At the party, someone tells someone that they heard that I make rape jokes. I ask someone who told them that and they tell me that it was someone else.

“Yeah,” someone else tells me, “I heard you make rape jokes.”

“Where? Where’d you hear that?”

“Around.”

“Damn okay,” I say. Someone else laughs. “I’m gonna rape you,” I say. I say it again, this time louder, “I’m gonna rape you.” Someone else stops laughing. It’s a joke. Get it? A rape joke, because I make rape jokes.

At the party, someone is upset and no one is laughing. “I’ve probably been raped as many times as they’ve told a good joke,” I say. Now everyone knows.

Somebody says, “That’s the first rape joke I’ve heard you tell.”

“Well, it won’t be the last.” This is my thing now. “Hey, everyone, what’s worse than a rape? A rape joke.”

“Heard that one before.” Yeah, that one wasn’t very clever. Someone says that I’m canceled and everybody says that I’m drunk or coked-up or stupid. Somebody says that I’m “drunk and coked-up and stupid and, also, canceled.” I’m “Baa”-ing or bleating or whatever in everybody’s faces, explaining, “Hey, I’m trying to speak your sheep language!” I’m laughing and “Baa”-ing. Totally out of control. Who can blame me? Everyone laughs. No one is actually offended.

After my rape jokes, someone squirts me with a water gun. “Canceled,” they say.

“I hope you’re reincarnated as a foie gras goose,” I say.

“Jesus, that’s harsh,” somebody says. It’s just a joke. Now someone is shooting everyone with a squirt gun! Everybody is screaming and wet and no one knows what’s real anymore. Everybody is out of control and I am everybody.

“This is like Columbine!”

Somebody says that no, it’s not like Columbine. I guess it’s not.

At the party, I’m dancing with someone or maybe just near someone. I’m all alone, really, and I’m yelling. “Do you know who I am?” Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am?

Somebody probably thinks I mean that I think that I am somebody or that I will be somebody, and/or that I mean that they are nobody and will stay nobody. That’s not what I mean. I’m not that mean. I’m yelling because I don’t know the answer. Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am? Can anybody tell me?