Your classroom is being run by an eyeless, vagina-beehive with teeth

When you first showed up to class this morning, no hint of gargoyle or griffin was to be seen. Lovecraftian surrealism was the furthest thing from your mind. Love was in the air, as was the wafting hyena farts coming from the direction of that weird family down the street. You didn't know Martians put something in your breakfast cereal.

We all know reptilians are running things. Raccoons began to pour from holes in the wall that hadn't been there a moment ago. You're sweating, more than usual. Then came the pigeons with retractable belly hooks.

"Open your texts to page 773 please", it says in a gravelly, cracking voice. You shiver, thinking maybe it wants to eat you. And maybe it does. The classroom smells like sulphur and maple syrup. Surely the rapture is coming.