Alvin Bragg Executed at GITMO
By
Michael Baxter
September 18, 2024
A bulbous Alvin Bragg implied he had heard about Ryan Routh and the recent assassination attempt seconds before a JAG executioner placed a tailor-made rope around his neck and told him it was “time to die.”
As reported previously, JAG convicted Bragg of treason on September 3 and imposed maximum punishment, a death sentence conducted on the 17th. Following his tribunal, Bragg had been held in isolation and had no access to news of the outside world, no internet, naturally, and no newspapers or magazines. He could’ve learned of the recent attempt on Trump’s life from a blabbering guard, a source there told Real Raw News.
Bragg’s attitude at the gallows was a sharp departure from how he had behaved at his tribunal—professionally polite but necessarily argumentative when cross-examining the witness whose unimpeachable testimony led to Bragg’s conviction. He accepted the verdict with almost equable grace. Beholding the noose, however, had evoked palpable anger and observable fear; he perspired profusely, sweat oozing from his pours as two military police nudged him up the shallow steps to the platform. With each step, he hurled invective at President Trump, who was not present, and at the officers below him, Vice Adm. Crandall, a two-star Army general and a Marine Corps colonel who gnawed on a cigar.
So obese was Bragg that he was huffing and puffing and seemed to cough up a lung by the time he reached the platform.
He caught his breath. “Whatever happens to me, Trump will never be safe. We’ll get him eventually. Dead men can’t be presidents, but presidents can be made into dead men. And once he’s gone, you’re all next. It’s an inevitability. Thomas Crooks, Ryan Wesley Routh—do you think that’s the end of it? If you do, you’re wrong. I tell you what, Admiral, let me live, and I’ll give you the names of other assassins out there.”
“I’d sooner swallow broken glass than deal with you, detainee Bragg,” the Admiral said. “Besides, I don’t believe you. Some guard gossiped to you; it happens all the time. Until this moment, I thought you’d find dignity in death, but you’re a conniving coward like everyone else who’s stood up there.”
“I don’t fear death,” Bragg said.
“You’re a liar, detainee Bragg, and a bad one. I can smell your fear from here,” the Admiral said.
“Hang the bastard,” the Marine colonel said.
“Oh, yes, I can see it in your eyes, and your eyes, you’re just itching to hang a Black man,” Bragg said.
Adm. Crandall replied: “Justice doesn’t discriminate, detainee Bragg. And if you must know, more Caucasians than Blacks have stood where you now stand. Let’s get this business done.”
The hangman covered Bragg’s rotund head with a black sack, fastening the noose around his neck. He waited for the Admiral’s command, then pressed a button and opened the door beneath Bragg’s feet. The excessive fat on his neck prolonged the execution, and he managed to mutter, “Oh, God, you’re killing me,” as his legs flailed in the air.
“You killed yourself,” the Admiral said.
Bragg was pronounced dead several minutes later.
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