Wish someone would post the addresses and phone numbers of the “journalists” as a kind of “good for the goose, good for the gander” exchange in the same vein as what they pulled on pistol license carriers here in NY.
When someone attempts to use “freedom of the press” to subvert another guaranteed freedom, they lose their protections and become an enemy of rights.
pictures of the perpetrators.
also become familiar with the wiretapping laws.
there is a federal and a state. The reporters always direct people to a place in public where there is no expectation of privacy and/or NO OTHER VIDEO CAMERAS.
The intended (atf) entrapment of Henry Bowman - from Unintended Consequences (edited for language):
-snip-
“Some of your guns are converted from semiautos, aren’t they?”
“I only know what the transfer form from ATF says on it: ‘Machine Gun’,” Henry replied levelly. “It says
machine gun, then that’s what it is.”
“But lots of people sell the parts to convert, don’t they?”
“I’ve never seen any for sale, and wouldn’t know what they looked like if I did.” He stared at the young
man. “Haven’t even seen any shoelaces, super glue, or paper clips for sale here.”
“Got him” Henry thought as he watched the young man’s expression. In a recent case where ATF had charged
a man with selling ‘illegal conversion parts’, an expert witness for the defense had used his shoelace to
make a 40-year-old military rifle fire full auto. Then he had taken super glue and a paper clip and done the
same thing with several .22 pistols and rifles. ATF had tried to suppress the videotape of these feats, but it
had ended up in wide distribution. Henry Bowman made as if to-
“Uh, well, uh, who here do you know that has some AK stuff of any kind for sale. Like, uh, another dealer
like y-”
“Not one more word,” Henry commanded as he brought the 5”-barreled Smith & Wesson .44 to bear on the
young man’s chest. “Put your hands on top of your head and nod if you can see the white things inside the
cylinder.” The man obeyed. “Good. Those bullets are turned out of nylon bar stock. They make a huge
wound cavity at this range but they won’t exit. No one behind you is in any danger at all.” Henry saw in his
peripheral vision that other show patrons were backing away, pointing at the spectacle in front of them. He
also saw that the crotch of the young man’s pants was soaked. His bladder had let go.
“Jesus, Henry, what’d this guy do?” Allen Kane said as he ran up to where his friend stood. Allen had
spotted Henry holding the man at gunpoint from two rows away.
“He’s soliciting to violate federal firearms laws,” Henry told Allen without taking his eyes off the man. “Go
over to Andy’s table, get me a Garand clip with no ammo in it.”
“You got it,” Allen said without asking questions.
“Turn around slowly, then put your palms together with your arms stretched out behind your back,” Henry
commanded his captive as he climbed over the table, trying not to step on guns as he did so. He held the
man’s wrists with his left hand and holstered the big revolver. “Hands together like you were praying.
That’s it.” He took the Garand clip Allen held out for him and slid it over the tips of the four middle fingers
of the young man’s hands. Then he balled his fist and drove the sheetmetal holder down to the base of the
man’s fingers. The young man grunted in pain as the steel scraped off a fair amount of skin.
“Field handcuffs,” Henry said to Allen. “I haven’t searched him yet. Take any guns or knives he’s got on
him, then grab your camera and get a few pictures of this asshole. I’m going to get on the PA and see if any
feds are here.” Henry left at a brisk walk while Allen patted the man down, using a STEN mag on the
urine-soaked areas.
“Your attention please,” Henry’s voice boomed out over the Convention Center’s loudspeakers, “Would any
agent of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms present in the hall please go to Table G-nineteen,
repeat, G-nineteen. We have a criminal in custody who has been caught attempting to violate the National
Firearms Act. Any ATF agents in the hall please go to table G-nineteen. Thank you.”
“Special Agent Wilson Blair,” the ATF man said as he stepped in front of Allen Kane and flashed his
credentials. “I’ll take over here,” he added as his eyes bored into those of the prisoner. A crowd of perhaps
forty people was gathered around the three men. “I’ll take whatever weapons you took off him also.” A
crowd was standing around, snickering.
“Didn’t find anything,” Allen Kane said, deadpan. “No ID, even, and none of these people here have ever
seen this man before. I guess he’s just another scumbag criminal, trying to make machine guns without
paying the tax.” His brows knitted together.
“I didn’t search too carefully down at that wet spot,” he admitted, “so you better check there.” The crowd
erupted into laughter. Blair gave Allen Kane a look of pure hatred, then turned it towards the dozens of
faces which surrounded him. No one made a move to say anything. Blair stood there for a few moments,
his jaw muscles working.
“Better watch where his hands are bleeding, too, when you take that clip off him,” Allen said helpfully. “He
might have AIDS.” The crowd laughed even louder at this comment.
“Give me his gun and his creds right now, you son of a bitch,” the ATF supervisor said in a whisper of
barely-controlled fury. Allen Kane stared at him for a moment, then pulled the Model 19 Smith and
Wesson from his pocket, opened the cylinder, dumped the six rounds into his left hand, and handed Blair
the empty gun. He pulled the agent’s badge and wallet from his other pocket and relinquished them, also.
“Happy now?” Kane asked, amid jeers from the crowd.
“You just f!ked with the wrong guy, a__hole,” Blair told him under his breath, then turned and ushered the
younger agent away. Tears ran down the young man’s cheeks as he shuffled off ahead of his supervisor, his
hands still secured together behind his back by the Garand clip. Catcalls followed the two men as they
headed toward the exit.
***
“I can’t f!king believe you let those sons-of-b!s take your gun and your badge!”
-snip-
http://www.zjstech.net/~ddixson/Unintended_Consequences.pdf
And so it began...