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The Art of Getting Shot
Reagan took a bullet on a Monday afternoon in 1981 and had the absolute nerve to walk into the limousine under his own power before anyone realised he was bleeding internally. He then told his wife “Honey, I forgot to duck,” and informed the surgical team he hoped they voted Republican. The man had a hole in his lung and was workshopping one-liners.
Butler, Pennsylvania, July 2024. A rifle cracks. Trump grabs his ear, drops behind the podium, then rises – slowly, deliberately – fist raised, blood streaked theatrically across his cheek, as the American flag descends behind him like a director called action. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Trump and the crowd erupts. You know, the deep state and all that. The photographers, somehow, got every frame.
Now pause.
Professional photographers at a chaotic, panicked shooting scene. Every agent’s instinct screaming GET HIM DOWN. And yet: wide shot, tight shot, silhouette against the flag, fist in the air, golden hour lighting. A sequence so perfectly composed it would embarrass a Hollywood unit photographer.
The FBI found the shooter on the roof. A roof that Secret Service had been warned about. A roof with a direct sightline. A roof that remained unoccupied until it wasn’t.
And now Viktor Orban. Hungary. Election approaching. Leaked documents suggesting a staged assassination attempt – enough to generate sympathy, not enough to cause actual damage. The same script, different country, cheaper production values.
Reagan bled because someone shot him.
Gandalv / @Microinteracti1
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