This question came across in an e-mail yesterday:
“If you could change place with anyone for a day, who would it be?”
My answer? Biff.
Biff, you say? BIFF? When you could be Angelina Jolie, or (possibly better yet) Brad Pitt, or Barack O, or Pope Benny? Why Biff, might you ask?
Plenty of reasons, some of which are below:
1) He’s a boy, and he has all the boy parts, which would be boatloads of fun to play with. See, I’ve had very VERY vivid dreams about being a boy before (just the sleeping kinds of dreams, not the ‘oh wouldn’t it be wonderful if I WAS a boy’ type dreams), it seems like having a penis would be a LOT of entertainment value for something comes free with the gender. You can pee out of it, rub it to make it bigger, and when you orgasm – BAM! – stuff comes flying out! In the dreams I’ve had, I've doen the peeing and the rubbing, and even once or twice gotten very close to ‘making it’ with a female.
(Yes, I know it’s odd as hell. I’m sure none of YOU have had those kinds of dreams before. I’m sure you’re always the right gender, with the proper number of arm parts, and have never traveled in a world of drowned people who live by metabolizing copper sulphate. I’M SURE.
Those dreams are rather a disappointment when I wake up, because IWASTHISCLOSE to having actual penis sex with a girl, which I imagine must feel very good indeed. Which is reason #2:)
2) It would be freaky-ass cool to make love to me, as him. I’ve flown solo gobs and gobs of times, naturally (yes kids, it’s natural. No need for shame. Tell us all about it!), but it’s fairly inarguable that being able to actually sex your own self using new and wonderful body parts that normally belong to the person with whom you are crazy mad in LURVE would be quite the experience!
I’d be glad to pause a moment for that point to sink in. There you are, about to bed the person to whom you have very strong feelings indeed, but you’re not in YOUR body, you’re in THEIRS. Men, you now have the boobs and the body-image issues and the really lovely soft bits and the desire to please your partner to a soul-crashing climax; and ladies, you now are the proud owner of The Penis, testosterone, and an obligation to make your lady love (formerly YOU) feel like a woman before blowing your stash.
Would you do anything differently than you do now? My God, I hope the answer is yes. Shed those gender roles, forget that you normally are the body you’re about to take to new heights of carnal pleasure, and get.it.on! Would that not be incrediburgable sex? I argue that it would be.
On to reason 3 then, which I think is more important than 1 or 2:
3) Biff is a spectacular human being, with amazing amounts of energy and a mind that holds astounding amounts of information. I would love to feel that kind of energy, and I really love to be the owner of the kind of brain that not only remembers stuff, but recalls where the stuff was learned, how to apply it to current situations, and when to share it. My mind, by comparison, is generally all like “oh, I think I read that someplace in a magazine, or was it online, oh nevermind, it was about this guy who did a thing with some kind of energy, and it might have something to do with this conversation…” You get the idea. My brain is a fuzzy gmish of half-remembered quasi-items, as opposed to the neatly organized tool drawer of facts that occupies his hemispheres.
Which brings me to reason 4.
4) HE GETS TO PLAY WITH TOOLS ALL DAY LONG. His job is sawing things and nailing things and drawing plans and MAKING stuff that people want and need and will make their lives better. He gets to drive all over, exploring. He meets new people all the time. He is out in the air and the life of the world, improving stuff. My job, on the other hand, involves staring at a computer, putting words in the order people want them, and making sure we follow all the right rules at the right time.
I think you’ll agree, his job sounds hell of a lot more fun, doesn’t it?
Just for a day, yes, I think I’d like to be my husband. Forget being the president (or his wife, hubba hubba), forget being a celebrity or race car driver or some random rich bastard with more money than sense. Nope – if I had my druthers, I’d trade with the most awesome Biff.
And probably not leave the house all damned day. It’s that wiener thing, ya know.
Who would YOU trade with, and why?