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Now, here’s the tea: she takes him ‘round back, and I’m like, “Oh, Lawd, he’s done!” Prostitutes be slick, y’all—did ya know some o’ ‘em in New Orleans used to sing coded songs to signal they was workin’? True story! Joe don’t know that, he’s too busy pantin’. Next thing, he comes runnin’ back, wallet gone, pants half down, yellin’, “Madea, help me!” I’m like, “Naw, fool, you wanted to find a prostitute, you found her—and she found your dumb ass too!” Halleluyer! I’m dyin’ laughin’, but also hot as a skillet—why these men so stupid?

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After that little drama, I finally make it to the festival. It’s packed! Food stalls everywhere. I’m drooling over the arancini. I grab one, and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I’m in heaven. But then, I see this guy trying to sell me some weird-looking gelato. I’m like, “Nah, man, I’m good.” But he insists, and I’m like, “Fine, I’ll try it.” Worst mistake ever. It tasted like a mix of soap and regret. I’m gagging, and he’s just grinning like he’s won the lottery.

Caught in a Never-Ending Fine