Stanley stared at the fuel gauge, his heart sinking. The needle hovered just above empty. He’d been so preoccupied with his glowing skin, the moon rocks, and the creature he’d battled, he’d forgotten to check his fuel levels. He’d also been a bit high, which hadn’t helped his attention to detail.

“Great,” he muttered, “I’m stuck on the moon with a bag of weed and a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I’m sure Douglas Adams would find this hilarious.”

He glanced at the book, lying open on the control panel. The words ‘Don’t Panic’ stared back at him in large, friendly letters. Stanley snorted. “Easy for you to say,” he told the book. “You’re not the one stuck on the moon.”

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He needed to think. There had to be a way to get back home. He couldn’t just sit here and wait for his oxygen to run out.

Stanley looked around the small cabin of his homemade rocket. His eyes landed on the bag of marijuana. An idea began to form in his mind. It was crazy, but then again, so was flying to the moon in a homemade rocket to fight a world-dominating creature with moon rocks.

He picked up the bag and examined it. The marijuana was still glowing faintly. He remembered how he’d started glowing after smoking it. Could it be that the marijuana had absorbed some of the moon rock’s energy? And if it had, could he use that energy to fuel his rocket?

Stanley had no idea if it would work. He was a moon enthusiast, not a scientist. But he didn’t have any other options. He took a deep breath and began to dismantle the rocket’s fuel system.

Hours later, Stanley sat back, wiping sweat from his brow. He’d managed to rig up a crude system that would, in theory, allow the rocket to use the glowing marijuana as fuel. He had no idea if it would work, but he was out of options.

He took a moment to admire his handiwork. It was a mess of wires and tubes, but it was the best he could do. He reached for the bag of marijuana and carefully fed it into the makeshift fuel system.

Stanley took a step back and crossed his fingers. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered, hitting the ignition button.

The rocket sputtered, then roared to life. Stanley let out a whoop of joy. He was going home! He climbed into the rocket, strapping himself in. As the rocket lifted off the moon’s surface, Stanley couldn’t help but laugh.

He’d come to the moon in search of unlimited energy. He’d found a creature intent on world domination, a bag of glowing marijuana, and a new appreciation for humor and imagination. And now, he was flying home on a rocket powered by weed.

Stanley shook his head, still laughing. “I can’t wait to see the look on NASA’s faces when I tell them about this,” he said.

As the moon grew smaller in the rearview mirror, Stanley settled back in his seat. He had a long journey ahead of him, but he wasn’t worried. After all, he had The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to keep him company. And if he got bored, well, he still had a bit of glowing marijuana left.

Stanley smiled, feeling a sense of peace settle over him. He’d faced the impossible and come out on top. He’d learned that sometimes, the most absurd solutions were the best ones. And most importantly, he’d learned that no matter how dire the situation, there was always room for a little humor.

Stanley looked out at the stars, feeling a sense of awe and wonder. He was just an average man, but he’d had an extraordinary adventure. And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.