LIKE many of the ethnic groups in Black Africa, the Yoruba are very clinical in their proverbs. Enjoy one: “Alagemo to n y’ole rin, iku pa, belentase opolo to n jan ara e mole.” Gloss: Death kills the chameleon that treads with caution, let alone the toad that continually slams itself on the floor. That is the case with the weirdo singer, Habeeb Okikiola Badmus, a.k.a Portable, by self-description Nigeria’s “mad-man singer.” Incredibly ghastly in his make-up, dirty, and dressed exactly like a tramp, the singer of lunatic lyrics apparently has never bridled his tongue, yet devotees of traditional African religion, a faith he proudly subscribes to while always claiming the Muslim tag, regularly pray for their mouth not to lead them into ruin. Because “ladies” these days are cheaper than a loaf of bread, Portable has a bevy of bimbos in his lair, including the consort of a respected late monarch, and the regular supply of sex and whatever substances lubricate his lunacy have combined to make him an untrammeled, vicious monster. He belongs in the harshest section of jail, but he is being egged on by certain cretins.
Aging from the mouth like a broom, Portable has been saying the most outrageous things since he burst into the national consciousness recently. A wild, analphabetic thug, he is always “dragging” (insulting) someone, when he is not kicking, slapping or scoffing at people, a complete picture of hell in walking flesh. Each time he opens his mouth, he produces filth and more filth. He looks and acts just like hell and has never said anything of substance in his intellectually wretched but financially rewarding music career, egged on by fellow serpents. He should be behind bars conferencing with mosquitoes.
Just this week, Portable verbally and physically assaulted a preacher amid a profanity-laced rant. The crime: preaching at his pub. Now, I do not endorse anyone disturbing people’s business, and a bar remains a bar regardless of the preacher spirit that has taken over the Denominations. I have never used alcohol, but it is legal, and there is something inherently off-putting in the so-called preachers’ nosey antics. I mean, why invade anybody’s pub? However, when I consider the fact that Portable recently loaded a group of Jehovah’s Witnesses doing street evangelism with imprecations, I realize that Portable’s problem is much more profound than his promoters are willing to recognize. Under the open sun, Portable is committing assault with impunity.
In July, Portable beat up a motorcyclist whom he accused of stealing his phone, obstructing the movement of cars on a Lagos street. Scoffing at mediation efforts, he ‘downed’ the accused and pummeled him to stupor. A voice heard in the background said in Yoruba: “He has wounded that boy. Portable is in trouble. We won’t allow you to go. They have wounded that guy. Your life will be a mess. Look at your dirty celebrity.”
Only this week, speaking in a podcast with media personality, Quincy Jonze, Portable launched an acerbic assault on the music legend, the late Fela Anikulapo-Kuti. Hear him “According to what we were told, if Fela had minded his business a little, he would have lived longer. But he was busy fighting for Nigerians wey no fight for their selves (sic).” It is certain that this ruffian has no parents or advisers, otherwise they would have told him not to dare mention a man whose slippers is worth more than his (Portable’s) entire music career. In February 2023, the same vagabond had berated the singer, Peter Okoye, over his mention of the same legend: “I go by name Portable of Africa (sic), Anikuleti, Young Fela. Ogun kill you, You say wetin. I hear say you dey insult Fela Kuti, You wey be say you and your family still dey alive and una no still blow.”
Portable’s mouth is apparently bigger than his future, but he is a shameless beggar. In July, a US-based disc jockey called him out over his mendicant antics at the AY Live show. Portable fancies himself as some superhero, but history can easily dissect his future. Unless reined in now, he will have a disastrous end. Ayinla Omowura of the apala music fame did far less than him, and the Tupac/Biggie beef of the 1990s is still fresh in memory. Portable isn’t always going to be insulting Aliko Dangote or Davido, or scoffing at Ayankunle Ayanlowo, a man probably older than his father, for the crime of detailing his (Ayanlowo’s) horrendous suffering under a ghastly character basking in stupendous wealth while his workers live in penury: his (Portable’s) demons will lead him to utter ruin soon.
US politics and dumb professoriate
Don’t tell me about this clown, please. I have watched her for years and all I see is a dark soul. Uncouth, insufferably rude, wearing a fake smile and always talking like someone with Down syndrome, the queen of word salad is a prosecutor with a dark history, jailing the innocent and arranging freedom for criminals guilty as hell. Talking to members of the US space force, she sounded so kindergarten you wondered how such a clown ever got to the Capitol and Washington. She is spoken of in glowing terms by the shallow professors dominating our public space, people blinded by CNN and regurgitating the same old gibberish.
Google her session with Jeff Sessions and come back and tell me if that termagant who hardly anyone has been able to work with as VP has any business being POTUS. The professors harangue a man (who I can by no means endorse because even though his policies are correct, his character is rotten) for seeking to protect the border, yet never fail to leave a lock on their door. In almost a decade I haven’t read a single nuanced take on the States: all I am loaded with is the same anti-Republican gibberish. I am always gutted when I see numbskulls, people who believe that “there’s no there there” in Rodham selling US uranium to Russia and leading the life of a career criminal while saying absolutely nothing to justify a White House bid, harassing the sun with dumb tweets. The junior twat, the queen of word salads, repeated endless hoaxes this week but of course our professors and the Democrat operatives masquerading as fact checkers are busy repeating the lie that she told only one lie. What a bunch of insufferable clowns. Greg Gutfeld’s take on the lunacy called debate is apt, showing just how far America has gone in its descent to hell. The United States will be reset by its third conflict.
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