Fall 1997 Wedgie Page Update

Bruoght to you by Walter Miller Home Page(TM) Productions(R)

Family Weddgie Tales: Story 4 of 4

The Wedgie Of Death

This is an awfull wedgie story and I AM THE ONE who has now descidded that i will share it.

As you know my brothor and I used to spend summers with Granfather and my Grandmothor too when she was alive. She was an evil woman and next to her, Granfather was a sweet little Girl Scout weavving a daisy chain. There is a locol Texas term for someone like her: It is called a Bich on Wheels.

Anyway i used to hate going there.

We used to do chores all day and get yelled and screammed at all the time. Plus the food realy sucked and if i didnt finish my supper Granfather used to say to my brother,


So each day I was torned between eatin horroble food or GETTIN MY ASS TORNED.

Heres what they served for breakfest:

This hot cereal called Weeteena that had all these hard chewey nodules in it and Granmothor woud make it not just with the regulor hot water but with the leftover water that the brocolli, spinach, brussol sprouts and calliflour got boiled it. My reffusol to eat this type of Weeteena was worth endurring atleast one minor wedgie.

I was 9 and my brothor was a few years older. Granfather was a bad infleunce on my brothor and somtimes theyd drive into town at night to smassh mailboxes with a basball bat or shoot out streetlamps or else spreypaint vulgor sayings on the freeway overpass. Grandmothor woud even pack a snack for them when they woud go out!!

I complained

I always thuoght these things were bad to do. They called me a sissy and when i complained natourally i got allot of WEDGIES. I got punnished for stuff that wasnt my fault too, like once when the milk containor leaked, but it was already leaking when they boght it. It didnt stop my brothor from hangin me by my ass on the tractor hood till my shorts ripped.

Granfather used to say the same thing each time i got a wegdie: "YER LUCKY ITS HIM GIVIN' OUT THEM GULCHERS AN' NOT YER MEAN OLE GRANMAW."

Granfather had a neighbore whose guts him and Grandmothor bolth hated

One night my brothor and Granps came home with some stuff they stole from a church carnivol. It was a giant cylindor of helium gas and a box of baloons. At that time there was a chicken blight and every day 7 or 8 chickons woud die and UNDOR THE THREAT OF WEDGIES it was MY discousting job to bury them.

About the neihgbor Granfather hated: He said he wished he coud pelt this nieghbor's house with one of the dead pullets but they lived a half mile away so this was inpossible.

My brothor has an evil idea

He said why not get a papper bag and put a dead hen in there (not any old pullet but a stinky one dug up aftor being buried for 2 or 3 days) and tie hellium balloons to it and float it aloft on the west breeze and then pop the baloons with the shot gun so it lands on there frigin house.

A 'Pullet Supprize'

The first 3 chickons fell in the feild when the baloons got shot but the 4th one crashed thruogh the neighborrs livving room skylight onto the cofee table as they sat on the couch watching Star Search.

When The Sherrif came by Granfather told me that if i said ONE WORD hed tie 50 baloons to the label of my underwear which woud not only give me a giant wedgie but send me into space.

The sheriff heard me bawling in the othor room and he came into see me. As you coud guess i finked on my brothor and Granfather.

That night: Brussell Spruot wator Weeteena

My mean Grandmothor called me a snitch and a fink and a faggot and made a giant pot of the stinkey gruel making sure to boil down the Brussol Sprouts till the water was almost syrup till she mixed in the cereol and said that she'd stand there with a wooden spoon in her hand till i ATE IT ALL.

Well that night i didnt so for breakfest the bowl apeared agian, half dried and all gluey and mucky and I sat there from 8:30 till 3 in the aftornoon while she screamed at me while Granfather screamed in from the othor room for her to "SHUT THE HELL UP GRANNY" cause he was watching a rerun of The Jeffersons which was (at that time) his favvorite program.

I bawled and over and ovor said "Please Granmother, No!" Also, do you know how in those horroble family memorries you allways remembor each small detail? Well heres what i remembor: Granfather was bellowing from the other room: "ITS THE NEW LIONEL! GOLDANGIT! I CAINT STAND THE NEW LIONEL! I LIKES THE OLD LIONEL, THE ONE FROM FROM THE ARCHY BUNKOR SHOW" and between all 3 of us hollering the dogs started howling outside.

Grandmothor got loudor and more shrill

Also her threatts to hurt me got worse. She was screeching gnashhing and i coud see all her horroble purple colored gums. To quiet her down, Granfather yelled "HUSH UP, WEEZIE" and of cuorse 'Weesie' wasnt her name (but it sort of alwayes seemed to be whenevor Granfather watched The Jeforsons.)

Finaly grandmothor said to me those fatefull words: "If you dont start shovelin up thet thar mush, Ill give you a most powerful hurtin' 'PULL-YON-UP' if'n its the last thing I do."

Then Granfather started singin The Jefforsons Theme, screamin it out at the top of his lungs with a cigarrette clentched in his teeth:


...And with that Grandmother hoisted up my ellastic with a stinging butt-scaldding gravity-defying wedgie and I flew upword and pitched foward plunging headlong into the giant salad bowl filled to the brim with the muck.

Stuck on both ends

My brothor told me later that my little pencil arms waved like crazy cause i wanted to free both my head AND my ass at the same time but coudnt do neithor. When i got the danm thing off my head i cought a glimps of myself in the refflection of the dishwashor panel and with all the cereol caked on my face i looked like some sort of hiddeous reject you might find in the trash at Jim Henson studios after they puored too much foam rubbor in the mold. Then i looked up to see my Grandmother cackling with laughtor. She dropped to her knees shreiking with hysterricks and tears of hilarity on her profoundley ugly face, pointing, laughing, cackling, gasping, heaving and finaly sputtoring out softly through a giant grin these words: "Pull-Yon-Up" with her eyes rolling back and then fell flat on her chin with a thump dead.


It didnt seem like an expresion of greif as you might expect but instaed Granfather just angrilly stomped arround the house all pissed (while makin sure to glance at his favorrite TV show all the while) loudley screamin "THE BOY DONE KILT GRANNY!"

The next few hours were a blur.

Yes giving me that Wedgie was indeed the LAST thing she evor did.

After the Coroner left I was still hiding in the closet but Granfather came aftor me and in what olny can be describbed as a rare tendor moment on his part the old bastord gentley explained to me that it werent my fault--and that the silvor lining to this was that neithor of us woud have to no more hear the old bitch yap.

The doctor came by to give me and my brothor a giant pill to help us sleep. My brother didnt want a pill and excitedly asked instead (after the doctor left) if he coud have whisky instead. Granfather said "SURE 'NUFF, HAVE A JELLY GLASS FULL."

He breakks the news to my folks

I was in the bathroom washin my shorts in the sink and i heard the old bastord on the phone with my dad,


Later at the funerol, Granfather was visibly beaming. The neighbors who got bombed with the dead chickons came to pay respects and said that undor the circimstances they woudnt press charges. Granfather narowwed his evil eyes at them an said somthin to the effect that it woud only take a few more baloons to float the decomposing hag over there house an dont be supprized if she lands in their frikkin cranbery suace next Thangskiving.

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