The Tale Of TV3: A Saga Of Text Messages, Raised Eyebrows, And Toothpaste Shortages!

 

My dear Asomdwekromanians, gather around the virtual fire, for I have a tale to spin. It is a tale so twisted that it could double as a phone charger cable.

Picture this: the sun rises over the rolling hills of Accra, birds chirping, and the flavour of fresh jollof wafting through the air. And there, in the heart of it all, stands TV3 – a channel that overlaps the fine line between being a professional media house and Zu-za fan. You heard right. TV3 has practically become an appendage of the opposition Zu-za.

Now, let’s talk about their hosts. These folks are as shameless as the word itself. They assemble every morning, wear their cloaks, and leap into action. But instead of discussing issues, they prefer setting the agenda for their foul-mouthed panelists to pour invectives on Dr. Mahamudu Bawumia. The name Dr. Bawumia has become the chewing stick for cleansing their proverbial rotten teeth.

First up, we have Roland Walker, who reads Zu-za text messages with the enthusiasm of a kid unwrapping a Christmas present. “Dear TV3,” the texts say, “please tell Dr. Bawumia that his graphs are about as accurate as my grandma’s weather predictions.” And Roland nods solemnly, as if decoding ancient hieroglyphs. His voice, a blend of smoothness and mischief, rings across the airwaves.

In Roland’s eyes, politics is a grand theatre, and he’s the jester who juggles truth and jest. His laughter, a symphony of raised eyebrows and suppressed chuckles, echoes through the studio. When the camera focuses on him, Roland’s expression is a combination of confusion and criticism. He’s the decoder of mysterious messages and the guardian of political mockery.

So, dear Roland, keep unwrapping those text messages. May your wit remain as sharp as a knife, and may your nods decode symbols with the gravitas of an ancient sage. And when Bawumia’s graphs waver, remember Grandma’s weather prediction for they are both equally unpredictable, yet oddly attractive.

Then there’s Berlinda Addardey, affectionately known as Berla Mundi, who has carved a niche for herself in Asomdwekrom’s media landscape. Her captivating side-eye glances have become legendary. When she locks eyes with the camera, viewers hold their breath, wondering what secrets she might reveal next.

I call her ‘the queen of side-eye’. She looks at the camera like she’s trying to read the fine print on a shady contract. “Dr. Bawumia,” she intones, “your economic policies are as stable as a unicycle on an earthquake.” And just like that, the Zu-za’s stock rises and she smiles gleefully, knowing very well that she has done something worthy of praise from her political paymasters.

Naa Ashorkor Mensah-Doku, meanwhile, has perfected the art of the raised eyebrow. She listens to Osono reps like a detective interrogating a suspect. “Mr. Osono,” she says, “care to explain why your manifesto promises sound like a rap battle gone wrong?” The room holds its breath, awaiting the response.

In her mind, she sees Zu-za’s stock rising, making her feel she has the done a very good job in promoting the party she adores. Well, whether it is a side-eye from Berla Mundi or a raised eyebrow from Naa Ashorkor, it is their contribution towards ensuring the resurrection of the dead goat.

And let’s not forget Cookie Tee, who wields her microphone like a wizard’s wand. “Abracadabra!” she chants. “Behold the Zu-za’s magical budget deficit – you see it, now you don’t!” And poof! The deficit disappears faster than a politician’s campaign promises.

But the one with the stinkiest breath is Jonnie Hughes. He is the bloke who never met a toothbrush he liked. His morning breath could peel a wallpaper, and his prejudice is impeccable. He blocks dissenting views faster than you can say “Osono”. He loves criticising and lampooning President Nana Dee, Dr. Bawumia and others. Yet, he has zero tolerance for criticism.

And then there is the Jantuah siblings, Kwame and Nana Yaa. They claim to belong to the Red Cockerel fraternity, but honestly, they are more like the party crashers at a political soirée. “Dr. Bawumia,” Nana Yaa declares, “is schizophrenic!” Meanwhile, Kwame nods in agreement, as if he has found the magic formula to make the Red Cockerel win a presidential election.

Now, TV3 has issued disclaimers, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “We’re not biased!” they cry. “We are only just and enthusiastic!” But we know better. Their love for Zu-za is as obvious as General Ntontom’s hatred for the Elephant.

And that, my dear Asomdwekromanians, is the tale of TV3: a saga of text messages, raised eyebrows, and toothpaste shortages. Let’s raise our virtual glasses to TV3, the channel that turns politics into a telenovela. And as the sun sets on another day, remember: when life gives you biased hosts, make lemonade. Or better yet, switch to Net 2 and listen to voices that sing the goodness of your beloved political party!

See you next week for another interesting konkonsa, Deo volente!

 

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