The Last Black Unicorn(6)

Old Man: “No, no, no.”

Tiffany: “Come on, you know you want to dance. You know you want to!”

Old Man: “No, no, I’m old, dance with the young people.”

He was saying no, but I could tell he meant yes, so I grabbed his hand, and he got up with me, and he came to the dance floor. And then I grabbed him by his tie and went all in.

Tiffany: “Yeaaaaaaaah boy, get it done!”

Old Man: “Whooooo!”

And he was into it and enjoying it, and people were cheering, and the party started to jump off.

I let go of his tie, and we started dancing a little simple two-step. And then I turned around on him and gave him a little booty pop, right? Just a little one, right in his old man crotch, like pop-pop. I sprang back up and kept dancing, and then I saw people were staring at me, shocked.

I turned back around, and he was on the ground. On his back, holding his chest.

Tiffany: “Oh shit. Oh shit!”

Everybody was rushing over. There were some doctors in attendance who were working on him, and they called an ambulance. They were doing CPR on him and all of that.

But it was the weirdest thing: he was smiling the whole time. I swear to God that man was smiling.

The ambulance came, and they took him to the hospital. And with the ambulance came the police. So, I just knew I was going to jail. I just figured that since I’m the only black person at this party, the police are there for me. They’re going to say I killed this man. I was fixing to go to jail, that was it. I was trying to figure out who to call, and mentally preparing myself for going to jail.

Police: “Okay, I think that wraps it. If we have any other questions, we’ll let you know.”

And they just left. What’s going on?

That man ended up dying in the hospital. I was home, I’m thinking the police were going to show up to my house any day now to take me to jail.

And I decided I quit. No more dancing, no more Bar Mitzvahs, nothing. I was done. I stopped doing them. DJ Timbo was calling me and calling me, telling me people were requesting me.

Tiffany: “I can’t do it, I can’t. I just can’t right now. This is not a good time. I don’t feel safe.”

DJ Timbo: “Tiffany, they are asking for you specifically. They want you there.”

Tiffany: “I don’t feel like people should be around me. I’m not safe.”

DJ Timbo: “Tiffany, your ass is not deadly.”

Tiffany: “No, my ass is deadly. That man is dead.”

DJ Timbo: “Tiffany, that man was old. It was his time. He was probably happy. It was probably the first time he ever danced with a black girl in his life. It was the happiest moment of his life.”

But Timbo couldn’t talk me into doing them. That man hadn’t wanted to dance at first, and I made him, and then I booty popped him . . . and now he’s dead! I just felt like a booty assassin.

Then, I got a letter from his daughter. She tipped me—she sent me a big tip and told me thank you. She said they’d never seen him that happy, they hadn’t seen him smile like that or that happy in a long time. And she said that they knew this was coming, he was in his late eighties, and they had been waiting for him to pass. And they appreciated everything that I did, and I should not blame myself.

She made some good points. And you know, she did tell me to dance with everybody. She specifically said to get all the older people up. So maybe she wanted me to kill him? I don’t know.

After that letter, I went back to doing Bar Mitzvahs. At that point, they were paying me $400 a party. The money was too good.





Laugh Factory Comedy Camp


I started doing comedy at fifteen. I was getting in trouble in school, that’s what got me into it. It was all because of this one teacher.

I was talking too much in class, and my teacher was always sending me to the principal’s office. The social worker was getting tired of coming up to the school, and the principal was tired of calling the social worker.

Come to think of it, it wasn’t just talking. This teacher kept saying I was racist, but I didn’t think I was being racist. I thought I was being funny.

My whole thing was just to make everybody laugh. If I could do that, then they’d let me copy their homework and they’d help me on tests.

One of the ways I made everyone laugh was to make up these imaginary friends. I had a female imaginary friend that I called Carmelita and a little bird that I called Cracker. I would talk to them in the hallways and during class, and if somebody sat down next to me, I’d be like:

Tiffany: “Wait, watch out. You’re sitting on Carmelita’s lap. She likes that, though. Wiggle on her.”

And they would jump up and be like, “What are you talking about?” And then, eventually, they would become my friends. People would be like, “You crazy. You silly. I like you.” It worked really well for me. It’s basically how I made it through school.

Every time we would take a test, I would turn my head toward my shoulder, and I would be like, “Cracker want a Polly?” I had some crackers, and I would crumble them up on my shoulder for my imaginary bird, and people would be laughing. Then they’d let me cheat off of them.

The teacher didn’t know I was cheating though, that’s not why she was always sending me to the principal’s office. During one test, I said: