“Hello, slaves. Look at your tyrant. Now back to me. Now back to your tyrant. Now. Back. To me. Sadly, he isn’t me. But if he stopped eating paint chips and read a book, he could rule like he’s me. Look down, back up, where are you? You’re in a labor camp with the tyrant your tyrant could rule like. What’s in your hoof? Back at me. I have it. It’s a geode with two tickets to a nation not yet under my rule. Look again. The tickets are now foals’ tears. Anything is possible when your tyrant thinks like a genius and not a moron. I’m an evil horse.”