by Rob Perez

The Goblin

Halloween is a big night for ghosts and skeletons. Witches and vampires also loom large. Mummies and zombies spook with impunity. Even the werewolf shows up, independent of the lunar cycle. There’s the occasional ghoul, the odd monster. And then, at the absolute bottom of the Halloween hierarchy, sits the goblin.

But what exactly is a goblin?

In Dungeons & Dragons, the goblin is a small, orange military power with strong organizational skills. In Tolkien, the goblin’s a snarling cave-thing that forges weapons and eats travelers. In Rowling, the goblin runs the bank with a big hook nose. You can call it antisemitism with a hint of monster.

In short, no one can agree on the goblin’s color, height, or whether or not he’s Jewish. So today, in the spirit of Halloween, I shall set the record straight on what the goblin really is.

The first thing you need to know about a goblin is that he’s not a hobgoblin. We shall attempt to do better than Ralph Waldo Emerson — who called “a foolish consistency the hobgoblin of little minds” — and ignore the hobgoblin and RWE wholesale.

The next thing you need to know about a goblin are a few physical attributes. Height: Below average. Weight: Above average, not in a good way.

Health: Pre-diabetic. Body Type: Endomorph. Skin Tone: a shade between pistachio and olive green. Nails: In need of a mani/pedi. Hair: Unkempt, bald, or three long, droopy hairs

Eyes: Bulging. Skin Clarity: Blemished, wart-prone, in need of a facial cleansing regimen. Breath: Surprisingly minty.

Next let’s get into what a goblin sounds like. When a goblin opens his mouth, his tone has a permanent “why me?” quality to it, as if life itself is unfair. It doesn’t help that he has absolutely zero charisma. Even when he’s talking about something genuinely interesting, you just don’t want to hear it. His gift — if you can call it that — is ruining any story with tone, pitch, and cadence. Also, the words.

I can hear the cheap seats: Alright, man. We get the picture! Get to the scary bit now!

Indeed, I shall. Indeed, it is time.

Some say the scariest thing about a goblin is when he talks about cryptocurrency. A lot. When someone talks about cryptocurrency (a lot) it’s hard to know exactly what to do. The old me — which was, somehow, a younger me — would have simply yelled the word “Eject!” and run away. But lately I’ve been accused of being insensitive because, well, sometimes I am. So I’m working on it. That means I might listen to the bulk of this guy’s diatribe on, sigh, Bitcoin. During his presentation I might even nod, occasionally, because I’m told this is what empathy looks like.

Then, after this monologue — the one he’s never managed to finish before tonight — he asks, “Are you in?”

And only because I can’t help myself, I ask, “Is your kid’s college fund all in Bitcoin?”

He’d hesitate, then stutter, “It used to be.”

I’d have to follow up, “And now?”

And he’d squirm, then look the other way, and finally realize I meant what I asked, and shout: “You’re going to miss it!” and then he ejects, which is one thing I respect about a goblin. A goblin is not afraid to run away when things aren’t going well for him.

Anyway, back to a short list of why goblins are indeed very, very scary.

1) He wears a manpurse. When pressed, he insists it’s European. 2) When the check comes, he offers to Venmo the restaurant, then you. 3) He brings a boxed wine to parties and, if unfinished (or unopened), takes it back home. 4) Did I mention he’s STILL trying to push you into crypto?!?! 5) Should you be immune to one-through-four, the goblin will then invite you to play pickleball.

So now you know The Goblin. He lives among us—today! Are you not trembling? Are you not terrified? Are you not mortified? Good. Happy Halloween.