Aliens Took My Homework – Again!

It all started last Tuesday. Or was it the Tuesday before that? Honestly, when aliens are involved, time gets a bit... wibbly-wobbly. You know what I mean—like when your socks disappear in the laundry and suddenly it’s a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes, except with more missing math homework.

Anyway, there I was, sitting in Mr. Thistlewick’s history class. The classroom smelled like old books and chalk dust, with a faint hint of panic because Mr. Thistlewick was known to have radar for forgotten homework. I was pretending to pay attention while daydreaming about becoming a professional taco tester. Don’t judge—it’s a career. Someone has to do it. It’s a serious job with very important responsibilities, like tasting every taco in the world and rating their crunch-to-filling ratio.

Just as Mr. Thistlewick asked the question that haunts all students, “Toby, where’s your homework?”, I knew I had to think fast.

“Aliens took it. Again,” I said, the most honest answer I could muster.

There was silence. You could hear a pencil sneeze. Mr. Thistlewick blinked. Twice. I swear, one of the chalk sticks actually stopped moving.

“Toby,” he said slowly, like he was talking to a confused goldfish, “you used that excuse last week.”

“Exactly!” I said, feeling clever. “These aliens are persistent, sir. It’s like they’re building an intergalactic museum of 6th-grade homework.”

The class laughed, but Mr. Thistlewick just stared at me like I’d grown an extra head. Not a good sign.

That night, I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t let those pesky extraterrestrials keep stealing my homework and ruining my academic reputation.

Armed with a flashlight, a tuna sandwich (aliens hate tuna, it’s a scientific fact I made up), and my freshly written essay on “The History of Socks,” I waited in the backyard. The night was dark and quiet—too quiet, except for the occasional hoot of an owl and the suspicious rustle of leaves that made me jump a little.

At exactly 2:17 a.m., a blue beam of light shot down from the sky and **ZAP!** There they were: two green, squishy creatures with oversized eyes, floating in a bubble-shaped ship that smelled suspiciously like gym socks. They blinked their huge eyes at me like confused puppies caught in the act.

“Zorg! He’s got homework again!” said the taller one, who looked like he had just rolled out of bed on a Monday morning.

“Excellent, Blip! Add it to the collection next to the algebra equations and macaroni art,” Zorg replied, his voice a strange mix of excitement and boredom.

“No way!” I yelled. “This time I’m turning it in!”

Blip pulled out a ray gun that looked like a hot glue gun taped to a hairdryer. I wasn’t sure if it was for homework theft or arts and crafts.

“We must study the ancient Earth tradition of procrastination!” Blip declared.

Before they could zap me, I channeled my inner ninja and threw the tuna sandwich like a flying saucer of justice. It hit Blip square in the face with a loud *splat*. The alien screamed like a drama queen at a soap opera finale and dropped the ray gun. His eyes watered (or whatever alien eyes do when exposed to tuna), and he started waving his slimy hands around, trying to clear the smell.

While they panicked over the tuna-smell contamination, I snatched my homework, jumped on the trampoline, and bounced straight toward my bedroom window.

Okay, I hit the wall first. Then the window. But eventually, I made it inside—landing in a heap on my bed, homework still in hand.

The next morning at school, I slammed my homework onto Mr. Thistlewick’s desk with a victorious grin.

“There. Saved from alien abduction. Again.”

He looked at it, sniffed it suspiciously, then muttered, “Why does it smell like tuna?”

I just winked.

“Let’s just say... space is a smelly place.”

From that day on, I became known as the kid who fought off aliens to get his homework done. The class thought I was a hero. Mr. Thistlewick? Well, he still doesn’t believe me. But one thing’s for sure—I’m never letting those alien slackers take my homework again.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll bring extra tuna sandwiches tomorrow. Just in case.