I just kinda laughed it off. I know his feelings was hurt, but whatever.
But he and I were on the same club circuit at the time, and he was a bigger name than me then. So every time I seen him—for five years—he would bump me off of comedy shows.
If I was supposed to go up next, he’d tell the manager of the club, “No, I want to go up.” He’d bump me. It got me pissed, but I just held back and waited. I knew my time would come.
Four years later, we were at the Laugh Factory, and the Laugh Factory is my house. I host there, I headline there, it’s my home. So he tries to bump me off the show, and they wouldn’t bump me.
Cry Baby: “Yeah whatever, Tiffany, you finna go up there and bomb, you ’bout to ruin the whole thing for everybody, you suck. You ain’t no real comic.”
Tiffany: “Yes I am a real comic, and I’m about to destroy this room, and you gonna have a hard time following me.”
Cry Baby: “Please. You ’bout to eat ass, you ’bout to bomb.”
Tiffany: “You the only motherfucker be overeating in this bitch.”
Right before I went on stage, I prayed to God to make me as funny as possible in this one moment. If I’m never funny again, make me as funny as possible in this one moment, so I can shut this motherfucker up.
I did fifteen minutes, demolished it. I got a standing ovation, six people stood up for me, it was great. I came off the stage, and all the comedians were clapping. They had heard Cry Baby and me yelling at each other back and forth in the VIP area upstairs. So when I came off, they were all clapping for me like, “Yeah, nigga, you killed that, you did that, girl,” and I was like, Yeah I did. And it was his turn to go up next.
Cry Baby: “I can’t believe this shit. You making me eat my words.”
Tiffany: “Yep. Eat them. Eat them up like you eat all them free sandwiches.”
So then he went up onstage and he bombed, bad. And then he came back upstairs. He came up, gave me a big ol’ hug, he was like:
Cry Baby: “Man I am so sorry, Tiffany. Obviously somebody tried to teach me a lesson.”
Tiffany: “Yep. God trying to teach you today.”
Ever since then, we have been cool. You know how you can tell somebody can’t stand you, but you’re undeniable, so they can’t really hate? That’s how it has been ever since. So when I see him, he’s always cool, like:
Cry Baby: “Yeah, I see your commercials, I see you doing little shows, I saw you on Oprah channel.”
You can tell it’s bothering him, but I am always cool to him, because he apologized and made his shit right. And I will always forgive. I may not forget, but I will forgive anyone, if the apology is sincere, and I feel his was sincere.
? ? ?
Comedy is hard for anyone, but women have a different level of hard.
So many promoters try to pull shit on women. I can’t tell you how many tried to tell me that to get onstage, I had to get on my back. Hell no!
I see young female comics now, and I can see the same thing happening. Dudes try to take advantage of them, hold a little bit of power over their heads. I see that going on so much, and then I tell them, “Girl, don’t let him pull your ho card. You’ll get more if you keep your legs closed, trust me. You’ll get more stage time, you’ll get more performances, just keep your legs closed.”
And it’s true. It is so funny, ’cause nobody told me that. I saw all these girls fucking all these dudes and getting stage time, and I just felt like I’m probably ruining my career, ’cause I wasn’t going to do that.
But those girls aren’t doing comedy no more. None of them. Those girls that I started with that slept around, they all got kids or they quit. Or it’s “I became a social worker” or “I’m a nurse now.” ’Cause they was getting run through, and how long can that go on?
They thought that was the way, and it’s not. You can’t get your comedy stripes on your back, you got to earn ’em on your own two feet. ’Cause you can’t fake funny.
This one promoter, he tried to fuck me, and I said no. So he told everyone he fucked me in a car at the back of the comedy club. He told this lie to everyone.
I found out he was saying all this, and I went straight hood. I stormed into the club he was promoting at, right when all the comics were going to be there:
Tiffany: “What you saying about me? I was in your motherfucking car? When was this?”
Promoter: “You wasn’t in my car.”
Tiffany: “Goddam right I wasn’t in yo trashy, broke-ass hooptie. But you out here telling people that I was in your car, and you fucked me in that car? And that I was terrible in bed?”
Promoter: “No, I said that your attitude is terrible, because somebody trying to be with you and you ain’t trying to give nobody the time of day.”
Tiffany: “Well these niggas told me that you said that you fucked me in the back of your car. And I’mma tell you right now, you need to keep my motherfucking name out your mouth, or I will have these goons come up here and fuck you up.”
And I got all up in his face and I pushed him. Mind you, this dude is like twenty years older than me and probably a hundred pounds heavier than me.
Tiffany: “You’ll get fucked up in these streets. Keep my name out your mouth and don’t say shit to me.”
That was twelve years ago, and to this day, when he sees me at the comedy club and tries to speak to me, I don’t say shit to his ass.
I’ve learned how to handle those types of situations better now, I don’t make threats like that anymore. But at that moment, I had to save face. He was a bitch. He spread rumors about people that ain’t true, and gossip, and that’s not funny. That shit has an impact.
But sometimes, my friends make the threats for me.
One time, this promoter flew me and my friend Marlow up to Seattle. He was supposed to give us our money before we got onstage. He gave us half our money:
Promoter: “I’m gonna give you the rest when you get off.”
We get offstage, we finish the show.
Promoter: “Okay, I’m gonna give you the rest of your money when we get to the hotel.”
But we didn’t go to a hotel.
Promoter: “Okay, we got to go to a casino right quick, and then I’m gonna take y’all to the hotel.”
So we at the casino, he buys us some drinks and runs off, and the next thing we know, it’s five o’clock in the morning, our flight’s supposed to leave at 7 a.m.
Promoter: “Aw man, can I write you a check?”
He was a reputable promoter, so we said, “Yeah okay, write us a check.” So he wrote us a check, dropped us off at the airport. He had printed out our return tickets home. We went to check in, ain’t no ticket, ain’t no flight, nothing.
There’s nothing for us to get home. So we start calling, we blowing up his phone:
Promoter: “What do you mean, there’s no ticket? There’s a ticket.”
Tiffany: “Motherfucker we are not calling you because we want to talk. THERE’S NO FUCKING TICKET. You sure we at the right airline?”