The Wedgie

There's lots of play to underwear. I'll try to be discreet. It stretches to contain my boys Who hang down t'wards my feet. Elastic waistband hugs my hips, Prohibiting their fall, Much better than the outerwear Worn by Neanderthal. The Romans got the bright idea From need to urinate. They caught themselves so many times In skirts of metal plates. They learned that they could run a mile As fast as they could go, For loincloths kept their schlongs in place, No flopping to and fro. The greatest change from Caesar's day To present day's sublime Was the addition of a slit For smoother exit time. Of course some men like to be loose And go with boxer shorts. And if the fruit escapes the loom, The girls will scream retort. We can't forget those winter johns, With trap door buttoned tight. They're great for freezing temp'ratures. Men wear them day and night. But ladies have their negligees Of silk and flimsy lace. They do not wrinkle or bunch up And beckon men to chase. And now the reason for this post. It's not a waste of ink. One of my duties here at home is at the kitchen sink. My wife cooks all my fav'rite meals. I clean up when we're done. The other night someone snuck up. The culprit was my son. He and his wife were at the house For supper, ham and beans. He grabbed the wasteband of my shorts And pulled them from my jeans. He lifted them up t'wards my neck. He wedged them in my crack. He yanked and tugged, and tugged and yanked And laughed behind my back. He called out to my family To show them what he'd done. The tears were running down their cheeks. It was a load of fun. But from now on, I've made a change And at the sink I sing. I started wearing my wife's thongs. He can't wedge those old things!