By J.J. Colagrande

05_kurtis1I had a dream. A weird dream, even for me. Geri and me were at our favorite restaurant, Benihana’s, and an old Japanese man with dreadlocks served as the hibachi chef. In the dream, Geri went to the restroom. When she left, the hibachi chef started flipping oysters at my head. PAP! PAP! Oysters pelting my head. Then the hibachi chef spoke of a secret formula. Turn first lady set eye on you to tiger. I awoke, and faintly bouncing around the room, was the echo of whoever spoke. I wrote down the recipe. Of course it seemed nuts, but I had the elements: Irish Moss, marijuana seeds, coconut rum, Jolly Ranchers, and a tablespoon of magnolia sugar. I dumped all the components, as instructed by the man in my dream, in a clay-based bowl. I gave the rum an hour to break down the Jolly Ranchers. Then with a needle, I injected forty ccs of the potion into a naval orange. I had to bury the orange under the ground of a papaya tree for three days. A huge papaya tree exists in our complex in Little Haiti. Three days passed and I dug up the earth. I ate the orange with lunch. It tasted sweeter than usual. When Geri walked in the door she dropped the groceries and came at me like a tiger, hee hee hee. I’m not lying.


If you enjoyed this, check out Thelonious reveal the secret of Curtis, but sh-h-h, keep it on the down low.