Wedgie Quotes

We're gonna be late for English, and I gotta take these pantyhose off on the way. I'm gettin' a serious wedgie.

I laughed. "Oh, I like this little guy. If we can't let him go, can I keep him?" "Uh, no" "I shall name him Herbert," I announced, ignoring Dez. "Do you like the name, little puke-wedgie?

I don’t think that taking off my eye patch would increase my night vision by 100%, but it would go a long way towards relieving my wedgie.

Okay. So...serious wedgie...

What these apocalypse agitators couldn't seem to grasp was that the planet was managing to self-destruct very nicely on its own, thank you. So, all the attacks, protests and assassinations were the equivalent of giving a wedgie to someone who was lying on the floor, bleeding out from every orifice, and expecting them to care.

Maybe she was an angel, I thought as she crawled out of bed and headed for the door. Maybe she was stuck on earth, sent here to help those who had passed. What a noble creature. “Wedgie alert,” she said before adjusting her boxer-like underwear.

Now, like all the other schools I’ve ever attended, the hallways of Long Beach Middle School are plastered with all sorts of NO BULLYING posters. There’s only one problem: Bullies, it turns out, don’t read too much. I guess reading really isn’t a job requirement in the high-paying fields of name-calling, nose-punching, and atomic-wedgie-yanking.

Her phone beeps and she pulls it out again. She frowns. I give her a side-eye. “Everything all right?” She scrolls through her email. “Earth to Gail?” Nothing. “Gail Morgan O’Sullivan.” “What? Oh!” She shoves her phone into her back pocket. “Sorry, sorry. Do you ever feel like you’re forgetting something?” “My underwear. All the time,” I say with dead seriousness. “Sometimes I give myself a wedgie just to make sure I have them on.

This couldn’t be...did women really...? She must be wearing it wrong, because good God in heaven! It was horrible! Was the little string supposed to... She took it off, went to her laptop and Google searched “how to wear a thong.” No, she hadn’t put it on wrong. She tried again. Ow. Fantastic. This was just a twenty-five dollar version of a severe wedgie. She picked up her phone and called Allison. “Hey, Allison, I—” “You’ll get used to it,” Allison said

You need to stand up to bullies.' 'It's hard to stand up at all after a wedgie.' 'Aren't wedgies a boy thing?' 'Smokin' Joe is an equal opportunities bully.

I swear my mouth and my brain are siblings who hate each other and give each other wedgies in the form of mortifying moments like this. Now it seems my brain has deserted me.

If I were facing a firing squad, I’d ask them to hold on just one second, because I have a wedgie and it is very uncomfortable. Let me adjust myself, and then you can shoot me.

are you a wedgie?" Asked Massie. "No." "Then why are you all up in my butt?" Said Massie

A G-string is a permanent self-inflicted wedgie.

what he regretted the most was not having had time to pick out his wedgie before being beset upon by two dicks.

My mother, who was a waitress, gave me white wedgies and a fresh uniform in a plain wrapper. “You’ll never make it as a waitress,” she said, “but I’ll stake you anyway.” It was her way of showing her support.

When the nurse leaves, Doctor Rose mouths, “Act like you’re in pain.” Then she mimics a painful expression in case Summer doesn’t understand. On the contrary, Summer’s an expert at interpreting body language and reading lips. It’s all thanks to her observant nature while enslaved on the Cosmos. Who else could tell that Peter’s discomfort is due to him wearing the same pair of underwear for a week straight? Ah, yes, she always knew when day six and seven approached. She watched the crew member with much amusement as he waddled, pulled wedgies, and scratched his bum relentlessly. Not that anyone else cared to know that little nugget of information.

Hey, I’ll have you know, that I have been going commando since my first wedgie in grade five; once they grab for underwear, and don’t find any, they get very afraid and back right off.” He chuckled.(The Children of Ankh series)

Parliament will also struggle with Shakespeare. Rappers stutter too when they flirt. The palms of poised politicians sweat. Police officers fart. Princesses get wedgies. Royal Guards had to keep from laughing. The last rep in the gym will make any arm shake. Presidents had to apply. Rome fell.

Aideen groaned. “Don't judge me, term started back on Monday and the kids are drivin' me insane already.” I raised my eyebrows. “You teach second class kids, they're all cuties.” Aideen growled, “Those eight year olds can be animals, do you hear me? Animals! I caught two boys forcin' another boy to eat fuckin' glue while givin' him a wedgie yesterday. They're evil, I'm tellin' you.

What Goodby unveiled at the Crowne Plaza was unlike anything Kalinske and his colleagues had ever seen before. Quick cuts. Crazy zooms. Wild camera angles. It felt less like watching a regular commercial than like fast-forwarding through one on the VCR. Loud punk music. Intense lens flares. Aggressive close-ups. It looked sort of like a music video, but only if that music video was suffering from manic-depression and had just ingested a cocktail of heroin, cocaine, and speed. Weird lighting, unpretty actors, nonlinear storytelling—the whole thing was off-putting, migraine-inducing, and offensive to the senses, but it was absolutely incredible. And to tie it all together, at the end of every spot some maniac shouted, “Sega!” “And just remember,” Goodby said as the video presentation came to an end, “we’re only a short drive away.” He then played a short video clip of himself, Silverstein, and a few other guys whacking golf balls off the roof of their office building. Except whenever they hit the ball, the real reaction shot was replaced with footage of golf balls hitting Sega of America headquarters. During the ground-shaking applause that followed, Nilsen subtly elbowed Kalinske. “What did you think?” Kalinske blinked for a second, then replied, “I think vidspeak just became a dead language. Sorry, hedgy wedgy.” He was practically in a state of shock. This was it—everything he had wanted. The tone was edgy, but not too sharp. It cut, but only deep enough to leave a cool scar.

Then, with a pinch and a pull, he loosened the uncomfortable wedgie that an orangutan had given him.

Do you hear that, Dillon? Inadvertent self-wedgie! Write that down! That’s what you want your characters to say, not some anodyne bullshit about corporate greed.

Sure you’re okay?” “Fine,” I snapped, re-adjusting my jeans and resisting the urge to fix my wedgie. “Good,” he said unfazed. “Because girls shouldn’t hurt themselves when they fall for me.” A & E Kirk (2012-01-07). Demons at Deadnight (Divinicus Nex Chronicles series Book 1) (p. 24). A&E Kirk. Kindle Edition.

He didn’t care whose panties he put in a twist to catch this killer. He’d give the whole damned town wedgies if it meant finding out who killed Caroline before Katelyn was hurt and before Alan passed away.

The Horrifying Origin of Herobrine You probably heard about Herobrine. He walks through each Minecraft world at will like a ghost, haunting newbies and tripping them so they fall off a mountain. Some say Herobrine is the first ever player to be killed by a Creeper, while others say he’s the dead brother of Minecraft creator, Notch, seeking revenge for countless wedgies and Indian burns. You can see Herobrine peeking from beyond every tree, mocking you, judging you. Another Herobrine legend says he’s an Enderman that tried to become human, with the conversion ritual going horribly wrong and getting him stuck in between dimensions, in a state of permanent unlife and undeath. Except, none of these legends are true. Herobrine originally began existence as a prank. One popular Minecraft gamer decided to make up a story about a ghost character inside Minecraft, but his idea backfired in a way when people actually believed him. Of course, some simply pretended so as to promote the joke, but the legend caught on and thus Herobrine was born. Later on, Minecraft developers would join in and add a note to each update stating “Removed Herobrine”. This only added fuel to the fires of speculation and soon enough there were entire Youtube channels devoted to finding, fighting and defeating Herobrine. While there probably are Minecraft mods that try to add Herobrine to the game, he doesn’t exist as such and is only a myth. Let me say that one more time: there is no Herobrine. Now that you know the truth, please don’t spoil the fun for people who think he’s real. Let’s keep the truth between us.

Ah, yes, Eric. My number one fan. Of course he was here. We were a thunderstorm and an industrial accident away from the best day ever. I wondered if I should have Ashley run over and give me a wedgie just to complete the experience.

Herobrine. He walks through each Minecraft world at will like a ghost, haunting newbies and tripping them so they fall off a mountain. Some say Herobrine is the first ever player to be killed by a Creeper, while others say he’s the dead brother of Minecraft creator, Notch, seeking revenge for countless wedgies and Indian burns. You can see Herobrine peeking from beyond every tree, mocking you, judging you.

I'm delicate and refined!" "I've seen you pick a wedgie in public.

Madilyn is just Madilyn… She is one girl that I secretly look up to. Yeah, it’s safe to say she is my girl crush, yet nobody needs to know. Like underneath all the ratty clothing, and regardless of what everyone says about her, she is one hot, sensual, and totally cute girl, in my mind. She is so much to hang with, we have so much that we like about one another the list could go on forever. Even though I have girlfriends that are so- popular we are not always together, really all they want to do is party and hook up and that gets old fast with me. Madilyn is just different… Every time we are done doing it, (I say- I love you my awesome nard- Madi-lyn) (Shush!) I look at her like- Do you see me here with my one finger up to my lips, hitting the tip of my nose? You’re my dirty little secret. You and I, we have to keep this undercover. I was thinking as she winks at me with those big bright eyes, and then she walks in the door. Jenny- ‘Looks at me saying- ‘What that freak was that all about.’ I said- ‘I think she was just picking a wedgie.’ The girls were like- ‘Oh? Oo-okay?’ Jenny said- ‘Oh that’s good, a butt picker scratch and sniffer!’ I just roll my eyes, like- you- poor girl, you can’t win no matter how hard you try.

Taxes are like wedgies for adults.

In Connecticut, kids hooted like in Planet of the Apes whenever a fight was about to start, jumping up and down and beating on each other in anticipation of someone getting wedgied back to the Stone Age.

Within all this is what’s commonly called real versus perceived risk; an example of real risk is Alex Honnold’s free solo climb up the face of El Capitan in Yosemite, while perceived risk would be climbing the same route attached to a system of ropes and anchors. One version means certain death when you fall and the other is a wedgie.

Then Luke and Violet start to tease me about my costume. They say I have a wedgie. They laugh so hard they can’t get up from the floor. I don’t know what a wedgie is, but I can tell it has something to do with my butt. This makes me stop feeling like a superhero. I have to sit down so that Luke and Violet can’t keep seeing my butt. I won’t get up from the dinner table until I’m sure it’s safe.

I step out of the bathroom with the surf suit halfway up my stomach. My swimsuit is bunched up above the tight fabric and giving me a serious wedgie.

She’d never worn thong panties in her life. The whole wedgie thing had turned her off the idea, but Sarah had goaded her into buying them. Now, faced with a choice between butt floss that just might make Mac’s eyes pop out or a drawer full of plain ivory panties, she decided to go for broke and donned the new lingerie. Darned if wearing them didn’t make her feel just a tad trashy.

The Severed Nose. What would you do if you came home one evening and found a severed nose lying on a plate on your dining room table?   Disposal. Frank, a self-proclaimed scumbag, is hired to murder an old man...but the old bastard just won't DIE!!!   Elrod McBugle on the Loose. A comedy for kids (and adults who were warped as kids).   Out of Whack. A coming-of-age comedy about love, friendship, and the realization that trying to yank somebody's panties off in a passionate manner can only lead to wedgies.   How to Rescue a Dead Princess. A ridiculous spoof of fantasy novels. Lots and lots and lots of jokes, but I'm willing to admit that it perhaps tries a bit too

She wore nothing but those damned strings, and I was ashamed to acknowledge my first thought was to boob punch this girl and give her the biggest wedgie floss could accomplish.

Howling with laughter, the team followed suit, a dozen young players out on the side of the road, yanking at their pants to free up their underwear and wiggling their rear ends at the other cars that roared by, the drivers and passengers either staring out as if the Screech Owls should be arrested or else pretending the Screech Owls were not even there, a dozen youngsters at the side of the road, bent over, with a hand on each side of their pants, pulling wedgies.

Lane shut the door on the man's face, grabbed a pair of boxers from the bureau, and yanked them on so hard, he nearly wedgie'd himself. "Try not to kill him," Lizzie muttered as he headed back for the idiot. "I make no promises.

Patricia pulled her legs out of the railing and got to her feet. “But you’re lucky,” she said. “There’s a difference between your type of outcast and mine. If you’re a science geek, people give you wedgies and don’t invite you to their parties. But if you’re a witch, everybody just assumes you’re an evil psycho. It’s kind of different.

If memory serves, a wedgie involved ripping another boy’s underwear out of his pants by grabbing the rear waistband of his underwear and yanking upward.

Cage gestured to my running leg. “Testing a new leg?” I shook my head. “Underwear.” His brow wrinkled and the guys behind him inched a bit closer, ears perked. “What?” Cage asked. “My favorite underwear has been discontinued. I’m trying a new brand and the best way to test them out is to go for a jog. I want to know before I buy ten pairs if they’re going to ride up on me. I’m not a thong girl. I don’t like anything shoved up my ass.” His cheeks turned red while taking a hard swallow. The fishing crew tried and failed to hide their chuckling. One of the guys slapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll meet you out front.” He cleared his throat. “Our condolences on the ass news.” That sparked a new round of laughter as the guys piled onto the elevator. When the doors shut, Cage pursed his lips and sighed. “Thanks for that.” I shrugged. “What?” “What …” It’s possible his intention was to be serious or maybe upset, but he couldn’t finish his thought without rubbing his hand over his mouth to hide his smirk. “You don’t like ‘anything shoved up your ass.’ Really, Lake?” Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he shook his head. “So you’re big into fishing, huh?” “Don’t change the subject.” He narrowed his eyes at me. Too bad he still couldn’t keep a straight face. It would have given his case a lot more merit. Those were favorite moments of mine, when he was ninety percent sure my actions were an embarrassing side effect of my Sahara Desert humor, yet still ten percent holy-shit-she’s-serious. I loved that ten percent. I worked my ass off for that ten percent. “I’m sorry, what was the subject? Oh yeah, things I don’t like in my crack. Sounds like a Jeopardy category or a Family Feud survey. ‘Name something Lake Jones does not like up her crack. Underwear. Survey says? Ding ding ding … ninety-four people surveyed said underwear, the other six said cock. And I do believe those six lascivious idiots are downstairs waiting for you.” Cage observed me; it was never just a stare or a lingering look. His eyes narrowed a fraction, but never lost their sparkle. The wetting of his lips was always followed by biting them together like he refused to speak until he’d figured me out. And just before he spoke, his dimples surrendered to his impending grin. “I’m going to text you an address. Meet me there in three hours.” “What if I haven’t sorted through this underwear situation by then?” My head tilted to the side as my poker face slipped a bit, revealing my own impending grin. “Hmm …” He pulled me to him, his hands easing into the back of my running shorts. “Don’t fret over it,” he whispered before sucking my earlobe into his mouth. My lips parted, and eyes closed, as I held onto his biceps to keep my knees from buckling. “Panties are optional.” Three words and my knees buckled. Thankfully—not really thankful at all—he fisted the back of my new panties and yanked up. My hero? No. The wedgie was underway a few seconds before my knees gave out. I gasped. He smirked. “I think you should consider getting used to the idea—the feeling—of something in that sexy ass of yours.” Not much left me speechless, but my first non-brother-male-induced wedgie left me with cow eyes and a numb tongue. He winked just before the elevator doors shut.