browned with them, along with pearl onions and carrots,” I told her. “That was how Mom made it, how I made it, and how my wife made it.” The word was passed, this is what he wants, this is what he likes.

An invitation came to join a military organization. “You’re a hero,” a woman recruiter told me. “We need heroes. You’re a leader. We need leaders.” My, I was flattered. Yes, I agreed, with little hesitation.

Other recruiters and their recruits arrived. I met recruits brought in by my recruiter. I made friends with one man. He was big as an NFL quarter back, and muscular, but very friendly and easy-going.

More recruiters and recruits arrived. Six groups were formed. After dressing in military green uniforms, we filed into a temporary trailer being used as an office space. There were way too many people in the trailer within short order. They were going to do the swearing-in ceremony here. Alright, I thought, let’s get this done. But then, they started trying to do it simultaneously in different corners, with everyone trying to speak above everyone else. The recruiters had also made name plates. They revealed that they’d ‘manufactured’ them by removing door and desk plates and writing on the back of those. The recruiters that this was funny in a sad, pathetic way.

Growing irritated, I was having second thoughts about joining. Who would want to join such chaos? Not me. But I also thought I could take charge and create order out of the chaos. So, I began making suggestions to improve. Why don’t the six groups do their ceremony one at a time? Give each group a number. Do it sequentially.

The recruiters close to me liked that idea, but it had to be communicated with the other recruiters across the room. I told them, “Just tell everyone to be quiet. Use your command voice.”

As that was agreed, a recruiter shouted for quiet. My big friend walked off, head and shoulders above the room. My recruiter came to me and asked if I was friends with him. Yes, I answered. “Did he use to be a football player?” she asked. Yes, I affirmed, he was.

She nodded. The dream ended.

The Football & Space Dream

Pleasurable dream. I came off as successful beyond what I expected (although others seemed to expect it) and was happy, respected, and admired. I was a hero. Isn’t that what we all want to be?

The first dream found me at a football game. I don’t know what level of playing, team names, or anything like that. A running back, I was on the sideline. It was early in the first quarter. My team was down by a touchdown. Okay, it’s early, that’s not bad, but what was demoralizing was that it didn’t look like we could do anything against their defense.

I watched the play from behind. A running draw, our big back was stuffed and lost yardage. But as I watched the play, I knew that it would be different if it me.

I told the coach. He and the others had already reached the same conclusion and sent me in. When I went in, I was doubtful. I was so much smaller. Anxiety swept me.

Then, the play was over. Back on the sidelines, I’d discovered that I’d scored on a fifty-plus yard run. What a great feeling of celebration. Then I found that it was late in the game; it was almost over. I’d scored three times. The other team hadn’t scored again. We were winning in a blow-out.

I read notes on that first scoring play, when I went in. Smaller, but fast, I was able to duck and spin past the initial rush. Then, according to a guard, “Seidel used him like a lawn mower, pushing me ahead of him down the field and mowing down anything in his way.”

Reading that felt great.

Now, it was off to work. I worked in a space operations center alongside engineers, admin people, radar trackers, etc. I was a high-level position. There was a crises. People were waiting for me to arrive. They believed I could resolve it.

I went right to work. Although my desk was at the front, by the status boards and maps, I worked the room from end to end and side to side, talking with everyone, taking notes, making and taking phone calls, and issuing decisions. The crises was resolved but we stayed busy. I consulted with the engineers over a few things. They were always eager to show me what they were doing.

Some were ending their shift and going for food. I was invited but declined. Others decided that a food run was in order. One scientist held up a script of paper. “Here’s my order,” he declared. “I thought that a food order was going to be taken, so I was ready.”

Taking his note, I read his order. He’d used a cryptic shorthand that made me laugh. I had to puzzle through it to make any sense of it.

A cake with white frosting was delivered. A piece was cut for me. I picked up a plate with the cake and prepared to eat. The dream ended.

Everybody should experience uplifting dreams like these.

 

Today’s Theme Music

Do you have daily theme music, or music that highlights an activity?

My daily theme music is often a reflection of a momentary lapse of reason, or a thought in the nick of time. Themes vary through the day, though, mirroring moods and events. Sometimes I find myself with the themes from the television series “Mission Impossible” or “Sanford and Son” in my head.

The smoke levels dropped today. The A.Q.I. remains listed as unhealthy, but it seems much clearer and more comfortable. The air temp was a comfortable seventy-six F under partly cloudy skies. That allowed me to walk in comfort.

I wrote in my head as I walked around town (actually designing the Epitomy, the starship serving as base in “Black Dust”). Bonnie Tyler’s song, “Holding Out For A Hero,” accompanied my thoughts. The song was in a movie you might have seen, “Footloose,” in nineteen eighty-four, but it’s been used for multiple campaigns. Bonnie puts a lot into singing the song, which was written by the talented Dean Pritchford.

I could use a hero this year, not just in my novels, but in life. Maybe I just place an ad: “Wanted: principled individual to save the world.”

 

 

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