Watchman Attacks Mathew, Sankareh and Jambang- Branding them the most paranoid triplets!!!!

MENTAL PROFILE OF THE GAMBIA'S MOST PARANOID TRIPLETS

BY THE WATCHMAN

It should be clearly apparent by now that the ongoing scuffle between me and The Gambia's most paranoid triplets, Mathew K. Jallow, Ebrima G. Sankareh and their dithering little brother Yankuba M. Jambang is a pitiful mismatch. Attacked with the truth from all sides like they've never experienced before, they have stained their standing as less than average journalists by getting down and dirty in the mud with an individual exercising the inalienable right of expression however unpleasant it may be. Unable to muzzle and harass me as they attempted with their fellow journalists and rightful critics, they have decided to pool their meager resources together in a pyrrhic bid to save face. The problem these bedwetting triplets have is that of an immense lack of credibility in the eyes of the audience witnessing their descent into dangerous depths of madness. Up close and personal, the finger-sucking triplets like to exude a semblance of control and affability but underneath the deception lurks a monstrous perversity illustrated by innumerable deviant behavior that would make Beelzebub himself envious.

The question needs to be asked: why do these stunted beings keep gnashing their teeth and crying wolf after failing in their ill-conceived plot to spread their slimy tentacles all over the GPU executive?  The time spent in futile rants and raves against a private citizen could have been utilized on real journalistic work on issues of development, corruption, the rule of law and education. What does this tell us about the character or lack thereof of these mealy-mouthed opportunists? It tells us that they are fanatics. According to the great statesman Sir Winston Churchill, “a fanatic is one who can’t change his mind and won’t change the subject”. The goose stepping triplets, like Pavlov’s dogs, have latched onto a perceived slight and won’t change the topic because just like the kid’s game, king of the hill, they want to regain their perch atop the castle that is Gambia’s media movement because their fall from grace and esteem is something they cannot fathom let alone live with. Egged on by their oldest brother, the pot-bellied blowhard Matthew K. Jallow, the triplets have sworn to fight to the end just like those Japanese soldiers on Okinawa and Iwo Jima islands  who clung to their guns in foxholes 20 years after the allies had defeated them and imposed colonial rule over that kingdom. At this rate, I can see the triplets, old and on their individual deathbeds, telling their gathered descendants to keep the fighting their sworn foe, The Watchman, long after they are gone.

What we have here is a bunch of rejects who obviously didn’t participate in sports growing up otherwise they would have know how to take a hit, physically and mentally. See, a 4 year old in gymnastics class can take a hit, shed a tear or two and move on. A 7 year old receiver in pee wee football can take a hit, dust himself up and go long again. An 11 year old girl active in soccer can take a hit, adjust her shin guards and boots and run down the field trying to head a free kick. A higher school wrestler can take a barrage of throw downs and hits to the body during a meet but never quits. A college basketball player can take a hit in the form of defeat during March Madness and come back to play with even greater gusto next season. An army recruit overcomes obstacles during boot camp after taking countless hits from a demanding instructor and fellow recruits then progress to be a 4 star general. What about third rate Gambian “journalists” in the form of the paranoid twins whose biggest physical exertion is tapping away at a keyboard and whose brains don’t see their ultimate limits due to inherent laziness? The resounding answer is no. I mean, these Three Musketeers are having a hard time dealing with a single source of criticism in the form of myself. They can’t deal with the mental demands of dealing with opponents, a symptom not only of their lack of physical hardiness but also of an overall psychological fragility. Like the sly kid who refuses to concede that an opponent had flat our gotten the best of them, the simian triplets keep finding guffaw inducing excuses for their ham handedness in this matter.

This afternoon, I was deluged with e-mails from readers who outlined how germane and potent my perspective has been compared to the gaffe prone triplets who can’t bear to grace their so-called “objective” , mom and pop web pages with direct criticism from me. That says a lot about their absence of testicular fortitude than it says anything about what they decide to fabricate about me or their rivals on any given day. For an idea of what it means to be professional I am begging them to browse other newspapers for critiques of those publications from clientele, learn a useful lesson then gradually change. Not! There is unanimous consensus that I have achieved what I sought to attain already: bring down the dazed and confused triplets a peg or two or three for good measure. On that note, I’d like to end with a poem by William Blake aimed at his detractors. It is more than apt for the occasion.

 A Poison Tree   by William Blake

I was angry with my friend:

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears

Night and morning with my tears,

And I sunned it with smiles

And with soft deceitful wiles.

 And it grew both day and night,

Till it bore an apple bright,

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine,--

 And into my garden stole

When the night had veiled the pole;

In the morning, glad, I see

My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

Gambiaswatchman@gmail