WHCD Shooter Had Digested And Internalized The ‘Narrative’ Spewage Of The Democrat Party Via Their Propaganda Department AKA The Media

by James Howard Kunstler,All News Pipeline:

“Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. The third time it’s enemy action.” —Ian Fleming

Don’t you love the way the news media pretends it can’t figure out the motive of Cole Tomas Allen, who tried to shoot-up Saturday’s White House correspondents’ gala. He was a creation of the very White House correspondents who ducked under their tables at the sound of his shots. Cole Tomas Allen had digested and internalized the “narrative” spewage of the Democratic Party’s propaganda department. MSNOW occupied his brain like a glistening parasite.

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CBS tried to amplify the shooter’s own motive on Sunday night’s60 Minutesshow when Norah O’Donnell read out-loud from his manifesto, “I am no longer willing to permit a pedophile, rapist, and traitor to coat my hands with his crimes,” and asked President Trump “What is your reaction to that?” Mr. Trump did not fall for the ruse — which was just an opportunity to reinforce a well-worn scurrility. “You’re a disgrace,” the president replied, and Ms. O’Donnell just continued with the interview as if his answer never registered. There it is.

In fact, Cole Tomas Allen traveled all the way from Los Angeles to Washington for the rare chance to find Mr. Trump and most of his cabinet all together in one room where he might be able to kill as many of them as possible. He styled himself: “Cole ‘coldForce’ ‘Friendly Federal Assassin’ Allen. “I experience rage thinking about everything this administration has done,” he concluded in his short manifesto, reportedly composed and sent out minutes before he left his room at the Washington Hilton to perform his rash deed.

That rage, you understand, was planted in his head by the likes of Norah O’Donnell of CBS news and the scores of reporters, editors, and news producers who had to abandon the festive menu starters of spring pea and burrata salad and crab terrine with a nice Veuve Clicquot when the shots rang out. The gala is a night when the Blob’s media errand boys and call girls like to treat themselves like royalty. (Meanwhile their hated enemies back in the truck stops of MAGAland get by on lowly chili-lime jerky and Little Debbie Zebra Cakes, washed down with Red Bull — good for five-hundred miles of hauling, at least.)