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When I was at secondary school, there was a guy in my year called Richard Muir. He wasn’t the most academically gifted of people and the combination of his stupidity and his surname made it easy for his fellow students to devise a nickname for him. It was a simple bastardization of his name which, in order to say, you only had to put your tongue behind your bottom lip, push out as far as possible, and then attempt to say Muir: Moo-ah!
Richard Muir was often teased for being a bit slow, and one day when some of the rugby-playing types in the school – the types who enjoyed nothing better than accusing each other of being gay and singing songs about genitalia – were going through a phase of giving people ultra-wedgies, Muir was an easy target.
An ultra-wedgie was just an extreme form of the everyday wedgie, but instead of simply pulling somebody’s pants right up their bum-crack, a couple of guys would attempt to tear the pants completely off. Usually they weren’t successful but sometimes they were, and Muir’s pants were well and truly torn off and paraded around by the perpetrators as a flag of honour.
Unfortunately for Muir, during the struggle, his school trousers also tore open at the seam on the buttocks. Naturally, he needed to get it fixed as a matter of urgency and so he shuffled off to see the school nurse and request that she sew up the split. The school nurse was a somewhat stern-looking lady of middle years and with a no-nonsense manner. Of course, she had no idea about the prior wedgie and so when she told Muir to take off his trousers, was more than a little surprised to hear this fifteen-old schoolboy boy confess, “But Miss, I’m not wearing any pants.”
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