The odds of current shooting narrative: Astronomical
Greetings! Captain Obvious, here. I’m reviewing the facts. All the stuff that’s really obvious, of course. And recent events demand I speak up. I’ll tell you what I think, but, frankly, I’m asking myself whether anyone really wants to know.
It seems like everyone’s talking about everything but me! Everything is always someone’s mistake, something that has to be talked about and that needs to be investigated endlessly by some Congressional Committee of Obfuscation, who will claim they can’t tell you a thing, till they’ve reached their official conclusions, a few years down the road.
But someone just tried to shoot the actual former and soon-to-be president. And they came so close he’s going to have an ear in common with Evander Holyfield, and only that because he turned his head at the last moment. But for the grace of God, he’d be dead.
So, it’s my job to insist on asking the simple questions. I try to step aside from all manner of complex irrelevancies, and actually practice that universal cliché: K.I.S.S. “Keep it simple, stupid.” It would be easier if folks would try to pay attention, because this really gets tiring. It’s like shouting into a hurricane and telling it to calm down.
But humor me. What is the pink elephant no one wants to notice this time, that’s standing right in the middle of the room?
The pundits and investigative reporters and government spokespersons are much too busy talking about all the grievous “errors” that led to this, like how the security detail failed to spot the guy on the roof with a rifle. You know. The one rally attendees pointed at and shouted about.
Are they on the right track? Or was this more than just a series of oversights?
Unfortunately, the confluence of facts presents astronomical odds against an unintended scenario.
First off, how often does the Secret Service fail to control a potentially perfect sniper’s nest, with a clear line of fire, 130 yards from the stage, where a guy running for president is speaking, a guy who’s being called Hitler by the lunatic half of the country?
Just for chuckles and giggles, let’s say that is a one in a thousand chance. Even these guys, Secret Service agnets, whose job is never to make fatal mistakes, might reasonably still make a mistake once every thousand times out.
Secondly, how exactly did our would-be assassin come to so cleverly choose that particular roof? Was this quite unremarkable 20-year-old snot-nose a clairvoyant? A mastermind genius? Did he look up all the plans for the rally online, including the areas the Secret Service would fail to be covering?
Wow! That gets another one in 10,000 all by itself! So, 1,000 x 10,000 … our working formula.
Hello, America! We’re asking how exactly our would-be assassin came to choose that roof? It’s important and requires you to think, no matter how dangerous that feels. Sorry!
But let’s hold off on that … it may still be getting even worse.
From the time he heard Trump was going to be there for a rally, the shooter only had a few days to flesh out his plan of attack. So, he absolutely had to survey the site, unnoticed, to pick out the best spot.
Let’s say it’s a 50/50 chance that he wouldn’t raise anyone’s suspicions in the process, and get SWAT teamed, or at least questioned. We’re building toward odds of a chance in 20 million now, give or take.
But wait! They still have to set up the stage and the seating. What’s that going to take? Three or four or five days before the rally? He’d really better be hurrying to plot the trajectory of this historic shot!
But let’s be generous and call that a one-in-five probability. For all we know he managed to be part of the set-up crew. OK? Are we up to one in a hundred million, yet?
No, not even. He still had to find and verify a serviceable egress … where no one would notice him getting up on the roof with his “equipment.” This while learning somehow, beforehand, that no one would be up there. Which fact could not be known at any time, by anyone, anywhere, outside a certain dark chain of command. Oh, my! What are the chances?
OK. That doesn’t prove anything, though. People play the lottery. Someone always wins, sooner or later.
But here’s the real kicker! Our 20-year-old post-pubescent moron was able to gather together all this detailed perspective and to pinpoint, while making a remarkable guess, the very building that was somehow fated to be overlooked, while foreseeing the very moment when the entire security detail would be taking a break, just as Donald Trump began his remarks. While all the agent/snipers on the surrounding roofs would happen to be looking the other way. Maybe something else distracted them. Totally plausible, if you’re OK with odds pushing the square root of billions.
What a pity that such an amazing brain had to be splattered all over that historically miraculous roof, with all these fascinating questions still unanswered. Whose safety, we wonder, required his demise? It’s unfortunate. Without his corroborating testimony, the FBI will certainly be confounded, yet again.
We are forced to conclude that the odds of the shooter working all this out alone are nil. And nigh unto ridiculous. Again, our apologies. Surely such a conclusion will make all of our choices much harder!
Sadly, the odds seem to be frightfully high that he was, more likely, an asset of a treasonous element of the U.S. intelligence services, perhaps working with Biden’s controllers, and that at some point he had been identified as being a vulnerable loon who could be and was groomed and trained, and aided and abetted, and directed up to the final moments of his sad life.
Either that or it was just another Russian stunt to get Trump elected all over again. Something perhaps as likely as the ever-popular narrative that it was all just an unfortunate series of blunders, allowing a lone psychopath his moment of glory.
When we are betting on the future of America, it helps to have an honest sense of the odds. And it helps to stay off of carefully constructed rabbit trails, if we’re going to define the nature of the road we’re really traveling.
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