XPost: alt.politics.liberalism, sac.politics, talk.politics.guns   
   XPost: alt.politics.usa.republican   
   From: notvetted@barackobama.com   
      
   The shooter was drugged by the deep state and instructed to   
   shoot a bunch of people.  It is all a ploy to force gun control   
   and attack the 2nd amendment.  If is because of people like   
   Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama that we need the 2nd amendment.   
      
   Begin leftist communist rag article:   
      
   At 24 years old, my daughter, Jessi, was sparky, beautiful, and   
   ambitious, with red hair that mirrored her fiery spirit. In   
   summer 2012, she was finishing her final year of college in   
   Colorado and looking forward to pursuing a career as a sports   
   journalist. On the night before she had an interview for a dream   
   job, she went with her close friend Brent to a midnight movie.   
      
   I was up late that night, unable to sleep, and texted her just   
   to say hi. I was set to travel from our home in Texas the   
   following week to help her furnish a new apartment.   
      
   “I can’t wait for you to come visit,” Jessi pinged back. “I need   
   my mama.”   
      
   Less than an hour later, Brent called me from inside the theater   
   in Aurora where they’d gone to see the premiere of The Dark   
   Knight Rises. “There’s been a shooting,” he said, breathless. I   
   could hear people screaming in the background.   
      
   “What are you telling me?” I asked. “Are you okay?”   
      
   “I’ve been hit. Twice, I think.”   
      
   “Where’s Jessi?” My heart was racing.   
      
   “I’m sorry,” he said.   
      
   When the gunfire had erupted inside the theater, Jessi and Brent   
   leapt out of their chairs to flee. Jessi got shot in the leg.   
   “I’ve been hit!” she yelled as she fell. “Someone call 911!” The   
   bullets kept coming—bullets with the power and velocity to   
   penetrate walls and seats, bodies and bones. She was hit five   
   more times, including in her head. Brent stayed by her side. He   
   got hit as well, with one bullet just missing his spleen. Jessi   
   was one of 12 who died. Brent was among the 70 others who were   
   wounded or injured in the attack.   
      
   I can’t remember the moments right after I realized Jessi was   
   gone. My husband, Lonnie, later told me that he awoke to the   
   sound of my screams and caught me as I crumpled to the floor. I   
   recall little else from that night, except that my son, who is a   
   paramedic, rushed over to the house and gave me some pills so I   
   could calm down and eventually rest.   
      
   In the fog of those first few days, I was too distraught to   
   really sleep, bathe, or think. We learned that two police   
   officers had driven Jessi to the hospital after she was shot,   
   with one holding her in the backseat. She was pronounced dead at   
   1:10 a.m. I felt a sense of relief that she didn’t die alone on   
   the theater floor. I also remember feeling that I would never   
   know happiness again. At one point, a friend suggested that it   
   might be good to take a shower. Apparently I headed to the   
   bathroom. As Lonnie tells it, he soon heard guttural howling. He   
   rushed into the shower fully clothed and embraced me.   
      
   Less than two months earlier, Jessi had narrowly missed another   
   shooting, at a mall in Toronto. Just a couple minutes after she   
   and her boyfriend left the food court, a gunman opened fire,   
   killing two people and wounding several others. I was working in   
   the garden when Jessi called, her voice shaking. I reassured   
   her. She went home and wrote on her blog, “Every second of every   
   day is a gift.”   
      
   It was five years ago today that Jessi was killed. On that day,   
   I entered an inescapable nightmare. A fire also began to burn   
   inside of me. The following morning, I told Lonnie, “We need to   
   get involved.” He knew exactly what I meant. We knew that we   
   needed to try to save other families from this unthinkable pain.   
   What followed was a tumultuous journey we never could have   
   anticipated. We were thrust into the media spotlight and the   
   world of activism against gun violence. We came face to face   
   with powerful political leaders, including President Obama. We   
   spent four grueling months in a Denver courtroom, bearing   
   witness to the trial of Jessi’s killer. This spring, we traveled   
   to Congress to testify against President Donald Trump’s ardently   
   pro-gun Supreme Court pick, Justice Neil Gorsuch.   
      
   There was one experience that showed us, more than any other,   
   how warped America’s relationship with gun violence is. It came   
   when we decided to sue the dealer that armed our daughter’s   
   killer. The gunman bought more than 4,000 rounds of ammunition   
   before his shooting spree—no background check, no questions   
   asked. But a judge dismissed our case. Gun dealers are shielded   
   by the Protection of Lawful Commerce in Arms Act, a   
   controversial law that protects them from liability when crimes   
   are committed with their products.   
      
   Worse, in accordance with the law, the judge ordered us to pay   
   more than $200,000 in legal fees to the defendants. In part   
   because of that ruling, Lonnie and I were forced this year to   
   file for bankruptcy.   
      
   There are so many thoughts that haunt you when the worst   
   happens. For weeks I thought about how Jessi almost ended up in   
   an adjacent sold-out theater where no one was killed. I dwelled   
   on the strangeness of the near-miss at the Toronto mall. I   
   remembered how Jessi never liked the sound of fireworks; she   
   thought they sounded like gunfire. I hated the fact that   
   gunshots were the last sounds she heard.   
      
   Five months after Jessi’s funeral in Texas, which drew nearly   
   2,000 friends and supporters, Lonnie and I headed to Colorado to   
   pick up Jessi’s diploma and speak at her university. We managed   
   to joke that of course she would get her degree without having   
   to take any final exams. As we boarded the plane, we heard about   
   the breaking news: A gunman had attacked Sandy Hook Elementary   
   School in Newtown, Connecticut. By the time we landed in   
   Colorado, people were checking their phones, talking in hushed,   
   stunned voices about 20 dead children. Lonnie and I were sitting   
   near the back of the plane. I lost it. “Shut up! Stop talking   
   about it!” I screamed. Lonnie tried to console me.   
      
   In Colorado, we met with leaders from a major gun violence   
   prevention group, now known as Everytown for Gun Safety. They   
   invited us to New York City to speak at a press conference with   
   Mayor Michael Bloomberg. We met other survivors, each with their   
   own devastating story. Then the Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun   
   Violence invited us to a meeting at the Obama White House with   
   senior adviser Valerie Jarrett. We had already battled to try to   
   get the Cinemark theater in Aurora to create a memorial in honor   
   of the lives lost—the theater refused—but now we were entering a   
   much broader arena.   
      
   My husband and I respect the Second Amendment. We are longtime   
   gun owners, who for 30 years made our home in Texas. We have no   
   interest in taking away everyone’s guns, as the National Rifle   
   Association and other fearmongers like to claim. However, we   
   believe our nation’s laws can be vastly improved to save lives.   
   Like most Americans, we want to see background checks on all gun   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)