Excuse me for popping the media bubble around that absurd stage(d) show set in New Zealand. At the risk of being boorish, I shall point out the many flawed action sequences and low-budget SFX in the GoPro video by a “lone gunman” purported to be Brenton Harrison Tarrant, a 28-year-old gunman with a receding hairline of someone 20 years older.
In a throwback to arcade games, this video leads in with a lengthy introduction to accustom the viewer(s) to the helmet-mounted GoPro while settling into the suspenseful build-up to a grisly massacre. Inside the claustrophobic space of a compact car, we are forced to get “into the head” of the driver/shooter. His face remains unseen, obviously because the lens is attached to his helmet and for the key purpose of obscuring his actual identity.
During his drive to the first targeted mosque, the sound-track selection further pushes the psychic mood of suspense with a old-style political song from 1930s Jesuit-led Croatian Ustashe fascist rebels; followed by a fife-and-drum ditty to arouse the sympathy of viewers of Anglo-Saxon and Scottish heritage; and finally the dramatic highlight of Artthur Wilton Brown’s Satanic anthem “Fire”.
For those of you interested in the streets of low-rise Christchurch NZ who failed to tune into the late-Sixties Brit-rock lyrics, for your benefit here’s the core message from the King of Hellfire:
“You’ve been living like a little girl
In the middle of your little world.
And your mind, your tiny mind
You know you’ve really been so blind.
Now’s your time to burn your mind
You’re falling far too far behind.
Fire: I’ll take you to burn.
Fire: I’ll take you to learn.
You gonna burn, burn, burn.”
The Yorkshire singer’s honorary title derives, of course, from the Hellfire Club, an elite 18th-century British fraternal group that indulged in opium and group sex with prostitutes. The well-trained whores, expert in the perversions developed by the Khazarian Frankist-Sabbatean movement, were delivered to England courtesy of Meyer Rothschild of Frankfurt, who was drowning King George III in high-interest debt for the huge costs of Hessian mercenary soldiers and ammunition against the American Revolution.
The Two Towers
So the recent gunfire in the British “former” colony of New Zealand is a stage show from the Illuminati, who intend to once again “divide and rule” the ignorant coloreds and pliable white folks, who are so easily mind-controlled. Now for a recap of the video.
The actor in the role of Tarrant (probably a youngish uncle or an older cousin, judging from the similar sagging jowls of Brent’s late father) mutters his infamous endorsement of the Swedish meme personality PewDiePie in his rivalry with rival T2, the studio that produces India music vids, for most visits on YouTube. This, in short, is click bait for aspiring right-wing racist wannabees, who are much in need as the White Orks for the coming Illuminati rescue of Western civilization from the clutches of their evil Brown Orks. Team Sauron vs. the Saruman Crew, set in Middle Earth, aka New Zealand’s South Island, the location of Christchurch.
Fellowship of the Sting
Next, the driver parts in an alley, leaving the three shotguns on the floor of the passenger seat, and opens the hatchback to retrieve a semiautomatic rifle and then another one. As he walks toward the mosque, the character “Tarrant” has forgetten to close the tailgate window leaving two other rifles and plastic jugs of gasoline unattended, meaning he was entirely confident that the Christchurch police or latecomers to the religious service were not going to arrive, see his cache and shoot the tires of his car to prevent his getaway and then shoot him. Fire the director, and hire me instead if you Kiwiluminaties want realistic action. Now back to Gollum, the warped insane creature from Down Under, rubbing his gun and chanting: “My Precious!”
Tarrant is clad in black with Kevlar vest, helmet and fingertip gloves, just like a SWAT cop or an SAS commando. There are no passersby on the sidewalk, and not a single driver on the busy roadway takes notice of this gunman racing back and forth. Turning into the open gate, he scans all the cars in the parking lot and then proceeds to shoot down the three security men at the front door. None of these dimwitted Muslims from peaceful places like Afghanistan and Iraq have the perspicacity to lock the thick wooden doors, but just roll over and play dead. Neither did they attempt to pick up and fire the shotgun by the entrance.
The shooter strolls down the hallway and walks into the prayer room and fires bursts at groups huddled in the left- and right-hand corners. While he’s firing away at the group on the right, the people on the other side do not stampede out the side room, make no effort to break the large glass windows and do not even shout “God have mercy”. The children do not cry loudly and those who drop to the floor en masse, supposedly wounded, do not scream in pain. There’s only the quite moaning of helpless victims, and gunshots that sound like blanks not actual rounds being fired.
As a journalist who has been in war zones along the Afghan-Pakistan border, and caught up in shooting incidents, all I can conclude is: This scene is lousy acting and worse directing. Could the studio not hire a military consultant with real counterinsurgency experience?
One person tries to run through a side room towar the front door, and is immediately felled by the shooter, who has faster reactions than your average Marine trooper. He has already shot another loose end casually without bothering to face his target. This is the Terminator. Then he marches back outside to fire shots down the sidewalk in both directions, despite the lack of human targets. Perhaps there was a dog or cat that’s too small to see on video in need of atitude correction.
The gunman then goes back to his car, tosses an expended rifle onto the ally (presumably that he did not pay for) and retrieves another gun and one red can of gasoline, obviously to set fire to the mosque. He walks back to the driveway beyond the gate, takes some pot shots at an unidentifiable target, which looks much like thin air, and reenters the mosque, dropping the gas can somewhere along his path without torching the property (which would have brought in insurance adjustors, a problematic scenario). Tarrant then takes some gratuitous shots at the mortally injured, who let out a wimper or a tiny gasp.
Another person flees toward the door and his accurate fire hits her but she doesn’t miss a step while running full speed. Casually striding outside, he sees the wounded women lying in the gutter in front of his car moaning “Help me, help me!) so he shoots her twice, causing her hair to flutter. Hold it there. He’s been shooting at a distance of 4-to-6 meters away from target, without doing a finishing head shot at close-range. An AR-15 does not release a whoosh of hot air out the muzzle that could have blow-dried the victim’s whig. The bullet just penetrates leaving a small entry wound, and the damage is visible on exit.
Then he packs up and drives forward: without the wheels rising over the dead fat woman’s body and dropping down, front and back, which certainly would be the highlight in a horror movie. Things that go bump in the daylight. In movie production, the task to heighten believability is called “continuity” checked off by a production assistant. This is a poorly staged theatrical production, and still after this armed madman’s pacing back and forth nobody on the busy road seems to notice, since the director’s go-fers must be waving them by.
Then Tarrant slides into the car to drive off, while magically failing to crush the body in its way. Driving wildly, he picks up a shotgun from the floor and fires a few blasts at the center of the windshield, which does not blow open being made of safety glass, you dummy. Now what is wrong with those pot shots? If you were to fire buckshot at short range against a reflective shield, those pellets are going to bounce back to pepper your body. These shells then were blanks, empty cartridges. It turns out that one blank was sufficient to shatter the passenger window, as planned by the production crew, since the glass-plastic sandwich is thinner.
Which gets to the obvious question. Why would anyone shoot out his own windows, blowing broken glass throughout the compartment? That could cut open an eye. Drive-by shooting? Was the next raid, not shown, timed for the end of prayer hour as worshipers departed to their cars? If so, he could have simply rolled down his side windows for a clean shot, but that would hardly be dramatic. Even a madman uses logic in these sorts of situations, since apply a Band-Aid while driving is life-threatening.
Rule One: Seeing is NOT Believing, especially when you are witnessing a faked false-flag drama, made for YouTube.
Return of the King
Before signing off, I should add that shooting games haven’t progressed a lot since the mid-1990s when I used to visit the Sony building on the Ginza to splatter bigger-than-dead vampires. It got to be an addictive waste of time, so I moved up to other games like hunting down the real terrorists with the Aum Shinrikyo cult for ethically responsible amusement that continues a quarter-century later with my sights set on felling the biggest cultic demon who goes by the moniker Shinzo Abe. In hindsight, I should have instead of getting obsessive produced a videogame titled “Let’s Gas the Subways” for Nintendo.
Now, as an old-timer, a crusty old coot, let me tell you all about that German-Jewish Englander Arthur Brown. Sir Hellfire, who graduated college with a philosophy degree, and then provided diabolical inspiration for Peter Townsend’s The Who, Frank Zappa’s Mothers of Invention, Jim Morrison’s The Doors, and Carl Palmer of Emerson, Lake & Palmer, and the entire heavy metal scene that followed. Impressive, eh, and you probably never even heard of him just because he was a sicko Satanist.
Hellfire created the makeup that would be copied by Kiss. He appeared in the rock opera “Tommy” as the Priest, if you get what I mean about the poor little autistic whiz playing with his pinballs. Brown’s rise to fame was made possible due to the vacancy left by the untimely loss of Brian Jones, who fell out of royal favor due to his dalliance with a court lady and then that anti-Luciferian album titled Their Satanic Majesties Request. Brian’s Jonestown massacre was a tragedy, but Christchurch is a farce.