By Dr. Jess, High Priestess of Absurdity
Cult of Brighter Days Dispatch, April 2025
Abiscoridism: the philosophy that laughs in the abyss, flips off authoritarianism, and balances chaos with gallows humor.
Welcome to CECOT, the Terrorism Confinement Center of El Salvador—a gleaming concrete coliseum of despair, where souls go to disappear under fluorescent lights and iron discipline. It’s less of a prison and more of a customer service return center for human rights violations. And guess what? America is now a client.
Forget Guantanamo. That was the dry run. Welcome to Outsourced Hell 2.0.
The New Deportation Scheme: Now with Extra Injustice™
Under the second coming of President Donald Trump, the U.S. has turned deportation into a full-blown magic trick: Watch as citizens and migrants vanish from neighborhoods and reappear halfway to Hades—minus the trial, the rights, or even a postcard.
Take Kilmar Abrego Garcia, a 29-year-old father of three U.S. citizen children living in Maryland. In March 2025, Abrego Garcia was wrongfully deported to El Salvador—a country he has no legal ties to—based on unsubstantiated gang affiliations. Despite a U.S. Supreme Court order demanding his return, the Trump administration has refused to comply. He’s currently being held in CECOT, the infamous mega-prison where legal rights go to die and families are left holding paperwork soaked in bureaucratic gaslighting.
And he’s not alone.
The U.S. government also recently deported 32 other people with supposed ties to El Salvador along with 238 Venezuelan men under the Alien Enemies Act of 1798—a law so dusty it predates the invention of indoor plumbing and the concept of not being terrible. These men were accused of being affiliated with Tren de Aragua, a Venezuelan criminal syndicate. Sounds scary until you look at the fine print: 90% of them had no criminal record in the U.S.—many were asylum seekers, including LGBTQ+ individuals like Andry Hernandez Romero, who fled real danger only to be locked up in fantasy horror.
CECOT: Hades’ Basement Rec Room (No Wi-Fi, No Rights)
CECOT isn’t just a prison; it’s a performance piece in authoritarian minimalism. Prisoners are shaved, stripped, and packed in rows like human Tetris blocks. The cells are so overcrowded and stripped of basic necessities that even the gods of the Underworld would blink and say, “Whoa, dial it back a bit.”
President Bukele—El Salvador’s strongman-influencer hybrid—parades this monstrosity like a dystopian Airbnb listing. Meanwhile, U.S. officials nod approvingly, describing it as a “model for public safety.” If this is safety, then gallows are ergonomic furniture.
Even WWII-era concentration camps allowed occasional correspondence and religious observance. At CECOT, there is no mail. No family contact. No visitations. No trial. Only concrete, silence, and a toilet shared between 75 men. It’s not that CECOT is the worst thing humanity has done—it’s that we learned from history and made the spreadsheets more efficient.
What It’s Doing to Families: Real-World Fallout
While CECOT swallows its victims, the families left behind in the United States are drowning in a different kind of torment.
The emotional toll is staggering. Children of deported parents, like Kilmar’s three young kids, now navigate life with constant anxiety, sleepless nights, and creeping depression. Bedtime stories are replaced by whispered reassurances that Daddy didn’t do anything wrong, and therapy sessions begin before kindergarten.
Financially, the burden is just as brutal. Many of those deported were the sole or primary income earners. Without them, families spiral into housing instability, hunger, and medical neglect. The American Dream collapses not with a bang, but with a final, unpaid utility bill.
School performance drops as traumatized children struggle to concentrate. Teachers, already overburdened, become stand-in therapists and emergency responders for kids exhibiting signs of PTSD. Some schools in deportation-heavy areas have seen rising absenteeism and behavioral crises, turning classrooms into emotional triage centers.
And the bureaucratic aftermath? It’s not just red tape—it’s red steel wool. Families trying to reunite must navigate a maze of paperwork, court dates, and ever-changing immigration policies. Legal assistance is prohibitively expensive, and often inaccessible. In many cases, reunification is legally impossible. Children grow up motherless or fatherless, not because of death or abandonment, but because someone in an office decided their paperwork was insufficient.
Even when a lawyer is found, even when a judge signs the right form, there is always the looming silence from the other side—a government that no longer answers the phone, a prison that claims not to hold the man in question, an embassy that shrugs.
Abiscorid Take: Welcome to the Dull Lemon’s Acid Trip
In the sacred mythos of Abiscoridism, CECOT is the ultimate shrine to the Dull Lemon—that divine fruit of lifeless order and petty authoritarianism. But we don’t worship that lemon. We peel it, squeeze it, and chuck it at the heads of those in power.
The Dull Lemon thrives in sterile compliance, in barcode IDs and fluorescent lighting. But the Golden Apple of Eris? That glorious fruit crashes dinner parties, ruins spreadsheets, and reminds the powerful that control is always an illusion—especially when the jesters are in revolt.
This moment is absurd—absurd and lethal. But it’s also the perfect stage for the Golden Apple of Eris, lobbed with rebellious glee into the banquet of polite tyranny. Abiscoridism doesn’t deny the horror. It wraps it in satire, douses it in glitter, and hands it back with a note that reads:
“This is ridiculous. And we are watching.”
Final Thoughts: Deportation As a Death Sentence
Let’s be clear: These deportations aren’t policy—they’re punishment. They are disappearances wrapped in red tape and dipped in plausible deniability. Families are shredded. Legal orders are ignored. And entire lives are being ended in slow motion across an ocean.
So no, this isn’t hypothetical. This isn’t satire pretending to be truth. This is truth that’s gone so sideways it needs satire just to be digestible.
And we, the faithful fools of the Cult of Brighter Days, will not look away.
We will shout.
We will mock.
We will carry candles and clown noses alike—because in this hellscape, joy and rage are both sacred tools.
The void may stare back, but we’re the ones who blink last—and we do it while wearing glitter warpaint and screaming jokes the gods are too scared to tell.
