You probably should have known better than to wish to be smarter from an evil genie. Sure, your IQ jumped up by thirty points at least, but your newfound high intellect also made you a nerd. And with your newfound nerdhood came—you guessed it—wedgies.
Each and every one of the wifebeaters and graphic tees which used to make up your wardrobe was inexplicably turned into T-shirts which openly proclaimed that you were offering FREE WEDGIES. Your blue jeans and basketball shorts were transformed into slacks and suspenders. Your eyesight rapidly deteriorated until you could no longer see without a pair of thick lenses on your face at all times. And, of course, every pair of boxers, boxerbriefs, and trunks in your underwear drawer was magically turned into a pair of tight, white briefs.
At first you tried to revert to your previous way of life. You went to the store (trying your best to conceal the embarrassing text on your shirt) and spent that week’s income on the clothes you used to wear. You went home and threw every article of stereotypically nerdy clothing into a few big garbage bags, filling your room with normal attire.
But it was foolish to think that you could outsmart a genie. Even as you reentered your apartment after having disposed of the ridiculous clothes, you happened to catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror. To your horror, you were once again wearing the suspenders, slacks, and—of course—the FREE WEDGIES shirt which you thought you had gotten rid of. Panicking, you went back to your room, pulled open the closet, and saw two dozen identical such shirts hanging next to each other, with just as many pairs of slacks. And although you knew deep down what you would find, you checked your underwear drawer as well. Your worst fears were confirmed: pair after pair of neatly-folded tighty whities, filling the drawer to bursting.
All this did not account for even half of the changes the genie had wrought unto your life. All of a sudden, your friends, coworkers, classmates, and even total strangers seemed to change in their attitude towards you.
When, for example, your boss informed you that your new outfit did not conform with the company dress code (on account of the text on your T-shirt), you tried to explain that you didn’t have a choice and that you would wear something—anything—else if you could. To your surprise, however, he casually handwaved this objection away, saying that you were welcome to continue wearing it, so long as you provided the service advertised by your shirt. It took you a few seconds to realize what he meant, but from that day forward, you were receiving wedgie after wedgie throughout the workday. And not just from your boss, but from your coworkers themselves, regardless of their position relative to you in the company hierarchy.
At the gym, too, change was immediately noticeable. It was the same gym you’d been going to for years, and not once before making your fateful wish had there ever been a confrontation or incident of any kind between yourself and any other member. Stepping into the changing room now, though, immediately prompted every head to turn in your direction, the room suddenly silent except for a few snickers. You were asked why nerds like you even bother coming to the gym in the first place. Was it because you were trying to get fit, or was it really because you secretly wanted to be given wedgies by a bunch of musclebound meatheads? They were approaching you like hungry wolves, and before you could back out the door to escape, you felt a hand expertly grab your waistband and deliver a savage yank. You were then informed you that your workout (and theirs, too) would be happening right there in the changing room.
You were told that this would continue for as long as it took for them to rip that nerdy underwear right off you, but your briefs utterly refused to show the slightest sign of ripping or damage. They seemed to stretch without limit, yet reverting to a brand-new level of tightness as soon as each wedgie was released. True to their word, your bullies did not relent until, hours later, it was closing time.
Arriving home at your apartment, you expected at least partial relief, only to find a Friday-night party in progress, hosted by your roommate. Why did you even bother trying to sneak through the crowd to get to your room, unnoticed? Managing to reach your bedroom door, your hand had barely touched its doorknob when you once again felt your briefs rapidly tighten around your crotch and up your ass. You felt your feet lift rise up off the floor, your waistband stretched past your head. Turning your head, you saw the face of your roommate, a drunken grin plastered across his face. In one hand, he held a half-empty beer bottle; in the other, he held your waistband, by which he paraded you through the throng of partygoers to the centre of the festivities.
‘If I could have everybody’s attention,’ he shouted. The music was paused, and all eyes turned to you, still suspended mid-air by your tighty whities. ‘I’m happy to announce that my roommate here has brought tonight’s main entertainment!’ He downed the last of his beer in a quick swig, set the bottle on a nearby table, and proceeded to point to the text on your shirt. A cheer of approval burst forth from the crowd. Several of the partygoers snapped photos with their phone cameras, while others opted to record the speech on video. Your roommate waited politely for silence, then continued.
‘Deep down, I think I always knew this guy was a big ol’ nerd at heart, and I’m glad he’s finally embraced that about himself. I mean, the suspenders? The glasses? The tighty-fucking-whities?’ On each of these last three words he bounced you, seemingly without effort, causing your briefs to stretch a little more each time. The jocks in the audience eyed you fixedly, a sadistic anticipation in their eyes. ‘This guy is not just any nerd. It really takes the nerdiest of nerds not only to show up to a party in an outfit like this, but to literally wear a shirt that says FREE WEDGIES right on the front. So why don’t we take him up on the offer?’
He lowered you so your feet finally met the floor again, but he did not release your waistband from his grip. Instead, he clasped it with his other hand as well for a two-handed grip and delivered a pull that brought your waistband a good two feet above the top of your head. As if on cue, the crowd erupted in a loud cheer of approval. Pulling your head back, your roommate proceeded to stretch your underwear over your face completely. But before he did so, you saw the only partygoers closing in on you with malicious grins on their faces. The party had begun.
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