I have Social Disease. I have to go out every night. If I stay home one night I start spreading rumors to my dogs.

Warhol’s quip frames compulsive sociability as a kind of “disease,” turning nightlife and constant company into both necessity and performance. The joke hinges on exaggeration: if he stays home, his social energy doesn’t disappear—it misfires into gossip directed at his dogs. That punchline satirizes the art-world and celebrity milieu Warhol inhabited, where talk, rumor, and being seen can function like currency. It also hints at loneliness and restlessness beneath the pose: solitude becomes intolerable, and conversation becomes so habitual it seeks any available audience. The line captures Warhol’s persona—deadpan, self-mythologizing, and keenly aware of social life as spectacle.