"The stupidest shit ever."
An anti-ICE march in Huntington Beach was loud, spirited, heavily attended—and a sad exercise in where we stand as a nation in decline.
So because America is depressing me out and I have no life and my New York Jets are as far removed from the NFL playoffs as Donald Trump is from a religious awakening, I decided to spend part of Sunday afternoon in Huntington Beach, attending the “ICE Out for Good” rally organized by Indivisible OC and Orange Coast HUDDLE.
And before I dive into the hellscape that scooped out my soul and replaced it with the hardened crust of Satan’s greasiest excrement, I wanna make clear that both organizations deserve enormous props. These are tryin’ times, Roberta Flack famously sang, and it would have been far easier for the Indivisible OC and HUDDLE peeps to have kicked back at the beach, counting sea shells and napping the hours away. So, much respect to the hundreds upon hundreds of Californians who parked their cars at the Huntington Beach Civic Center and walked to the intersection of Main Street and Yorktown Avenue to march, hold signs, chant chants and sing songs. Credit due.
That being said …
Jesus Christ.
Jesus fucking Christ.
There were people. Lots of people. And lots of signs of protest. And shirts of protest. And stickers of protest. On the corner nearest to the Civic Center, a thick and hearty gaggle of attendees spoke up against ICE, spoke up for the late Renee Nicole Good, lathered in the power of a singular message of resilience, danced to the Beastie Boys …
On a second corner, there were fewer people speaking up against ICE, speaking up for the late Renee Nicole Good, lathering in the power of a singular message of resilience. On a third corner, even fewer people, but fairly identical actions.
And then, there was the fourth corner.
To their credit, Huntington Beach police officers on the scene made sure the fourth corner was waaaaaay over there, far across from the primary protest spot. And this was wise, for the Fourth Corner attendees were brought together, in a pubic lice-like contagion, by Sir Luke Dennis, blessed with a porn star’s name, a drunken sailor’s tattoo judgment and a wardrobe plucked from the collection of Randy Jones, the most flamboyant original member of the Village People.
A noted member of the Proud Bays as well as this year’s winner of the Californian Most Likely To Stab a Random Homeless Dude For Looking at Him Funny, here was Dennis’ social media siren call to the easily swayed1 …
And, well, the angry robots arrived. Not a ton. Maybe, oh, 30 in all. A bunch came with American flags, several wore some knockoff variation of the Fonz’s Happy Days jacket, one woman—short, early-60s—kept repeating the line, “Ice, Ice Baby” over and over and over and … over.
Ice, Ice Baby.
Ice, Ice Baby.
Ice, Ice Baby.
Ice, Ice Baby.
When, at long last, I asked, “Are you a Vanilla Ice fan?” she looked at me with bemused eyes. I am quite certain there was no actual self-realization she was quoting, ad nauseam, one of the seven worst hip-hop songs of all time [Hence, I resisted the urge to inquire whether she was more Team Shay with a gauge or Team Vanilla with a 9].
Wait. I digress.
I spent a good chuck of time chatting with familiar faces. There was Chris Kluwe, assembly candidate/former Vikings punter, trying to keep the peace beneath a hat I believe, in all sincerity, he lifted from Oleson's Mercantile …
There was Paula Jean, the Huntington Beach political dynamo, decked out as the Statue of Liberty because, well, hey. Just because …
There were so many good folks desperately wanting to fight for democracy. And I loved them for that. I loved their enthusiasm, their desire, their need to put pain into action. I loved that a random woman being murdered half a continent away brought genuine anguish.
I could not have loved them more.
But …
What I really wanted to do was understand the denizens of the Fourth Corner. And I don’t mean that in an asshole snarky way. Sincerely, I aspired to hear them out, and try to learn how, sitting here in 2026, we all could watch the exact same footage of Renee Nicole Good’s death, yet draw such different conclusions.
The first person I approached was Luke Dennis, a confusing man of poop-like scent whose body language seems to shrink as one draws closer. I was told Dennis is a yapper, so I was surprised when, upon introducing myself, he said, “I don’t know Luke Dennis.”
I smirked.
“Dude,” I said. “Come on.”
He turned to the man next to him. “Do you know who Luke Dennis is?” he asked.
The guy flashed a Webster Papadopoulos grin. “Nah,” he replied.
It felt as if I had walked into a stupid fifth-grade prank involving Butch, the class bully, and his feckless acolytes. Hence, I nodded, because I didn’t particularly care. But here’s what I thought, between my ears: “Bruh, you’re a loser. Like, seriously—you’re such a f@cking loser. You’re afraid to talk to a middle-aged political blogger in a Caldor T-shirt and Tampa Bay Rays cap? One who was actually open to hearing your observations?”
Following that futile attempt, I started chatting with this dude …
His name is Jesse. And our dialogue did not begin well. We were arguing the Bible, and whether God wants humans to have guns. And, as a rule, I try and avoid the “Does God want us to have guns?” debate—because it’s fucking insane. That said, Jesse seems to believe the answer to the question is a firm, “Yes, God wants us armed.” I disagreed, and told him a tough individual fights with fists, not weapons. He clearly thought I was challenging him to a scuffle, and took half a step closer.
The dialogue went thusly …
JEFF: “Man, I don’t wanna fight you. I’d rather talk.”
JESSE: “I prefer that, too.”
For the next, oh, five minutes, we conversed about the Bible and Trump and God and … college football. And as weird as this might sound, it was 100 percent fine and civil. There was no peace settlement to be found, but we shook hands, even agreed that it’d be better if we could all just sit down over coffee.
Shortly after that, I had a conversation with this dude …
I didn’t get his name, but he’s a lawyer who attended USC and, I believe, Pepperdine. And as was the case with Jesse, what began as a slightly hostile exchange quickly morphed into two people just … kinda shooting the shit. He was an undergrad at Southern Cal when Marcus Allen and Jack Del Rio were football stars, and had glorious memories of their exploits. Like Jesse, we seemed to share a shaky-yet-real ideal that maybe—just maybe—folks speaking politely is better than folks screaming.
And the thing is … I dunno. I just dunno. I walked away feeling momentarily OK about humanity. I’d say within 15 minutes of shaking hands with the USC/Pepperdine guy, however, I saw him mixing it up with the anti-ICE marchers, finding true bliss in their aroused anger at his presence. He looked genuinely pleased with himself. Like, “Hey! I’m pissing off the libs! Check me out, everyone! I’ve even got my phone and everything!”
Ultimately, that’s what I took away from yesterday’s march. It was a large bunch of people convinced they are correct (folks I very much agree with, to be clear), standing across from a smaller gaggle of people convinced, no, they are correct. And we need to be louder! And more confrontational! And more bombastic! Like our leader, the Village People-loving Proud Boy!
Come day’s end, it was a dispiriting reminder that, in 2026, up is down and left is right and high is low and democracy is in peril and a five-deferment conman is a Rorschach Test and a woman who was gunned down by an ICE agent either deserved what came her way or serves as a martyr for a movement to protect a nation. Depending on whose messaging is inside your ear.
And as I walked off, downtrodden and battered, I asked a Huntington Beach police officer whether the march was a good assignment or a bad assignment.
“This,” he said, sans humor, “is the stupidest shit ever.”
I nodded and shuffled away, wondering whether the Jets will draft a quarterback and if democracy can overcome endless stupidest shits ever.
Uncertain about both.
PS:
Insults aside, I kinda dig the bold red double exclamation marks!!
Once again, Jeff, I appreciate your coverage of local scene. I stay away from HB. I concluded this morning that irony is dead: this regime prosecutes Jerome Powell for lying? Please.
Thanks for the attendance and insight. Action is the antidote for despair and I appreciate your efforts to inform us about local politics. I multitask at protests, collecting petition signatures for JJ Galvez to get on the ballot and replace MAGA Kate Sanchez, who I’m sure agrees with God’s desire for everyone to be armed. I try and promote The Truth OC and many protesters are subscribers, others are grateful to hear there is a source for local news.