At Grumbletooth Monster School, most students were used to strange things—slimy lunch menus, growling lockers, and the occasional fire‑breathing sneeze. But nothing was stranger than the day the regular teacher, Miss Fangrella, was out sick with a case of the Snout Pox.
Her substitute, Mr. Whifflenose, arrived with a shy smile and a stack of worksheets. Most monsters didn’t mind him.
But one little monster did.
Blorp.
Blorp was small, green, and covered in purple fuzz. He was known for three things: loud burps, wiggly horns, and never sitting still. When he learned there was a substitute, his eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Class,” Mr. Whifflenose said gently, “please take out your spelling books.”
But Blorp had other plans.
First, he released a stink‑cloud so smelly that three students fainted into their desks. Then he used his stretchy arms to snap rubber bandersnakes across the room. When that didn’t get enough laughs, he climbed the bookshelf and dangled from it like a fuzzy chandelier.
Mr. Whifflenose tried to stay calm. “Blorp, please sit down.”
Blorp blew a raspberry so big it shook the windows.
The other monsters giggled, but nervous glances spread. Blorp was taking it too far.
Finally, Mr. Whifflenose sighed. He walked to the window and opened it wide. A huge, cold swirl of wind blew in—the School Spirit, a friendly but very serious cloud of magic that watched over Grumbletooth.
The Spirit studied the classroom with glowing eyes until they landed on Blorp.
“A substitute deserves the same respect as any teacher,” it rumbled. “Blorp, you must learn this.”
Before Blorp could argue, WHOOOOSH! The School Spirit lifted him into the air and spun him around until he tumbled into his seat, dizzy and droopy‑eared.
“Uh‑oh,” Blorp muttered.
The Spirit hovered over him. “For the rest of the day, you will help Mr. Whifflenose with every task. Every. Single. One.”
Blorp gulped.
And so he did.
He sharpened pencils. He wiped slime off desks. He handed out papers. He even apologized—real apologies, not the fake kind with eye‑rolling.
By the end of the day, Blorp was exhausted. His fuzz drooped. His horns wiggled slowly.
When the bell finally rang, Mr. Whifflenose patted him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Blorp. You were a big help.”
Blorp felt a warm fuzzy feeling—much nicer than his usual chaotic fuzz.
The next day, Miss Fangrella returned. “I heard someone caused a bit of trouble,” she said, looking at Blorp.
Blorp blushed. “I… learned my lesson.”
And he mostly had. Sure, he still burped loudly sometimes, and his horns still wiggled when he got excited. But he never again messed with a substitute teacher.
Well… almost never.