When I walked into English class this morning, I nearly fainted. My teacher had been replaced by a Labubu with impossibly long acrylic nails, tapping them ominously against the desk like it was about to announce my doom. Overnight, every single teacher had vanished. No sick notes, no subs, just a single piece of paper taped to the office door: “Due to budget cuts, we’ve partnered with Labubu Education Services.”
At first, we thought it was a joke. The sort of dumb prank ASG might pull if they’d run out of spirit day ideas. But then, in Ms. Buehler’s class, the Labubu actually started writing on the whiteboard. Sort of. On the brighter side, it managed a few shaky sentences. On the darker side, the Labubu in Mr. Tebow’s geometry class has been reported to write “666” over and over again before cackling and swallowing Expo marker after Expo marker.
The choir, honestly, sounds the same. Except now they’re shrieking in some guttural Labubu-nese dialect that none of us fully understand. One student said, “Honestly, the Labubu teaching gov is funnier than Ms. Stewart.” Another muttered, “I haven’t slept in three days, but my GPA has never been higher.”
Naturally, we tried to ask Principal Hicks for answers. But when we reached his office, we found him chewing on the student handbook like it was a slice of pizza. He, too, had become a Labubu.
Administration still insists that “test scores will improve once students embrace the claws.” PTA meetings are now sharply divided: half of the parents are thrilled at the sudden grade inflation, while the other half would prefer their children to be educated by actual humans.
Meanwhile, fire drills are no longer functional. Last week’s was canceled after several Labubus spontaneously combusted “for fun” and refused to extinguish themselves. Students are slowly becoming fluent in Labubu-nese, which consists of screeches, squeals, and threatening side-eyes. A small black market has even developed: some students claim to have seen kidnapped stray teachers being sold online.
And now, rumors are swirling that some of our old teachers are wandering town dazed, confused, and wondering why their jobs were given to demonic stuffed animals.
Until further notice: If your teacher knocks on your door tonight — don’t answer. It might not be your teacher anymore.
