If I were to crawl into the sewer and bang my head till it bled, then who am I?
If a waterfall suddenly turned magenta and lion feces froze over, then who am I?
If I were to climb a tree only for it to turn into a shotgun, then who am I?
If some ear wax found a baseball and started singing Mariah Carey, then who am I?
If someone told me that I looked like my hair had gone to the moon and back without going sightseeing with a tortoise named Arnold and a meerkat named Francis, and if the ice age had never had any music, and if rabbits went rabid while cooking steaks made of bison meat in their den, and if you were to be sitting here listening to me writing this poem, drawing this poem, making this poem, publishing this poem, getting famous off of this one god damn poem, the who, WHO, the hell AM I?