The Wedgie Story

Sorry readers (or should I say "reader") for the long delay in writing. It got kinda busy around here on the comedy scene. Lots of shows (check one out if you haven't been to one in awhile or ever). Besides my normal bookings I started hosting a new show in Harlem as well as the return of The Living Room in Brooklyn.

Okay, now the wedgie story:

I had a nemesis in elementary school. His name is Justin. He was the popular cool kid. He didn't like nerds or fat kids and I was both. From Kindergarten on he was always nasty to me--always trying to make me feel like I wasn't worthy of breathing the same air as his highness.
We did our best to stay away from each other. He didn't go out of his way to pick on me, that would mean he'd have to acknowledge my existence, but he made his feelings well known when able.
This changed in 6th grade. We both had a mutual friend for once, Ben. Ben was one of those free spirits who'd be friends with anybody. He was a cool kid but didn't care if you were or not. He just wanted to have fun. He and his brothers were the wild boys and they lived a couple doors down from Justin and therefore they hung out a lot. Ben had befriended me, so we played together a few days a week. For the first time out of our seven years together, Justin and I were forced into the same social situations. At first he didn't hide his disdain for me, but after awhile he eased up a bit. If Ben liked me, well then maybe I wasn't a complete dork.
Oh if only that could have lasted.
I finally had gotten to the point where Justin and I could have a discussion. Sure it usually consisted of him giving his opinion on Michael Jordan or Ken Griffy Jr., me giving mine, and then scoffing and acting like I was a moron. But it was a start--things were moving in the right direction.
Then on a fateful Saturday afternoon we were all playing freeze-tag. We played for an hour or s0--just long enough to get bored with it. Then a wrestling match began, because that's what boys do when they get bored with freeze-tag. Now when boys wrestle it often turns into gang up on the fat kid and do something embarrassing to him. This time it was wedgie day. As Justin, Ben, and the other wild boys teamed up on me, pinned me down, and yanked my underwear to the moon I heard loud screeches of laughter. I knew wedgie laughter, trust me any fat kid who's gone through a day in gym class knows those laughs. This was different. Then the comment I will never forget, "He's wearing Big Foot Underoos!" My usual embarrassment gave way to utter horror. I was wearing Underoos with a picture of Big Foot, the monster truck. Underoos were a social death sentence in 4th grade, let alone 6th!
I don't remember what happened next. I think I blacked out and have repressed the memories of the events immediately following the wedgie. I do however know the consequences. Justin never spoke a word to me again--not even a word of hate. I ceased to exist. If I was in a room he looked through me like a pane of glass. All the way through High School not one more word, even to this day.
I don't know what happened to Justin, Facebook and Myspace haven't provided much. All I can hope for is that some day he comes to a show and when he does I'll say, "Hey I'm still wearing the Big Foot Underoos--it's called being a hipster, I was just ahead of my time."


Okay, I saw these guys on Sunday:


Next: We'll talk about office farts. Got any stories?