I walk into class and begin ranting about religion as I pass out various old, morbid paintings. I am covered in snails and exotic caterpillars, and the building walls rot behind me as I speak. Others tun into complex cement structures dripping with algae infested water. I inform the class of why Prometheus was both a wonderful and a horrible movie, and make jokes that nobody gets or cares to look up. “Buy my book,” I say as I depart to the music from Super Mario RPG.