#jocktonerd

[atomicwedgienerd]

Teddy and Nate had been one of the sexiest couples in town. They went out clubbing most weekends and brought home a third… or a fourth, depending on the mood. Their hobbies included drag brunch with the rest of the muscle gays, spending time in the gym, and traveling to Puerto Vallarta so they could show off their abs.

Of course that was before they made fun of that nerd they saw on the street. Little did they know, he was a well-experienced wizard with a penchant for revenge.

Now, Theodore and Nathaniel (as they were now known) lived a very different life. Instead of going clubbing, they spent their weekends at the nearest convention. Instead of bringing home men, they brought home POP figurines (they were only a few away from a complete collection). And instead of brunching with the gays, they spent their Sunday mornings playing Dungeons and Dragons in Theodore’s parents’ basement where they lived. They would never be cool again.

[100mphco-blog]

10 minutes of #Exercise a day increase brain cell production, literally making you #sharper #faster#stronger #jocktonerd #fitnessfacts Check us out at: www.100mph.in

[atomicwedgienerd]

The school’s wrestling team was great. It’s math team? Less so. So the head of the math program dosed the wrestling team’s water cooler with some mind enhancing drugs. They won’t be winning any wrestling championships any more but they’re definitely bringing home a math trophy.

It’s time to give up sports and put on your glasses. Join us at the nerdification discord.

[atomicwedgienerd]

Justin Theroux used to be one of the hottest actors in Hollywood, until a fan stole all his hipness and style. Now he’s just a sophomore engineering student and a total virgin. And from the looks of things, that virginity isn’t going anywhere.

It’s time for you to become a nerd too. Join the nerdification discord and start your descent into utter nerdiness.

[atomicwedgienerd]

The Grease

Eddy had that kind of hair that made people jealous. It was thick, wavy, and he never seemed to have to do anything to it. He woke up in the morning, ran his fingers through his hair, and just went about the day. His messy bedhead always looked intentional but it was nothing more than good genes and the luck of the draw, and that was the way Eddy liked it. He viewed his hair as the perfect extension of his personality: carefree, wild, and completely untamed. And despite the fact that he put very little effort into things, Eddy always came out on top. He had coasted his way through high school, charmed his way through college, and now he had half-assed his way to a position as an art director for one of the west coast’s premiere surfboard companies. The work was easy, and it left him plenty of time every day for surfing. Eddy had it made.

One day on his way back from the beach, Eddy caught a passing glimpse of himself in a shop window. He could see that his mane was getting unruly, even for himself. All that saltwater was good for volume but damn could it do a number on split ends. Even a guy like Eddy knew you had to do some upkeep. As he continued on his way home, he noticed a barbershop he hadn’t seen before: Berger and Sons. From the striped pole out front to the subway tile lining the walls, this place looked like one of the classic shops you’d see if you googled “1950s barbershop.” Eddy had seen a few of these retro throwback barbershops open in different spots over the city but they had always seemed a little too traditional for a guy like him. Regardless, Eddy had a meeting the next week with a client and figured it couldn’t hurt to have a little touch up on his flowing locks. Plus, if he did it now, it wouldn’t look like he had gotten all dolled up for the meeting. Looking like he didn’t care was alllllll part of Eddy’s allure.

A bell tinkled as he entered the shop and Eddy immediately noticed the smell. A sweet but nearly antiseptic odor hit his nose, reminding him of his grandfather right after he had shaved. Yep, this place was definitely old school. The barber waved him over and patted the seat, inviting Eddy to sit down.

“Welcome to Berger and Sons,” he said. “Let me guess, you want a headshave?” Before Eddy could even react, the barber had burst out laughing. “Just a little light barber humor!”

“Very light,” Eddy deadpanned. “I’m not looking for anything too crazy. Just wanna get these split ends cleaned up.” 

“Ah, an easy enough task,” said the barber as he threw the cape over Eddy’s body and began spritzing his hair with a mist. 

“So is it just you?” asked Eddy, looking around at the otherwise empty barbershop. “I thought the sign said Berger and Sons.” 

“Well, I’m Nestor Berger,” he explained. “So that part’s accurate. Don’t actually have any sons but I figured the name would convey the sort of traditional barbershop experience I try to offer. You see, in these modern times, there’s a lot of people who don’t really appreciate the…” The barber’s voice started to trail off. The scent from the mist he had sprayed in Eddy’s hair was so powerful--so sweet and intoxicating--that Eddy had started to zone out. He felt warm, he felt comfortable, and he felt relaxed. The shop drifted away from him and suddenly he felt someone tapping him on his shoulder.

“Sir? Sir!” said the barber until Eddy snapped back. “What do you think?” Eddy’s eyes came back in focus and he saw his reflection in the mirror and gasped. The barber had ruined his hair. Where his flowing bedhead had been was now a heavily slicked, extremely greasy, and overly combed hairstyle the likes of which one would see on someone from the 1950s. 

“I just asked for the split ends cleaned up!” Eddy bellowed. 

“And that’s really all I did!” smiled the barber. “Ok, I may have taken a little bit off here and there but there’s still length.” The barber showed Eddy the back of the hairstyle in a handheld mirror where the sides and top had been slicked back into a greasy tail. “I just figured I would give you a more dapper appearance. This is a homemade hair grease you know. You can only get it here.”

“Well I didn’t ask for it,” Eddy said as he threw off the cape and stood up to leave. “No wonder your shop is so empty! Maybe try listening to your customers!”

“A barber has to do what he knows is right for each customer,” the barber grinned. “Trust me, you’ll be back!”

“The fuck I will,” Eddy said as he stormed out the shop.

He was furious! He stopped to gawk at himself in a parked car’s side view mirror. This nerdy retro haircut was the opposite of everything Eddy was about! It was rigid, traditional, and just plain uncool. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was his buddies asking him out for a night of drinks. “Sure,” he texted back. “Just let me go home and wash my hair real quick.”

Eddy had never washed his hair that intensely in his life. He shampooed it twice, conditioned it thrice! He even blow dried it. He put a little salt spray in it and when he felt it looked the right level of mussed, he got dressed and headed out to meet his buddies.

---

Lee, Kirk and Drew were at the bar doing shots when Eddy walked in. He waved at them and they gave him an odd glance and ignored him, before Lee did a double take and started cackling. “Eddy! Over here!” Eddy jogged over to join his pals. 

“We saved a shot for you,” Drew said, laughing. “So uh, what’s going on here? Trying out a new look?”

“Well I washed my hair,” Eddy said, “but I wouldn’t say it’s a new…” He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bar. Eddy’s hair was back in the heavily greased, retro sidepart he had when he stormed out of the barbershop. It looked just as fresh as when he snapped out of his weird daze and saw it for the first time. He touched it in horror and as he pulled his hand away from his hair, his fingers came back with a thick sheen of greasy, oily product that overwhelmed him with that same scent he remembered from the barber shop. His eyes went blank for a moment before he snapped back to reality.

“It’s.. nice,” Kirk said with a wry smile as he handed his buddy the shot of whiskey. “Just very different.” Eddy took the shot and paused. What was going on? He had washed his hair… hadn’t he? He did have to admit though: the haircut did look sort of nifty. Nifty? Where did that word even pop into his head? 

He laughed and threw back his head, downing the shot. It burned terribly, like he had never tasted alcohol before and he began coughing and sputtering as the shot came back up and sprayed on his friends. They erupted in laughter at him. 

“Maybe you should get a glass of milk instead,” Lee said. Eddy protested--although it did sound kind of nice. But no, he was a grown man. He could drink a beer! But even that didn’t seem very nice.

“You know what guys? I’m not feeling super nifty.” There was that damn word again. “I think I’m going to go home and get some rest.”

“Come on, man! It’s still early!” Kirk shouted. 

“No no,” said Drew. “Let the man get his rest. Hope you feel niftier tomorrow.” Eddy blushed. His face felt on fire. His friends were mocking him! He stormed out the door as he could hear his friends burst into laughter. 

“Gosh darnit!” Eddy blurted as he marched down the street. He had intended to use stronger language but it just didn’t come out that way. How strange. When he got home, he decided to put on some football to calm his nerves but stopped on a channel showing old episodes of Leave It To Beaver. He couldn’t help himself. He had to watch.

By 10pm, he was already fast asleep.

------

Eddy’s alarm went off at 6 in the morning. He shot to attention and was shocked when he saw the time. He hadn’t been up at 6 in the morning in years, and yet, his phone had it listed as an alarm that went off every day.

He went to go brush his teeth and was shocked to see his hair still stuck in that crisp, greasy and exceptionally conservative side part. He hopped in the shower and scrubbed and shampooed and when he finally got out, his hair was a sopping, stringy mess. Thank goodness. The grease was finally out, and, just to be safe, Eddy decided to let it air dry. After all, he had plans to go surfing with the boys later, provided they weren’t going to be too mean to him after last night.

Eddy actually felt intimidated by that, which was ridiculous. He had always been the leader and now he felt concerned about what the other guys would think! It was just one rough night; they would forget it soon enough. After all, Eddy was the best surfer among them and he would re-assert himself at the top of the food chain. He gave himself a smile in the mirror as a familiar scent began to wash over him: the same scent from the barber shop.

Suddenly, Eddy’s phone rang and he found himself dazed in a strange location. He didn’t quite know where he was. He answered the phone.

“Bro where the fuck are you?” he heard Kirk say, the sound of waves crashing coming through the phone. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago!”

Where the fuck was he? Eddy looked around and realized he was in some sort of convention hall. Tables and tables stretched in all directions, each of them covered in protective lucite boxes containing… stamps!? He saw the banner: West Coast Philatelist Convention. 

“I’m at a philately convention,” he said.

“A what, bro?”

“Stamps,” Eddy said. “It’s a stamp collector. It’s a convention for stamp collectors.” The sound of unmistakable laughter arose from the other side of the phone.

“He’s at a stamp collecting convention!” he heard Kirk say to the others whose laughter quickly echoed from the receiver. “Well, uh, I hate to interrupt that exciting occurrence but you gonna join us at the beach?”

“Of course,” said Eddy. “I just wanted to stop in here and uh…. Look I’ll be there soon, ok!?” He quickly hung up in shame. He started heading for the door when he caught his reflection in a piece of lucite and gasped.

The hair had come back. Greasier than before. He touched it and his hand came away with a thick coating of sticky wet hair product. His hair was practically dripping. Then, Eddy caught the rest of his reflection. He was dressed in a pair of grey dress slacks and a white button down shirt. Tucked. In.

Something was wrong. Eddy would never wear this. He looked like a little dork! He had to get home, but first, he was going to stop at that barber shop and get some answers! He headed for the door but then he caught a glimpse of some fascinating stamps.

“Oooh those are actually pretty neato!” he said aloud. He couldn’t believe he was saying that… or thinking it. But he when he got close to the table, he was dazzled by how cool the stamps were. A vintage series commemorating Star Trek! They were so awesome! He couldn’t help himself. He pulled out his wallet and hesitated.

What was he doing? This wasn’t him. But these stamps were really neato completo. What the heck? Life is short. He plunked down his credit card and bought a few, as well as a book to store them in. 

“You’re gonna need to fill that up, sonny!” smiled the vendor. Eddy couldn’t help himself. He desperately wanted to leave and meet up with his buddies but he couldn’t help himself from examining other tables, buying more vintage stamps, and striking up conversations with other philatelists. Before he knew it, the convention was closing and it was time to go. His phone had dozens of missed calls and texts from the boys wondering where he was. Something very strange was going on indeed.

As he headed back to his apartment with his new stamp book full of old stamps, he spotted a vintage store with a display in the window. The mannequin was dressed in a way that should have made Eddy recoil. It was dressed in a short sleeved white button down with a thin black bowtie. The black flat front slacks came up to its belly button and were cinched with a thin brown belt. On its feet, vintage white crew socks hung in furls as they went into the shiny black penny loafers. This was the outfit of an unmistakable nerd, a relic of a bygone era representing a sort of clean cut, goody two shoes attitude that had always revolted Eddy. But for a brief moment, he saw his reflection where the mannequin’s head was, his face and slicked up hair on the outfit. It almost seemed right, but he shook his head and snapped out of it. 

In a panic, Eddy headed back to his hip apartment and slammed the door. He turned on the TV and tried to relax but couldn’t. Eventually, he flipped to an old episode of Leave It To Beaver and found himself mesmerized. Everyone was so polite and clean cut and old-fashioned. By 9pm, he was asleep.

Before Eddy knew it, it was already 6pm Sunday evening. He had no idea where the time had gone but when he looked around his apartment, he began to get dizzy. Everything looked… different. That’s when memories came flooding back. 

He saw himself at 6am, waking up nice and early, and calling a company to come take his furniture away. Then a flash and he was at the antique store flashing his credit card around and buying all kinds of retro furniture. Another flash and he was at the vintage store loading up a cart with dorky looking clothes. And another flash and he was back at the apartment, showing movers where to place all his many purchases.

Another flash and he was back in the present, standing in his apartment which he no longer recognized. The entire thing looked like it was a set from Leave It To Beaver. His flat screen TV had been replaced with an old woodpaneled TV from the 50s with an antenna on it. His workout equipment replaced with a chess table and two chairs. His slick leather couch was gone and in its place was a floral patterned retro sofa. Everything about his apartment looked old fashioned and drab. All of his records had been replaced as an LP of Bert Kaempfaert’s greatest hits played over the hifi. He ran to his room and gasped. His waterbed had been replaced with a single twin mattress, the bland gray sheets tucked and folded with military precision. Then, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and nearly fainted.

He was wearing a pair of shiny red Converses with white socks and cuffed, deep blue, highwaisted straight legged jeans. His shirt, an orange and green plaid number, was tucked into and fastened in place with a cheap brown belt. In the pocket of the shirt, a pristine white pocket protector sat overloaded with pens and pencils and tools. A dorky white undershirt poked out from under the button down. On top of all that, he had a bright red cardigan with white piping and a big letter B like he was in school or something. He was dressed like he was president of the chess club 1955! And of course, on top of his head, sat an exceedingly greasy slicked haircut that was now nearly jet black. He touched it in horror as his fingers came away thick with the grease.

The grease! This had all started with the grease and that barber shop and that awful barber! He would have answers to what was going on. He could help Eddy undo whatever was happening. Eddy would go and find him and get this all sorted out. But not dressed like this! He tore through his closet and found most of his clothes had been replaced. That would be a pain to fix. But in the top, in a corner he must have missed earlier, he found some sweatpants and an old tank top. He didn’t look as cool as he had hoped, but it was better than the Leave It To Beaver nerd look he had been sporting earlier. 

Eddy ran out onto the street and started hurrying to the barber shop. As he waited at an intersection, he saw himself in a window and gasped. Somehow, he was back in that outfit! The cardigan, the dorky shirt, the highwaisted jeans! Something strange was going on. The grease was changing him, affecting his perception. He had to get to the bottom of this.

A few more blocks and he found himself across the street from Berger and Sons Barbershop. The lights were on so Eddy knew he could get some answers. But the light wouldn’t change. Eddy waited and waited but it didn’t change. There was no traffic. He could just jaywalk across the street. But try as he might, he couldn’t get himself to do it. A little voice in his head kept telling him that it was against the rules. Since when had that mattered? Eddy never followed any rules! But he simply HAD to all of a sudden. His rebellious nature was defeated and he could not cross the street without the light changing. 

It didn’t. Something was stopping it from happening and Eddy couldn’t cross. Defeated, he returned home, fiddled with his TV antenna, and fell asleep watching more Leave It To Beaver.

--------

“Eddy, can I have a word with you in my office?” he heard his boss saying. Eddy blinked and found himself in the conference room of his office, his coworkers staring at him with a smattering of cheeky smirks and barely restrained laughter. He recognized the clients he had a meeting with on Monday but… was it already Monday? He looked down and groaned. He saw it: the outfit from the mannequin. The dorky bowtie, the short white sleeved shirt, the flat fronted highwaisted pants, the slouchy white socks, and of course the super shiny penny loafers. He turned around and saw his presentation: just a big white posterboard that said “Surfboarding: It’s Neato Completo.” All the work he had done for months was gone and this was what he showed up to the meeting with? All his passion for surfboarding and this was the best he had? But when he thought about it, he could barely even remember himself surfing. All he could think about was how much he wanted to get home, look at his stamp collection, and maybe read up on some chess maneuvers. What was happening to him?

Needless to say, Eddy’s meeting with his boss was short. They offered him a month of severance and told him to pack up his stuff and leave. They couldn’t have a square like him working at a surfboarding company. He looked at all the beach memorabilia at his desk and just threw it in the trashcan. It didn’t seem like his anymore anyways.

As he walked back home, he could feel everyone staring at him, giggling at his outfit, looking at his big greasy haircut. He felt dejected and embarrassed and could barely see where he was going. He just looked at the ground and shuffled his penny loafers. When he finally looked up, he saw where he was and he wasn’t surprised. Berger and Sons Barbershop.

The bell tinkled as he entered the shop. Mr. Berger looked up and smiled.

“I knew you’d be back. How are you feeling about the haircut?”

Eddy sighed. “I hate it. Well I hated it, but I can’t make it go away and every day I just feel like it suits me more and more. I don’t know what’s happening!”

“That’s the power of a good grease,” said Mr. Berger. “Once you go slick, you just have to stick!”

“Gee whiz,” said Eddy. “I guess so. I just feel so different now.”

“Would you like me to wash it out? You can go back to the way you were. Or…”

“Or?” asked Eddy.

“Or I can apply one more coating and make it permanent. One more coating of pomade and you’ll be a good retro nerdy boy forever. The choice is yours.”

Eddy sighed a breath of relief. The nightmare was finally over. He was ready to make his choice. And then the strong smell overwhelmed him.

“I’d like to stay this way forever!” Inside, Eddy was screaming. That wasn’t what he wanted at all but the grease was making him say it. The grease was making him sit in the chair. The grease was taking his will to fight. The grease made him sit politely and smile as Mr. Berger took a huge scoop of hair product and began working it into Eddy’s jet black hair. When he was finally done, Mr. Berger spun Eddy around and said, “What do you think?”

Eddy looked at himself in the mirror… and couldn’t see anything. It was a blur.

“Oh of course,” said Mr. Berger. “You’ll be needing these now.” He pulled out a pair of clunky black rimmed glasses with thick lenses and placed them on Eddy’s nose before fastening them in place with a tight elastic strap. The world came into focus and Eddy saw himself in the mirror.

The hair was even neater, even more retro, and even greasier looking than before. The thick black glasses just complimented the hair perfectly. When Eddy reached up to touch his hair, it felt nearly plastic. It didn’t budge at all. This truly was the haircut he was stuck with.

“Gee whiz, it looks neato completo Sir!” he said with a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“You don’t have to call me Sir,” Mr. Berger smiled. He handed Eddy his wallet back and opened it to the ID holder. Eddy’s license had been replaced with a new one. The picture showed Eddy in his thick glasses and greased up hair and where his name should be it read “Edward Berger.”

“Berger and Sons Barber,” Mr. Berger smiled. “I just knew you had potential.”

“Golly thanks for the swell haircut, Dad!” Eddy--or was it Edward--said with a grin.

“Say, son, I know you got fired from your job and I was thinking… isn’t it time you joined the family business?”

-----

From that day forward, Edward Berger spent every day in the barbershop learning the craft. His nights were spent in his dorky apartment studying chess maneuvers, listening to lounge music, and watching Leave It To Beaver. He was in bed by 9pm every night and awake by 5am every day. He wore a tie and pocket protector every day to the barber shop and even on most weekends. Whenever he was on the street, people would point and laugh at him but Edward Berger never felt ashamed. He knew it was better to be a clean cut retro goody two shoes than the hip rebel he had used to be. Besides, nobody had a spiffier haircut than he did.

Finally, the day came when Mr. Berger thought Edward was ready to ply his trade on clients of his own.

“I sent out a few invitations for free haircuts to get you some people to try your greasing skills on.”

The bell jingled and three men walked into the shop. Edward pushed up his thick glasses and ran a hand over his thick plasticene haircut. The men seemed almost familiar but he couldn’t remember why. They signed in and Edward picked up the sign in sheet. 

“Well hello and greetings fellas and welcome to Berger and Sons Barbers. So nice to meet you…” He glanced down at the sign in sheet. “Lee, Drew, and Kirk. Now which one of you is up first?”

The three men laughed at this absolute retro nerdy joke before them. Little did they know, they’d be just like him soon enough.

If you liked this story, why not join us in the nerdification discord? Surely someone has a magic hair grease that will turn you into a retro goody two shoes nerd!

[atomicwedgienerd]

Goodbye Chad

Chad was, to put it plainly, an asshole. Just because he was quarterback and could have his pick of the cheerleaders, he thought it made him better than everyone else, especially all the nerds. He used to beat them all up and make him do his homework while he went out and partied all weekend. While they slaved away over his assignments, Chad would send them pictures of himself having fun out on the town just to remind them how much cooler he was than them.

Eventually the nerds had had enough. It was time to get revenge. With a little bit of genetic research, they figured out how to distill their nerdiness down its essence and drain it from themselves. Once they had their collected nerdiness, they slipped the essence into his preworkout supplements and laughed while he drank it all down.

Needless to say, things changed after all that. The nerds became cool and well, Chad became nerdier than all of them combined. Soon he was the laughing stock of the whole town. People would mock him wherever he would go. His old friends would stop and wedgie him and he was so nerdy, he would thank them for it. And best of all, all the nerds he had bullied now got to go out partying every Saturday night while Chad stayed home and did their homework. And just to make sure, his former victims made him to text them pictures of himself all alone on the weekends, not a friend in site. He wasn’t even Chad anymore. Now, he went by Ronald Ferguson Dingleberg.

You too could go from Chad to Ronald. Just join the nerdified discord and get your geek on!

[atomicwedgienerd]

It’s time to become a nerd.

Becoming a total geek is the next big kink. If it’s a kink you’re into, you’re not alone. Join the nerdification discord and start nerdifying. 18+ only.

[atomicwedgienerd]

Are you still fantasizing about Dom/sub?

Why, when Bully/nerd is clearly what you want. Join us at the Nerdification discord, a supportive community to nerdification fetishists and the bullies that love to bully them. 18+ only.

[atomicwedgienerd]

A Morning Run

You’re out for your morning run like you do every morning. You’ve got a marathon coming up in a week and there’s no time to waste. As you’re running, you pass by a shifty looking individual on the street. You see him reach into his pocket and throw some silvery dust into your face. You inhale it and sneeze and when you’re done sneezing, the man is gone.The sneezing turns into a wheezing as you gasp for breath. You’ve never had this much trouble breathing. You run regularly and this doesn’t bode well for your ability to keep that up. You feel a lump in your pocket and reach down to find an asthma inhaler in your joggers. You don’t know how It got there but you take a puff and it makes it easier to breathe, for now.

You continue on your jog, hoping things don’t get any weirder. Suddenly your pace picks up and up and up. You don’t get it! But when you look down, things look different. Further away. You glance in a window as you pass and you’re shocked. You’ve gone from 5’10” to a super tall 6’8” though from the look of how lanky you are, it seems like you’ve actually lost weight. There’s no muscle to be seen anywhere on your new body.

You start up again, in a panic. Hopefully if you get home you can sort this out but suddenly you trip and tumble onto the sidewalk. You look down to see if your running shoes are untied and are horrified to see your feet growing. Bigger and bigger until they are three times the size they used to be. And your running shoes are changing too. As the grow, they get darker and shinier until they look like a pair of black leather clown shoes. Clunky, orthopedic looking, the kind of shoes intended for someone who doesn’t do any athletic activities.

You notice your grey socks turning white, but only because your jogging pants are getting shorter and shorter and shorter. Suddenly they’re knee length and they’re turning into a khaki hue. Pleats form down the front of them turning them into the dorkiest pair of shorts you’ve ever seen as your socks rise and rise until they’re up above your calves and totally white. You start to hyperventilate and take a puff from your inhaler. It seems like you’re going to be using it more and more.

You stand back up, finding it impossible to run anymore. Your feet are so big that it’s almost impossible to walk without tripping over them and your new height is making your balance weird as you sway. You glance down at your feet again only to find everything a total blur. Then your hands go out of focus and suddenly you can’t even see the tip of your nose. In a panic you reach around and feel a weird pack around your waist. It’s a fanny pack. You reach inside and feel a pair of sunglasses and put them on. Suddenly you can see perfectly but when you look in the window again, you’re shocked. They’re not sunglasses, they’re a pair of clunky black rimmed glasses with the thickest fishbowl lenses you’ve ever seen. Your eyes look massive behind these glasses that now dominate your face.

You can see now but you almost wish you couldn’t as your complexion starts to change. Pimples begin to crop up all over your perfect skin as your beard begins to fall out leaving only the wispiest mustache behind. Your white earbuds start to move, wrapping around your glasses in several places as they turn into big clumps of tape that are holding your glasses together. You gasp and notice that your perfect teeth are suddenly crooked and sticking out. Your nose begins to swell and double in size as your eyes begins to stick out like plates.

Just as you think it can’t get any worse, a belt appears in your shorts as they rise up to above your belly button. And to make it even uglier, a pair of green suspenders appears also, yanking them up higher. You feel a tightness in your crotch as the pants rise up but slowly the tightness goes away as you feel your manhood shrinking, shrinking, shrinking until it’s half an inch flaccid and only an inch long erect. You panic further and keep puffing on your inhaler. It only works for a few seconds at a time and you realize you need to puff on it every 30 seconds or so.

Your fitted UnderArmour running shirt starts to turn pale and get baggier. Soon it is bright red and covered in the starter Pokémon from the original red/blue games. It looks so geeky tucked in but there’s nothing you can do about it. You notice some white appearing at the waistband and watch in horror as your tighty whiteys begin to rise. What kind of person tucks his shirt into his underpants you wonder until you realize that you’re that type of person now. You know it’s not right but your brain feels fuzzy. You can’t remember how other people dress or what’s normal any more. Heck, you barely remember any of the basic rules of human interaction any more.

Your memories seem fuzzy. You can barely even remember your name when reflexively you yank up the front of your underpants and see your name sewn into them: Norville Ferguson. That can’t be right! You were never this much of a nerd. You used to be a star track team member. You look back in the window at your reflection. You’ve even got that cool undercut haircut that’s so en Vogue. But as you run your hands through your hair, it shimmers and changes into a cheap $5 haircut that looks like you got it from a child’s barber in the 60s. You look like a total goody two shoes dweeb and you look down in your hands to find a brown paper lunch bag. That’s right. You still live with your mom in her basement and she packs you lunch everyday. You take a whiff of the bag and at first it smells TERRIBLE but then it smells great to you. It’s the same thing you eat every day: an egg salad and anchovy sandwich. Sure it makes your breath smell terrible but you’re too scared to try new foods now, even though you used to be a super adventurous and healthy eater.

You snort and take a puff of your inhaler. Weren’t you on a jog? Now that’s not right. You were on your way to your job at the game store. You pull your pants up higher and as you do, your butt grows five times in size, sticking out and looking ridiculous on your lanky body. And of course it’s ridiculous because you’re ridiculous. Each timid clumsy step you take a little fart escapes your massive butt and when you remember to look up from the sidewalk, you realize that everyone on the street is pointing and laughing at you. Some people are even filming you to show their friends later. Friends. A concept you can’t even understand. More than a few people run up to you and give you wedgies or knock you down. You’re used to it though. It’s always been this way. You finally get to the game shop and feel safe. Sure it doesn’t pay much, and sure even the customers here laugh at you, but you’re able to spend most of your meager salary on the first pick of new Pokémon cards and that’s all that matters.

If you liked this story, be sure to join us on the Nerdification Discord channel where this is happening to people on the daily. You could be next!

[atomicwedgienerd]

From Jock to Not

Ken peered out the window and saw his jock neighbor Frank tossing a ball around with the rest of the football team. For as long as he could remember, Frank had made fun of Ken for being bookish and made his life pretty miserable. He pointed the scanner out the window and was amazed when it pulled it up all of Frank's stats. Maybe he could teach Frank a lesson about what it was like to be bullied.

Frank had always made fun of Ken for being lanky and scrawny, so he figured he would start there. Ken fiddled with the height and weight slider so that he would make Frank a tall weakling. He clicked on "SUBMIT" to see what happens. A warning popped up. "Would you like reality to shift to accomodate changes?" Ken didn't want anyone to know what was happening--not just yet--so he clicked on no and watched the page refresh. It now listed Frank as being 6'7" but only 140 lbs. He looked out the window and watched as Frank got taller and lankier, losing most of his muscle mass. Of course, without reality shifting, none of his friends seemed to notice. "Oh this is going to be awesome," Ken said, elated that the device seemed to work. The next field was to describe Frank's fashion style and Ken went to town typing up the nerdiest attire he could think of. He pushed submit, ignoring the reality changing option again, and watched out the window to see the changes happen. First Frank's football jersey began to change, turning into a cotton plaid shirt as buttons formed down the front of it. Frank's shell necklace shimmered out of site and then returned as a beige tie that hung around Frank's neck. His gym shorts started to lengthen, almost reaching the ground but still leaving a good amount of ankle visible as the fabric changed to twill and the pants began to rise up Frank's body until the waistline sat comfortably above his belly button. A pair of black and red striped suspenders shimmered into view as they helped secure Frank's pants in the high waisted position. Ken couldn't believe his eyes as he saw an overstuffed pocket protector appear in Frank's shirt. This program really could create anything! Finally, Frank's Adidas cross trainers started getting shinier as they turned into patent leather saddle shoes and his no show black socks became white crew socks visible in the three inch gap where the hem of his dress slacks ended above his ankles. Ken burst out laughing. He couldn't believe it! Frank was a lanky looking geek who was dressed like a character out of Revenge of the Nerds but none of his friends even noticed. They just kept practicing their football drills in Frank's backyard like nothing had ever happened. A wicked smile crawled across Ken's face. Frank was dressed like a dork, but he still had that classic all American handsome face. It was time to change that for sure. He pulled up the tab for facial changes and got to work. Blonde hair? That wouldn't work. Maybe orange. Ooh and a greasy bowl cut for sure. Complexion: Clear skin and tan? Well Ken would have to do something about that. Vision: Perfect 20/20? Ken giggled. What kind of nerd didn't even wear glasses? Ken put a new prescription in. +15 in both eye would give him some real embarrassing fishbowl lenses. Ear size and nose size were arranged in sliders with Frank's both at a 0, representing a perfect size. Ken slid them both all the way up to 100. And when it got to Dental Traits: perfect white smile, Ken knew that wouldn't last and he got to work typing in a description of Frank's new less than perfect smile. Satisfied, he pushed submit and watched with bated breath. Frank's hair went first as it darkened and became an almost clownish orange hue as his hair became greasy and parted into a bowl cut that looked like it was done by his mom in the kitchen. Next Frank's skin grew pale as tons of zits and freckles erupted out of his formerly perfect skin. Next, a pair of thick black rimmed glasses appeared on Frank's face with the thickest fishbowl lenses Ken had ever seen. You could barely see Frank's eyes through the lenses. It just looked like he had two half-dollar sized pupils. Frank's ears and nose changed next to match Ken's specs. His ears nearly quadrupled in size, sticking out like saucers, and his nose grew bulky and bulbous, now dominating his face. Finally, Frank's teeth began to grow and stick out as heavy duty metal braces that were so clunky they looked like they were from the 80s formed over his teeth. Ken was beside himself. He had never imagined someone could actually look so nerdy and now his neighbor, Frank Steel the all-American football player, looked like the nerdiest person who had ever lived. And the fact that this absolute stereotype of geekiness was still just playing football with the jocks of his town was hilarious to Ken. He would have to use that change reality option soon. Ken was amazed but not satisfied. After all, looking like a nerd was only one part of the humiliation. It was time to give Frank the personality to match. Ken pulled up the personality traits tab and got to work. He slid Ken's confidence and coordination down from 100 to 0. He went into his hobbies section and deleted all the things that were listed there: Football, partying, dating, muscle cars, working out. None of that would do so Ken typed in some new options: Dungeons and Dragons, anime, fantasy novels, studying fantasy languages, Magic the Gathering, Warhammer, coding, LARPing, going to bed early, collecting action figures, playing the accordion; if it was a stereotypically nerdy activity, Ken put it into Frank's hobbies section. He pushed the submit button and when the reality changing option popped up, this time he pushed yes. Ken was ready to see what happened. It would be difficult to tell if Frank's hobbies had changed, but it was immediately apparent that his confidence and coordination were gone. He hunched over, his posture seeming shy and as his friend tossed the football at him, Ken saw it change into a textbook and smack Frank right in the nose, cracking his glasses in half. The look on Frank's friends had gone from one of friendly competition, to absolute disgust and disregard. Frank dropped to his knees as he tried to find the two halves of his glasses as Frank's former friends dumped a bunch of textbooks and backpacks on the lawn. Based on how much they were laughing, Ken realized they were dropping off their homework for Frank to do. He had gone from being their best friend to the geek they pawned off all their schoolwork onto with just a few clicks of a button. Frank had just barely found his glasses and was taping them back together when his former friends lifted him up and hung him by his tighty whiteys from the doorknob of his front door. They laughed and headed off down the street, totally unaware that moments before, Frank had been one of them. Ken was beside himself with laughter as he watched Frank struggle to get himself out of the immobilizing wedgie but after about 15 minutes of watching him fail to free himself, Ken figured it was time to go and enjoy the effects of the Chronivac up close. As he walked over to Frank's front door, he saw his now supernerdy neighbor squinting before recognizing that it was Ken. "Golly j-j-j-jeepers," Frank stuttered shyly. "It's my neighbor Ken! Can you h-h-h-help me off this d-d-d-doorknob?" "I would do anything for my neighbor the amazing Frank Steel," Ken smirked as he helped him off the doorknob. Frank recoiled meekly. "Golly gee whiz, Ken, after all th-th-th-these years of living n-n-n-next to each other, you d-d-d-don't even know my name! It's not Frank Steel. It's Melvin Finklefart." It took all of Ken's self control to not burst into laughter right then. Melvin Finklefart was such a geeky name. Frank's must have changed when the reality shift had occurred. He grinned at Ken, his crooked teeth and braces a sight for sore eyes. "What c-c-c-can I do for you?" Melvin Finklefart asked, pushing the taped bridge of his glasses back up his pimply, massive nose. Ken just grinned. After everything the former Frank had done to him, there was plenty he owed him, and Ken would relish in taking his revenge.

[atomicwedgienerd]

Zangeek

Ryu paced through the locker room, his nerves a mess. No matter how hard he tried, Zangief kept destroying him in the tournament. He had trained, and studied technique, and spent more time in the gym, but nothing could get past the sheer wall of muscle that was the Red Cyclone. Nobody stood a chance against him. Not Chun-Li, not Ken, not anybody. Zangief had reached the pinnacle of his performance and it seemed like he was unstoppable. He would prove his Soviet supremacy and leave the rest of the world in his dust. 

Ryu heard the announcer call his name and with a gulp headed out to the back alley where this week’s match was being held. He would give it his all but he knew it was a lost cause. Zangief was deadlifting a dumpster just to show off. Ryu knew he would lose this fight, if not his life. The bell rang and the fight began. Zangief charged Ryu and he tried to dodge but Zangief grabbed him in a big bear hug and then flung him hard into the brick wall. His boot came down on Ryu’s face, once, twice, three times! Ryu was already seeing stars, when saw something else, something curious. Just out of the corner of his vision, he could see some sort of code, green text against a black background. He spun and tried to read it but it disappeared and popped into his peripheral vision once again. Another hard kick from Zangief sent Ryu spiraling towards the ground. He could feel himself losing consciousness, the sound of the crowd more and more distant. That’s when the mysterious text became more visible, easier to see, easier to focus on. Before him appeared two words: Game Genie. Ryu reached forward, and for a moment, the world came to a halt. 

Suddenly, text appeared all around him. He saw his CHUN-LI and M BISON and KEN and then he saw his own name. He reached for it and it expanded into a pile of text. One line caught his attention: health. It was at 1%. He reached towards the code and felt it change in front of him. With a thought, he was able to change it 100%. Suddenly, he felt amazing. Suddenly, he had an idea.

He spun around until he found the text that read ZANGIEF. He reached towards it and was shocked. Zangief’s stats had been maxed out, way beyond anything that made sense. Clearly he had been messing with his stats to make himself a winner. Ryu grinned. He would mess with his stats to make him a loser. 

He altered the line of code about Zangief’s personality, taking it from “Proud Soviet Champion” to “Super Shy Loser.” There would be no question that Zangief didn’t belong in the ring when Ryu was done. He took his vision from 20/20 to 20/600, changed his hobbies from fighting to bug collecting, took his confidence from EXTREME to EXTREMELY SHY. When Ryu felt satisfied that the Zangief everyone knew was destroyed, he pushed execute and returned to the real world. 

Zangief grinned and took a final step towards Ryu when suddenly he was enveloped in a bright light that stunned everyone. When it was gone, Zangief was still there, but he was changed. Everyone burst into laughter. 

He was still super muscular (Ryu had forgotten to change that) but now he was a complete and utter nerd! Extremely thick taped up glasses stood out brightly against the shaved sides of his head. His muscles burst against his dorky plaid button down. A bowtie strained against his thick neck as a pocket protector filled out his shirt pocket. His pants were up well above his waist and were so short that you could see the dorky white socks he was wearing with his uncomfortable looking dress shoes. He took one step towards Ryu and tripped, falling flat on his face. The audience roared with laughter.

“Excushe me,” said Zangeek as he struggled to his feet. “I musht have taken a wrong turn. Where ish library?”

Ryu grinned. “Looks like you have plenty of books as is, Zangeek.”

“There’sh no shuch thing ash enough book,” said Zangeek, his lisping Russian accent keeping the audience rolling in the aisles. “You shee, I have bug collecting competition in a few daysh and there ish a new book on caterpillarsh that I think will take my collection to it’sh most impresshive.” He snorted loudly and pushed up his glasses. 

“Oh yeah, the library. I think it’s that way!” Ryu said, pointing behind Zangeek. The burly nerd turned around and Ryu decided it was time to see if he still had his trademark red undies. He reached down the back of Zangeek’s pants and pulled. A pair of cheap tighty-whiteys stretched upwards as Ryu lifted Zangeek off the ground. The pressure was too much for Zangeek to handle and the pathetic nerd yelled out “Oopshy-doo, here comesh the goo!” as a big wet spot formed on the front of his trousers. Ryu couldn’t believe it: could there be anyone more pathetic? He threw the nerd on the ground and Zangeek scrambled away. 

“Thanksh for the directionsh, comrade!” he stammered as he ran off, tripping over his feet a few more times. 

“Alright,” said Ryu, “With that nerd gone, who dares to challenge me?”

If you’re a fan of nerdification and want to talk to other nerds, join us on the nerdification discord and wear your pocket protector proudly!

If you like the art, check out the artist on DeviantArt and send them a commission!

[atomicwedgienerd]

If you reblog this image, the transformation will happen to you. That’s science!

Image by Darkoshen

Into nerdification? Join us on the nerdified discord channel!

[atomicwedgienerd]

Jeepers! Thanks for settings things straight, had a totally rad idea, how about we make Coach Johnson into one of us, he's such a big bully! Needs to be brought down a few pegs I think!

BYou make a valid point! Coach Johnson is always being so mean to the nerdy kids at school just because his football team is doing so well. Well he doesn’t realize that I’ve already turned his entire football team into the new chess club so now we just need to get him on board too.

Coach walked down the hall holding his football until he suddenly winced in pain. He dropped the ball, his head throbbing in agony. It felt like someone was sticking needles into his brain. He ran into his office to hide, sweat pouring down his body. He sat down to try and go over football maneuvers but all he could think of was Alekhine’s Gun and Boden’s Mate. But what were those? They weren’t football maneuvers. THEY WERE CHESS MANEUVERS. 

But Coach didn’t know anything about chess? Why were these in his head? He kept sweating so much he decided to change into fresh clothes. But when he opened his locker, all he could find were button downs and ties and highwaisted pants. But these were what Coach always wore. He couldn’t help but put them on.

He caught himself in the mirror and gasped. He was dressed like a nerd! But then everything went blurry. Coach fished around in his pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses taped up in several places. These couldn’t be his but when he put them on, everything came into perfect focus. He rubbed his now super greasy hair which stuck up all over the place and had to sit down for a moment. All of the football trophies in his office were turning into chess trophies. But he was Coach Johnson, the sexy football coach. He ran out to check the nameplate on his office. It read “Coach Bert Geekenburg.” It didn’t make sense but he started heading down to the chess club room. He opened it and was shocked at what he saw. His entire football team was there, but they had been nerdified. He wanted to scream but instead he opened his mouth and said in a super nasally voice “Okie dokey my future Kasparovs, let’s play some chess!” His former football team snorted in anticipation as they began to play. The final remnants of Coach Johnson faded away, leaving nothing but Coach Bert Geekenburg, the eager and super dorky chess club coach.

[atomicwedgienerd]

Hey, I’m a pretty well built white Brit and I’ve always tried to be sporty and mixed with the popular crowd which is nice but when I was younger I was a lot more ‘nerdy’. Can u help me see what I might be if I didn’t go down the popular guy route?

Wow, you really are a well built Brit. But you want to explore what would have happened if you hadn’t gone down the popular route. Well say goodbye to your old self:

See, we do have technology to change the past, but it’s pretty unstable so it can only really be used once per person. That’s ok though because you’ll never remember what it’s like to be popular and handsome. It’s pretty easy. We just alter fate so you never sat next to that one friendly jock in school who decided to take pity on you and show you how to exercise properly. It’s as simple as that. Now you continue on your nerdy path to become the nerd you were always meant to be.

Instead of going out and partying, you stay in with your friends and play D&D. Instead of lifting weights, you collected bugs. Instead of going shopping for cool clothes, you just wear Pokemon stuff since you like Pokemon so much. You’re not interested in fashion at all which would explain why you never fix your glasses even though they’re broken and taped up in multiple places. And you can forget about studying business at university. You studied computer programming of course. 

Sure you don’t have any friends and you’re a 26-year-old virgin, but that’s fine! At least you’ve got the largest Pokemon card collection in the UK!

[atomicwedgienerd]

Big Dork on Campus

Brock had never enjoyed college. To him, there was nothing more boring then spending your time in class, or studying in the library, or working on some terribly dull project or assignment. So it should come as no surprise to anyone who knew him that he dropped out after the first semester. His parents had come him off when they heard the news. No son of theirs would be a college drop out, but after a couple of months of struggling to find a way to survive, Brock began to thrive. Brock had always been a fan of bodybuilding and had recently discovered--thanks to the internet--that there was a whole community of skinny, submissive dorks who would just pay him to be their cash dom. They worshipped him just because he had a tumblr full of hot pics of himself and would trip over themselves to fill his paypal with money whenever he asked. He had even started to sell his sweaty underwear to the most desperate of them--a wimpy computer science major from his old college who he suspected had always been obsessed with him. Well now, Brock was their jock god, lording his perfect physique over these beta losers and he had no issues taking their money. After all, he was a perfect alpha male so this was the natural order of things.

One day, after breaking a personal record for deadlifting at the gym, Brock was in the locker room, showering off. He had just stepped out of the shower and was drying off his massive 9″ cock when an older gentleman with gray hair and combover tapped him on the shoulder.

“What do you want, you old pervert?” Brock snapped. “Usually I charge to even acknowledge a shrimp like you.”

“I’m well aware,” the old man said, pushing his aviator bifocals up his nose. “Aren’t you @cashpowerdom on tumblr?”

Brock snorted and sneered at the man. “Indeed I am. Are you one of my cash subs?”

“Goodness no,” laughed the man. “My name is Dr. Johanson and I’m a professor of computer science over at State. I think you know one of my students though... well, former student.”

“Well if you’re looking to pay me tribute, my paypal info is listed on my--”

“I’m not interested in that,” said Dr. Johanson, cutting him off. “You’ve been taking ‘tributes’ as you call them from my student and I need you to give him back all of it.”

“Sorry Doc,” laughed Brock. “No refunds.”

“His parents found out what he was doing with their money and they made him come home. He had to drop out of school,” protested Dr. Johanson. “Suddenly, I’ve lost the best and brightest computer science student I’ve had in a decade--not to mention the most capable president of the Computer Club the school has ever seen. So if you could, give him back his money so his parents will let him re-enroll.”

“That’s my cash,” said Brock. “I earned it. He knew what he was doing, so I’m sorry but no. Why don’t you go back to your nerdy colleagues and just fucking deal with it.” Brock shoved the man aside and started heading to his locker. Suddenly, Dr Johanson leapt at Brock and shoved something sharp into his neck. With a press of a plunger, Dr Johanson injected Brock with something and his vision started to blur.

“What did you dooooo--” Brock started to say as his consciousness left him and he slumped down against the lockers.

Brock awoke with pounding headache, laying in a still running shower. What had happened? Was that all a dream? He rubbed his head which was aching. He must have slipped in the shower and had some weird hallucination while he was out. He quickly toweled off and got dressed, deciding he needed to get home and rest.

As he was speeding home in the Porsche he had bought with all his tributes, he got a strange craving. Normally, he ate nothing but chicken thighs and broccoli to keep his physique looking jacked and perfect, but suddenly Brock was craving Hot Pockets and Mountain Dew. He had never enjoyed these things before but the urge was overwhelming so he pulled over and bought some of each before returning home.  Brock plopped himself in front of the tv with a freshly microwaved Hot Pocket and some Mountain Dew and settled on watching Lord of the Rings. He enjoyed it more than he remembered and ended up watching all three before passing out on the couch.

Broke awoke from a ding as his cell phone lit up. He rubbed his groggy eyes and looked at the screen. He had a tumblr message from @DrJohanson. Wait. Was that the guy he had dreamt from the gym? He pulled it open and read:

“Brock, congratulations on your readmittance to State. I’m so glad you’ll be resuming your studies and I look forward to seeing you in class on Monday.”

Brock didn’t understand. None of that made sense so he just threw his phone aside and went to the bathroom to take a piss. As he entered, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and jumped. He looked... different.

His beard was totally gone and his haircut was suddenly short and neatly groomed. And his muscles. WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO HIS MUSCLES? He felt dizzy. He couldn’t comprehend what was going on. Then it hit him. Dr Johanson! The attack in the gym! Maybe he hadn’t dreamed it. He had to get to the university and track him down and get some answers. Brock hopped in the Porsche and started driving but found it difficult. For one, he didn’t have the usual confidence to speed through town and his vision seemed to be blurring. It took him twice as long as it normally would have but he made it to the campus and headed right for the computer science building.

Once inside, he found it difficult to navigate as his vision was getting worse and worse. He managed to make out the text on a couple of flyers. “Advanced Algorithms class. Please see Dr Johanson in his office in room 315 to enroll.” Ah perfect! Now he knew where to find him. And maybe he could talk to him about the Advanced Algorithms class. It sort of sounded fun. NO. That couldn’t be right. Since when did Brock care about computer science classes?

After stumbling through the halls, he finally found Dr. Johanson’s office and burst through the door. The professor was going over his syllabus and seemed amused to see Brock.

“Ah, I wasn’t expecting you until Monday morning,” the professor said with a wry smile.

“What did you do to me, foureyes!?” Brock yelled, squinting to see the professor.

“I told you,” said Dr. Johanson. “I needed my brightest student back and if you weren’t willing to help him get back into school, well I figured I would make a new brightest student. It seems like the nanobots have already done a good job on your muscle mass and facial hair and based on how much you’re squinting, I’d say your ocular degeneration is coming along as scheduled.”

“Nanobots? Huh!?” asked Brock.

“Microscopic technology that can rewrite your DNA, alter your memories, basically reshape you as I see fit. It’s untested but since you were so unapologetic I didn’t feel too bad injecting you with some to see if they work. And it would appear they’re working just great.”

“This is impossible! You can’t do this to me.”

“Actually I can,” said Dr. Johanson. “Your DNA is rewriting as we speak and your mind won’t be much further behind. But for now, I can put it on autopilot.”

“This is imp--” Brock started to say again before Dr. Johanson pushed a button on his smart phone. “Thank you Dr Johanson. I am superduper excited about taking the Advanced Algorithms curricula with you.” Brock clasped his hands across his mouth. He hadn’t wanted to say that, but something had forced him. The nanobots!

“I think you’re going to do just fine in the class,” Dr Johanson said as Brock got up to leave. “Oh Brock, aren’t you forgetting these?” Dr Johanson slid a pair of clunky black glasses across the table. Brock put them on and found his vision was suddenly perfect again.

“Golly jeepers thanks for reminding me!” Brock said against his will, a dorky smile plastered across his face.

“No problem, Brock. Wouldn’t want my best student squinting to see the board. Oh and before you leave...” The professor pushed another button on his phone and Brock, unable to control himself, reached down the back of his pants and yanked his boxers up as far as they would go, leaving him in a painful and visible wedgie. “See you on Monday.”

Brock couldn’t stop himself from walking down the hall with a visible wedgie and just had to endure as all the students he passed laughed at him.

When Brock got home, he had a notification on his PS4. Dr Johanson had sent him gift. “Dragon Age,” the message read. “You’re going to love it. But I have made a modification to your nanobots. For every hour that you play, your manhood will shrink. Wouldn’t do to have my new nerdiest student getting distracted by his own sexuality.”

Brock snorted. So he just wouldn’t play. But part of him cried out. It did look like a really fun game. Maybe he would just play for a little while. But of course he couldn’t control himself. The hours melted away as Saturday night turned into Sunday morning and then into Sunday night. He had played for hours and hours and hours and when he finally glanced down at his dick, it couldn’t be any longer than three inches erect now. With a heavy sigh, and a swig of Mountain Dew, Brock shuffled off to bed.

He awoke with a start as someone rang his doorbell. He glanced at his alarm clock. 5:30 am. He would NEVER be up this early and someone had to pay. He hurried over to the door, itching his now minuscule junk and sighing as he remembered how much it had shrunk. He opened the door and found a large trunk with a note attached.

“Wouldn’t want my best student to not have anything to wear on his first day of class. Signed, Dr. Johanson.”

Brock opened the trunk to find it filled with clothes, but nothing he would ever wear. There were faded dad jeans, plaid shirts, highwater slacks, white socks, shiny patent leather shoes, bowties, suspenders, and pocket protectors. There was no way Brock would ever be seen in these! Even the nerdiest guys he knew were more stylish than this. Underneath one of the shirts, he noticed something else: a roll of off-white tape. What could that be for, he wondered as he took a step forward and tripped over his own feet. His glasses flew from his head and landed underneath him as he fell and snapped in half.

“Oh,” Brock sighed as he felt around for his broken glasses and the tape. He began to wrap the tape around the broken bridge of the glasses until they were firm again and placed them on his head. Sigh, he really did look like a nerd with these broken glasses, but no one could make him wear the rest of those dorky clothes. He headed off to the kitchen to microwave a breakfast Hot Pocket and sat down to play a couple of hours of Dragon Age before he had to be at class, his dick shrinking another half and inch as he played.

Brock was almost late to the 8am class (something he would NEVER have signed up for even if he was interested in college) because he found himself hyperventilating with nervousness whenever he tried to drive faster than 25 miles per hour. This was unlike his usual daredevil self but the nanobots seemed to be affecting his confidence. He rushed into class just as the bell rang and couldn’t help but grab a seat front row center as he adjusted his taped up glasses. Dr. Johanson grinned seeing him there.

“Alright class, we’re going to get into today’s lesson in a minute but I wanted to introduce you to a new student. He transferred in just in the nick of time but I’ve seen his test scores and he’s honestly going to be the one to beat in this class. Brock, why don’t you say hello to the class?”

Brock’s heart suddenly started racing and sweat poured down his brow. He had never been this nervous before so why would he be now? All he had to do was introduce himself to a class full of nerds. But as he stood, he felt his knees shaking.

“M-m-m-my name is B-b-b-brock,” he stuttered before ripping a loud fart in front of the class. Everybody burst into laughter. Brock couldn’t believe it. He could feel the nanobots fiddling around in his brain and tried to resist but blurted out “Sorry, I get flatulent w-w-when I’m n-n-n-nervous” and ripped another loud fart. Everyone laughed even harder. Why had he said that!? It wasn’t true! But as he farted again on his way back to the seat, he realized that maybe it was true. He sunk into his chair. He didn’t know what he could believe anymore.

As the class began, Brock found that it was exceedingly easy. He couldn’t help but raise his hand to answer every question. He could hear the students behind him groan every time his hand shot up but he felt a sense of pride for every correct answer, something he had never cared for in the past. The class basically turned into the Dr. Johanson and Brock show, with the other students flinging pencils and wads of paper at him whenever Dr. Johanson turned back to the whiteboard. Finally the bell rang.

“Brock, can I see you in my office?” Dr Johanson said.

Of course Brock wanted to tell him to fuck off but instead he blurted out “Why g-g-g-golly jeepers of course P-p-p-professor!” He followed the professor into his office and stumbled as he tripped over the large trunk that had been at his house earlier in the day.

“You’re not wearing your clothes, Brock,” Dr. Johanson said angrily.

“B-b-but I am!” he protested. “What’s in that trunk… those aren’t my clothes! These are my clothes!” he said gesturing to the designer clothes he had always worn but now hung off his scrawny body. Dr Johanson sighed and pressed a button on his smartphone. Brock felt a zap go through his brain and he started undressing in front of Dr. Johanson against his will!

“Well g-g-g-gosh you are correct, Professor!” he said uncontrollably as he stripped down to his boxers. He sighed and pulled them down revealing his now one-inch dick to the professor who snapped a picture and laughed.

“This one is going to all the guys who were paying you tribute,” he said.

Brock couldn’t help himself and started getting dressed in these clothes that he loathed. First went the tighty-whiteys, then the plaid button down. Then he tied a black bowtie around his neck and put the pocket protector into his pocket. Finally, he attached the suspenders to his jeans and yanked them up as high as they would go before putting on his cardigan. Dr. Johanson grinned and pulled out a mirror so that Brock could see what he looked like. Brock’s face fell. He looked like a completely stereotypical nerd!

“Alright Brock, now that’s the computer genius I always knew you were. You better get going. You have so much homework to do.” Brock got up to leave, his stature changed. He hunched over, his confidence completely gone. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” the professor said, pointing to a large case by the door. In it, Brock found a huge accordion.

“But I don’t know how to-“ The professor pushed another button and Brock snapped to attention, his demeanor changing. He yanked his underwear up out of his pants giving himself a massive visible wedgie and grabbed the accordion. “G-g-g-g-golly jeepers! I almost f-f-forgot it. Thanks Dr. J-j-j-johanson!” Brock gleefully marched out of the office, accordion in hand, playing an annoying polka version of the Star Wars Imperial March. On the outside, Brock was a giddy superdork, but inside, he was screaming with embarrassment. It didn’t help that everyone on campus was laughing at him as he clumsily stumbled home playing the accordion, their phones out filming him. By the time he made it back to his apartment, he had already been tagged in the video and it was one of the trending videos on YouTube: “State University’s biggest nerd can’t stop playing the accordion!”

Brock’s existence just kept getting nerdier and nerdier from there. He started going to computer club multiple times a week, gleefully teaching newcomers everything there was to know about computers. Within a month, he had become president of computer club, chess club, math team, Dungeons and Dragons club, anime club, LARPing club, robotics team, and the AV club. If it was a nerdy hobby, he couldn’t help but do it. Deep down, Brock hated these things. He found them extremely boring and embarrassing but the nanobots ensured that he had to follow through with the activities against his will. He had even started his own pocket protector appreciation club which required him to go door-to-door to the different frat houses on campus to convince them that pocket protectors were, in his new words “Neato completo!” which mostly ended up in the frat brothers inviting him in to wedgie him, dunk his head in the toilet, and send him on his way with his glasses snapped in a new place, forcing him to put even more tape on them.

Inside, Brock was the same alpha jock, but on the outside, he couldn’t act any more differently. He was shy, extremely clumsy, and an absolute goody two shoes. He would go to bed by 9pm every night and be up by 5 in the morning to read a fantasy novel. Every morning, against his will, he taped a sign to his back that read “WEDGIE ME” and the jocks on campus were always inclined to help him out. And to ensure that everyone in his classes thought he was the biggest dweeb ever, at the end of every class he would raise his meek finger and stutter, “P-p-p-p-professor, you f-f-f-f-forgot to give us homework for the w-w-w-weekend.”

Brock had never felt so alone or humiliated in his life, but his computer knowledge had become so vast that the school kept getting more and more grants, and Dr. Johanson once again had the brightest computer science student in the nation. Eventually, he decided that Brock still needed a nerdier life and got to work. He forced him to sell his Porsche and buy a beat up Volvo station wagon which was immediately decked out in nerdy bumper stickers. Against his will, Brock started following a cash dom on tumblr named @FormerCompSciNerd (Dr Johanson used the nanobots to make Brock’s former victim into a muscle jock that raked in dough from submissives all over the web) and donated the leftovers from the sale of his car to @FormerCompSciNerd’s paypal. In fact, Dr. Johanson made Brock donate all of his income (Brock had started tutoring anyone who asked him) to @FormerCompSciNerd ensuring that Brock was always broke.

Of course, a poor tutor like Brock couldn’t afford the sleek apartment he had been living in back when he was a cash dom so he had to move back in with his parents. It was humiliating to Brock, who ended up living in his parent’s carpeted, wood paneled basement. Brock’s parents weren’t sure what had happened to their son—he certainly wasn’t the musclebound jerk he had been when he first left home—but they were so happy to have him back, and that he was a star pupil, that they didn’t really ask any questions. Brock never moved out of that basement, spending the rest of his nights alone in the dank basement, surrounded by cardboard cut outs of Lord of the Rings characters, dozens of bookshelves of sci-fi novels, multiple gaming PCs that he spent his free time modding, and thousands and thousands of pristine, still-in-the-box action figures. Needless to say, Brock never had sex again for the rest of his life. It certainly didn’t help that Dr. Johanson made Brock legally change his name to Wilmer Wedgiewimp.

Eventually, he graduated, top of his class, and then got his Masters and PhD in computer science but decided to stay at the school to teach. This was perfect for Dr. Johanson as Brock—err—Wilmer Wedgiewimp’s work was always winning grants for the school but Wilmer was too shy and meek to ever try and compete with Dr. Johanson for a better position in the computer science department. Brock was trapped deep down inside and Wilmer Wedgiewimp was how he presented to the world. Even his students made fun of him, giving him wedgies and calling him names. Brock wanted to scream out but he couldn’t. Wilmer was in charge and no matter what humiliating thing happened to him, all he could do was grin, play a polka on his accordion, and give an enthusiastic and embarrassingly nerdy snap of his suspenders.