Loaded Diapers and Negative Nurdles

Dear Goblin,
How does one deal with stinky diapers?  I literally throw up most times when I try to change a “loaded” diaper. Tips and tricks would be appreciated!

-SurferPaul from Hawaii


Before I answer your question, which will be quite a breeze for this brilliant goblin to do, I’d like to ask: what do you surf on? Hopefully you’re not another of those using a silly polyurethane and fiberglass board. I highly recommend petrified stone fauns. You only need a magic potion to petrify them, and then after a little whittling around the edges, you’ve got one fantastic board that’ll make you king of the waves. As a bonus, the fur of the stone faun is so soft that an alpaca would be jealous.

Now, to answer your question, you need a cup, a MEGA-V vacuum, and a garden hose hooked up and ready to roar. I do have all three of these available in my store.

STEP ONE: Clear the space around your baby, including the odd toy or pacifier.
STEP TWO: Place MEGA-V firmly in the center of the offending diaper.
STEP THREE: Press the green button, for the black hole setting. This will immediately zip the aforementioned loaded diaper, along with lingering detritus into the vacuum, where the internal black hole will wipe it into oblivion. Don’t be too concerned about the black hole in the vacuum. The device itself is magically resistant to its pull. (As a side note, I should warn you there have been instances where the life-repellent application is faulty, and a baby or two has disappeared into the vacuum. They can be retrieved safely, just drop me a line. Extra charge for retrieval of offspring.)
STEP FOUR: Vomit into the cup. You can save that for dinner.
STEP FIVE: Rinse soiled area of baby’s bottom with the garden hose. You’re all set.

I do hope you exercise the greatest of caution with your offspring. Remember, if you purchase the MEGA-V through my store, the warranty will only be good for two weeks. Best of luck, Paul pal.

With the sincerest of sincerity, yours untruly, Dear Goblin

Dear Goblin,

How do you suggest handling negative Nellys and naysayers who predict their own failures?

MommyTKD From Michigan-


You and I, we might as well be two peas in a bowl of curdled pea soup. I get you, truly I do. What IS it with all those naysayers? You say Nellys, I say Nurdles. I absolutely can’t stand the negative Nurdles.

Wiktionary defines a Nurdle as, among other things:

A “blob of toothpaste shaped like a wave”, which is often depicted on toothpaste packaging.

Yes, exactly. These naysayers are blobs of toothpaste in a funny shape. Tastes foul in this goblin’s mouth, I’ll tell you. I prefer brushing with pixie guts.

Look, if you truly want to know, these naysayers are best lured into the caves of stone fauns. That’ll dispose of them right enough, as well as fatten up the fauns for new surfboards. That said, it may be that the naysayers are friends of yours, or perhaps you share the same human blood. In such cases, luring them to the faun’s lair is a no-no. I’m just going to assume that’s out of the question. So what do you do?

It’s a simple solution, but I have copyrighted it, so you cannot share it without my permission. It’s a spell. You thought goblins couldn’t learn spells? That’s just prejudice. We’re as clever as any wizard on the planet, and I’ve studied every grimoire in existence. Here’s a spell below that I’ve crafted using various elements from my studies. You simply write this down and then stick it under their pillow on the night of the yellow crescent moon:

Shut your no-no face
tighter than a caterpillar’s kiss
Speak words of embrace
stronger than a irish banshee’s bliss

you become what you say
hero, warrior, failure, or frog
choose yes words today
or I’ll turn you into my dog

There. It’s nearly foolproof. Only on occasion is it necessary to turn your loved one or your friend into a dog. They make excellent pets, of course. Other goblins would say they make excellent stew, but not this goblin. I only eat cats.

With the sincerest of sincerity, yours untruly, Dear Goblin

[Dear Goblin’s name is not actually Dear Goblin. But for now, you may call him that. Though he prefers some anonymity at present, Dear Goblin would like you to know he is a BARGEVARD University graduate, with a degree in Mangling Pixies. This advice column is merely his hobby. Anyone who follows his advice needs to have his or her brain checked. This is Goblin advice, after all. Don’t tell him I said that. I prefer to have my head attached.]

By J. Parrish Lewis

J. Parrish Lewis was born and raised in Maryland. In his youth there, he and his brother had many adventures in the dogwood forests near his home. His nostalgia for these adventures has strongly influenced his characters, their relationships, and their perspective on the world they inhabit. He moved to California’s coast to earn his degree in communications and now lives with his family in the San Joaquin Valley. Lewis is profoundly deaf and uses American Sign Language to communicate. He enjoys hazelnut coffee, captioned movies, and walking his dog.

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