Homework?

Handsome came running into the room with a sheet of paper fluttering from one hand. The paper was slapped authoritatively down on the dining room table, then he took two big steps away and started to do a strange dance. It looked a bit like a chicken. An Egyptian chicken. He walked farther away from the table and tried to scale the open dining room door by bracing his hands and feet on either side of the doorway. He didn't get very high, but then he didn't try for very long. He then took off across the kitchen, getting still farther from the sheet of paper he was carrying as he entered the dining room where I am currently sitting.

The paper is his homework.
This is his method of 'getting it done'.

He has so far chair danced to a song only he could hear, chair danced as he sang the song that formerly only he could hear, chewed a cookie with his mouth open the whole time, and worn one of those small erasers that you can snug onto the end of your pencil suction-cupped to his forehead like a unicorn with a bad case of Microantler. He is right now singing an impressively clear falsetto version of 'Staying Alive'.

I am supposed to be helping him with his homework, and I can't even keep up with his warm-up exercises.

Help?

Talk to you later!

P.S. - He just proofread this for me and let a tight-sounding fart rip on my arm as he did so.

P.P.S. - He insisted that I include that part about the fart.

P.P.P.S. - Even I couldn't make this stuff up!