I want to be a man. For a day. Or Six.

Ego so big, you must admit,
I got every reason to feel like I’m that bitch,
Ego so strong, if you ain’t know,
I don’t need no beat, I can sing it with piano…

And then she goes ahead and sings the hell out of it, with piano.  I don’t much care for Mrs Jay Z, she’s a bit too woowoowoo for me, prone to bouts of self indulgent praise singing, and I blame her for his demise, he that has taken a turn for the worse, currently playing at super capitalist cum robber baron.  That said, I quite like this song, it’s one of the few instances she’s come out and said, ‘I am the shit!’  I like it when women do that, we spend too much time being all nice and demure.  Every so often you need someone to stand up and get all diva on their punk behinds.  Now if she could get her hubby to stop acting bougie and shit, I may actually come to love the woman one day, assuming she gets rid of the blond weaves, and names her child something suitably black, like Beyonce, or Shenequa, but that’s a story for another day.  Today it’s all about men and their parts.

I have a self confessed case of metaphorical penis envy.  I said metaphorical you perverts, I don’t actually want a penis, but I would very much like to be a man.  For real.  I want to be a man for a week or so, every so often, kendo once every five and a half months.  The plan is to magically grow a dick, while magically losing the boobs and nininio, possibly add a couple of inches in height and grow a massive Isaac Hayes beard that I can trim to an Idris stubble, when so moved.  In fact, when I’m a guy I want to be Isaac Hayes, or Shaft.  Allow me to explain…

I DON’T WANT TO WEAR A BRA ANY MORE.

See, you men think bras are quite lovely garments, holding up the twins oh so gently, cupping them in lace and whatnot.  Well I hate to break it to you, but we hate those things.  I hate my bras.  Wait, that’s not entirely true.  I love that my bras give me a perfectly perky pair of breasts, much, much perkier than they would be sans bra (stop laughing, you firm breasted cow, age will catch up with yours too, eventually).  Problem is, to create said perkiness, heavy duty framing is required, flesh-biting wires and elastic cutting into your shoulders and rib cage, poking you in the armpits, and that’s with the good bras.  The bad bras throw in itchy fabric, just because.  Men talk lovingly of large breasts, but the grief that comes with carrying them around is not worth it.  The larger your boobs, the larger and sturdier (read more uncomfortable) the bra required.  No fancy little lace numbers for you, no ma’am, you get to wear a minimiser.  That’s right, they tell you big boobs are great, then they only make clothes for small boobs, forcing you to mould your beauties into the equivalent of a chest corset.  Minimiser bras are the work of the devil.  True story.  If I was a man, I wouldn’t need that shit, would I?  In fact, if I were a man, I would run for president and then force all other men to wear minimiser boxers their entire adult life, see how it feels being strapped down every damn day.  Speaking of which…

It’s on baby, let’s get lost,
You don’t need to call into work ’cause you’re the boss,
For real, want you to show me how you feel,
I consider myself lucky, that’s a big deal…

I WANT TO BECOME PRESIDENT, SO I CAN SCREW ALL THE LITTLE PEOPLE OVER.

Female presidents don’t screw their people over, that’s a man thing.  Men want to rule the world, so they run around invading anything that can be invaded.  They want to steal more money than they could use in ten lifetimes, and then steal more, just because.  They want to have everyone bowing and scraping at their feet, feeling omnipotent, so they keep their feet on our necks.  Wait, that one is a female thing too, God knows women love to be adored.  I want to be a president, and not just any president, an African president, those buggers are the real big men.  I’ll make you watch as I get richer and fatter, swanning about in my silk suits and hustler jets, shagging my secretary while you pick up the tab, flying the missus to Europe for shopping (read plastic surgery), building myself yet another presidential palace, because a president can’t have too many houses…you know, the usual.

I WANT TO START A FIGHT FOR NO REASON OTHER THAN BECAUSE I HAVE THE BIGGEST FIST, OR GUN.

Only an idiot starts a fight he knows he can’t win, that’s why women often take the non-violent route when confronted.  If I was a man, a real dude, dude, I would go around smacking everyone who pissed me off.  Cut me off in traffic, I’ll slap you.  Talk shit to me, I’ll bitchslap you back into your mama’s womb.  Steal my taxes? I will drop kick you over those posts so fast you’ll break the sound barrier.  See, a man can say that, even though he has no intention, or skill, of ever doing so, because men are all about the talk.  If I was a man, I would be a big swinging dick, and brash to the point of obnoxious.  And speaking of obnoxious…

I WANT TO PISS WHEREVER I WANT

I want to be able to pee standing, wherever and whenever the mood hits me, like outside a bar which has perfectly functioning toilets within, toilets I choose not to use, just because.  Or maybe pee by the side of the road, into a little bush that barely screens that which it should be hiding.  Not that I would be trying to hide, no no no, I’m simply saving everyone the embarrassment of having to look my most magnificent member in the eye, so to speak.  You know what I’d really love to do?  I’ve love to go the washrooms in a crowded, poorly lit club, and not have to queue for a stall.  Just walk up to the trough, pull out my little Jimmy, have a quick slash, shake off little Jimmy, and stagger back out to the counter.  No touching unclean surfaces, or awkwardly perching just so, inches above what they claim is a toilet seat, trying not to get some other woman’s piss on my ass.  Nothing but me and mine.  Oh the freedom.  That standing while peeing thing is most convenient.  And speaking of penises…

It’s too big, it’s too wide,
It’s too strong, it won’t fit,
It’s too much, it’s too tough,
He talk like this ’cause he can back it up…

I WANT TO BE SHAGTASTIC.

Us girls we know that every time we have sex its a lottery, it may be good, it may be bad.  See, our pleasure is so bloody complicated sometimes, not every man you shag will do what needs to be done to help get you off (I say help because ultimately the only one who gets you there is you, right?  Stop frowning gentlemen, same applies to you…).  You shag a guy and you might get it, you might not. Its like russian roulette, only with an orgasm instead of a bullet.  Throw in disease and pregnancy and the stakes get even higher.  But not for men.  Men can fuck and fuck and fuck without a care in the world, secure in their knowledge that all they need is something hot and wet and they’ll get off.  And no worries thereafter, not if they strap up properly.  Men don’t even have to worry about the morning after the night before.  Come sunrise, he’s off in search of the next conquest, ego filled and balls drained. I wanna shag like a man, dammit!  Well, no, not really, shagging as a woman is bloody fantastic, but if I was a man for a day, first thing I’d do is go to a brothel and shag myself silly.  Ati I can pay for all the sex I want, at discounted rates, at the drop of a hat?  And I get it, bila issues?  I want to be a man, so I can be a whore like Shaft, but only for a day.  The rest of the week…

I WOULD BREAK A WOMAN’S HEART EVERY DAY, MAYBE EVEN THE SAME WOMAN’S HEART A COUPLE OF TIMES A DAY IF GIVEN THE CHANCE, AND I WILL BE GIVEN THE CHANCE, BECAUSE SHE WILL ALWAYS FORGIVE ME, NO?

To have the power to make or break, that has got to be quite a rush.  I really, really, really, want to try that out.  I would love to be able to manipulate someone else, bend them to my will, break them even, only to toss them aside once I get bored, with the tidy disclaimer that told her upfront that I didn’t want anything serious.  The joys of being male, no?  Women got the childbirth thing, bleeding once a month and everything, and men got the no attachment thing, complete with machismo, all ‘I is man’ and shit.  Talk about a raw deal…

He got a big ego, such a huge ego,
I love his big ego, it’s too much,
He walk like this ’cause he can back it up…