I will take five bones and three acorns from him and hand him a $20 bill to establish an exchange rate.

I will ask for his spell book and then present him with some cash and tell him, “I’m a wizard now because I have your spell book. Now that you’re not a wizard, you’ll have to pay for things with these dollar bills instead of acorns and bones, you deadbeat.”

I will say, “Gandalf, dollars are the bones of Florida,” and then ask him for a blow-by-blow replay of the Battle of Helm’s Deep.

I will tell him to bring a copy of The Lord Of The Rings on Blu-ray and then present it to the judge and say, “This is what I’ve been doing, pal! Comprende?”

I will tell him that he can’t call his ex-wife an “envoy of Sauron” again, as even in Florida we know that that term is just as bad as “bitch” and that he should be ashamed of himself that it even occurred to him.

I will tell him to call upon a great eagle to fling the opposing counsel into the sky, or if his magic doesn’t work in Florida, then to just give him a roundhouse kick to the chest.

I will tell him that Florida is the Mordor of this world. I’m sure we’ll have a good laugh after that joke and he’ll be in a good enough mood to not damn his son to a hellish existence.

I will bring him to one of his son’s tennis games to show him that he’s already being punished enough. I’d follow that up by telling Gandalf that, tragically, sons without fathers are 400 percent more likely to play tennis.

I will tell Gandalf that he’s the one who faced down Nazgûl at Weathertop, so who am I to say whether his son should or should not be thrown into the fires of Mount Doom.

I will have my 5-foot-1 friend Louise, who is a single mom herself, close by and will ravage the wizard by unleashing the emotions she has cooped up from a lifetime of toil.

I will dress a trash can up as a hobbit then hide inside. When Gandalf walks by, I will move the lid off the can so it looks like the “hobbit” is talking and shame him for all the times he saddled hobbits with his bastard children, just because he was too lazy to put a condom on.

Danny Devito.

I will keep saying things like “Wow, that’s the best staff I’ve ever seen. Is that a new staff?”

I want him to weep. The orcs will take care of this better than me.

I will blindfold him so he’ll think he’s going to a surprise birthday party after this tough conversation. Once I got thinking about birthday parties and how fun they are, I might actually forget about the childcare thing and throw Gandalf a birthday party for his 2,021st birthday.

I will tell Gandalf that the best way to a woman’s heart is to pay the child support for the son you had with her 25 years ago before literally vanishing without a trace by using an enchanted teleportation stone.

I will tell him that no one has ever found him sexy and he should resign himself to a fate of lonely penance with only the occasional pity handjob from an Ent.

I will slam a six-pack of Blue Moon Winter Abbey Ale on the table and say, “Gandalf, forget women. How ’bout you teach me how to shoot a fireball out of my hands?”