After changing diapers for four years (collectively) I still sound like an immature, childless bafoon when changing a massive stink bomb. Today Tubbs had some bad mojo working in his diaper pants and this is how his mother handled it:
Oh, Gawd! Oh, No!
Tubbs! What have you done? Where did you get a burrito?!
Vomit! Gag. Gag. Oh, Lord, how did it get there?!
Jeez Louise! It smells like death! There is not enough wipes on the planet to handle this volume of dookie!
(gag, gag, almost vomit on Tubbs)
Is that a license plate from the Gulf Stream?!
Ack! It got on my hand! It got on my hand!! Help! Help! There is dookie on my hand!
Sam! Mom needs to chop her hand off! Get daddy!
Tubbs! Stop squirming! You can't walk around with poop in your fat cracks!
Oh, Lord Jesus, please help me get this nuclear waste cleaned up.....I can't take much more.
As you can see, not much difference in diaper #1 and diaper #4000.