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Where's My Vagina?

By Wil Forbis

Sometimes, I wish I was a woman.

Upon saying that, I can almost hear the collective groan from my limited readership of slackers, ner-do-wells and cross dressers, all saying, "Oh, geez, Wil. We're quite familiar with your endless misogyny at this point so you can't possibly be serious about this 'wishing you were a woman' jazz. Unless it's going to be some sort of quickly scribbled fantasy about fondling your own breasts. Or walking into women's restrooms and shooting footage for those decrepit web sites you entertain. Or how you'd like to find out what it would be like to be lesbian."

Please, dear reader, you insult me. This is the new, introspective Wil Forbis. He doesn't waste time with such juvenile debauchery. The new Wil Forbis is about FEELINGS, and SHARING, and ENGAGING IN A COMPLETE AND TOTAL UNDERSTANDING OF THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE IN ALL ITS MANY WONDERFUL FORMS."

(On the other hand, what would it be like to be a lesbian? That's something that just seems totally removed from my realm of experience, though I used to be a big fan of flannel.)

What got me started on this bent, you ask? I guess I've always had a sort of repressed interest in what it'd be like to be a woman. It goes back to the many instances as a toddler where I'd dress up in cashmir sweaters and paint myself with cheek rouge until my dad finally broke down and said, "Might as well make some money off him." and charged his drinking buddies ten bucks a shot for me to give them "extra long hugs." (Hey, you can laugh if you want, but where do you think the money came from for the first year of community college?)

But seriously folks, I think within all men there's a hidden side that would like to explore their femininity. Because, whether or not anyone admits it, women do have a particular kind of power in society. Men must wield their power in a brutish, gorilla like fashion, beating our chests and throwing our own feces at those who oppose us. But women have a much more subtle way of imparting their influence. With a batted eyelash or uncurled leg, a clever gal can con most men into throwing their feces at her enemies! Whether that's due to women's intellectual superiority or men gibbering idiocy is up for debate, but the result is just the same.

In addition, I've always been jealous of the choices women have available to them in terms of fashion. Men have their clothing options laid out thusly: Shirt, Pants, Tie (optional). But gals have dresses, skirts, feather boas, hats, eyeliner, lipstick and a variety of crazy hairstyles. Can guys get highlights or waves? Not unless they want to be eating their own teeth.

This is not to say I think it's all fun and games being a chickeroonie. There's the obvious negatives: the sexism, the mood swings, the monthly "flows," and the maddening onslaught of uncontrolled lust that occurs whenever a well defined male such as myself walks by. Hey, I get the point... it aint no piece of cake to be a woman! (That's another negative: the way chicks can't have a piece of cake without feeling guilty and drowning their kids.) But despite that, I really feel as if there's something I'm missing by not being part of the vaginalistic people. A certain self expression... A certain comradery...

Now don't get the wrong idea here. I'm not about to go all fruity on you! I'm not going to dress up in women's underwear and walk around Central Park. I'm not going to start calling all my drinking buddies "girlfriend." And I sure ain't gonna sit down and watch the girls on "The View" interviewing Courtney Love. I'm still one hunnert percent ALL MAN, DAMMIT! I'm still doing manly things like belching and farting and adding to my collection of eighteenth century tea cups. But I want to make a point here - being a guy isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sure, I've heard all you chicks talking about how it's a man's world, and how you can't hit the glass ceiling on your way out and how a woman's work is never done, blah, blah, blah... but let me tell you, it ain't no picnic over here on the side of the three legged people. In a man's world, one false move and they're calling you a homo, or a commie or even worse, an intellectual! Then they're pounding your head into the gym locker while they start up the McCarthy hearings. We're bound by the other end of the chains that bind us all honey, knowwhatImean! You feel my pain don't you sister? Yeah, you over there in the blue dress, you unnerstand what I'm talking about, right? Say, you're looking pretty good there, howzabout giving daddy a kiss? Huh? Huh?


Frigid dyke!

Wil Forbis is a well known international playboy who lives a fast paced life attending chic parties, performing feats of derring-do and making love to the world's most beautiful women. Together with his partner, Scrotum-Boy, he is making the world safe for democracy. Email -

Visit Wil's web log, The Wil Forbis Blog, and receive complete enlightenment.

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