It's better to be a guy. I've always believed that. I think this gender narcissism originated when I was eight and saw a girl cry after getting plunked in the ass during dodgeball. But I never really gave it any thought beyond that. Just sort of took it on good faith.

In today's world, one's expected to defend such controversial and arrogant proclamations. Therefore, it's high time this premise received a closer look. I'm not really out to try and prove what gender is superior, Bobby Riggs already failed miserably trying to do that for us. All I'm looking to do is provide some insight into why women are so batty. I have a feeling when I reach the end of this article, I'm not going to be so hard on them for being crazy.

The Bra Purchase
Imagine going to the local TJ Maxx to buy yourself some new tighty whities and noticing that the sizes are no longer categorized as S, M, or L, but instead "Small Penis," "Medium Penis," and "Large Penis." Girls are reminded every time they buy a new bra into which class their chest falls. For the fortunate few, it's a delightful task. But for most, it's a horrifying reminder of how small their boobies really are.

Sex Volume
Women are expected to be loud during sex, while men are just expected to give a courtesy grunt and make the bitter beer face upon climax. This has to be an unwelcome pressure.

Public Urination
Guys can piss anywhere. And quite easily too. I once took a pee-pee while waiting in line to vote. Faked a cramp, got down on one knee and pretended to stretch out while emptying the remainder of my Gatorade bottle on the sidewalk for cover. It barely got a glance. Women; however, they need a facility. Unless they want to be that slob at a concert or keg party seen mooning the entire world while giggling uncontrollably towards her horrified friends.

Touching further on the bathroom facility situation, women once again find themselves at a severe disadvantage. Unless they want to get the Ebola virus from the toilet seat, it's squat city. Have you ever tried this? My legs start quivering before I get anywhere near the requisite ninety degree squirt angle.

Lastly, girls can waste half their night waiting in line for the bathroom. The humiliation of lining up like show ponies for the men whipping by them for a quick leak doesn't help things either.

Yeast Infections
I really don't feel it's necessary to elaborate on this topic. In fact, I'd rather watch an infomercial detailing the intricacies of scrotal piercing than sit through one more Monistat commercial.

The Bathing Gear Quandry
Men throw on a pair of waterproof shorts with built-in underwear and we're ready to go. And if we're fat or embarassingly hairy, we can leave on our tshirt, citing melanoma concerns. Women; however, have to basically parade around in a bra and panties. The best they've come up with to ease this necessary flesh exposure is a sarong. Unfortunately for them, wearing one of these elicits the same reaction a sorority chick with a sweatshirt tied around her waist gets: "she MUST be hiding something." While we're on the topic...

The Bikini Wax
Yeeeeouch. Spreading your legs for a 93 year-old Korean woman wielding a bucket of hot wax with only forceful follicle destruction in mind makes me wonder why girls go to the beach at all.

The Jealousy Gene
Ladies, you have it, accept it. And speaking of genetic inferiorities...

The Bad Driving Gene
A frazzled soccer mom behind the wheel of a Ford Expedition with seven screaming kids in the back seat is Suburbia's own version of a WMD.

The Athletic Prowess-Lesbian Suspicion Correlation
I've never seen a girl drain a three-pointer and not immediately fantasized that she has to LOVE showering with her teammates. When LeBron James throws down an alley-oop off the break no guy is thinking about asking him out for a refreshing champagne coolie.

This picture makes me uncomfortable.

Upkeep
It takes me approximately thirty minutes to get ready; from the moment my toes are reluctantly withdrawn from their nest under the feathers to the time I walk out the door. And I'm an admitted pretty boy.

I once shared an apartment with a girl who took THREE HOURS to get herself into a viewable state. She'd go into the bathroom and come out one moonphase later having undergone a John Travolta to Nicholas Cage, Face Off-like transformation. And she was pretty.

The hair, the makeup, the shaving of everything but the soles of their feet and the palms of their hands, the eyebrow tweezing, the upper lip waxing....IT'S ENDLESS. The upkeep necessary to be a girl is utterly daunting. I can't believe agoraphobia isn't more prevalent amongst the female gender.

The Very Existence of the Douche
Laughing too hard to type. The word "douche" alone absolutely kills me. However, the topic makes me very uncomfortable and if you ever happen to come across one, RUN. Remaining in the same neck of the woods (pun absolutely intended)...

Menstruation
It freaks me out, man. As if hemorrhaging from a reproductive organ wasn't enough, this once a month nightmare is accompanied by cramps and bloating. It's pregnancy's equivalent to spring training. Or even the fire drill. The body is trying to prepare the woman in tiny doses for how miserable she's going to feel when she really is pregnant.

Barbie
Men weren't expected to live up to the high standards set by Superman or GI Joe. Yet women are all expected to look like Barbie. And they try too. Silly girls, you'll tip over, it's impossible. But I like the way you're thinking. Keep it up with the silicone, bulimia and treadmill sessions. You're almost there. Giggle.

Gynecologist
I was about to go into a lengthy diatribe about the Pap Smear, but decided that the male version of this probing: the Rectal Exam, is equally as horrifying. Therefore, let's call this one a stalemate.

Poopless
Because girls don't poop (shutup, I firmly believe this), they'll never know the satisfaction of a good one. Boy are they missing out.

Thongs
The very existence of these confirms that society is indeed run by men. I used to spend days on end Googling the inventor of the thong in the hopes of eventually showering him with gifts and praise. Then I realized he's probably some sixty-five year old Jewish pervert residing in New York's garment district. So I quit searching and still maintain the fantasy that it was Hugh Hefner.

The wedgie, quite possibly the most uncomfortable feeling from grade school yesteryear, is what most women have to walk around and deal with on a daily basis. I find that fascinating.

The "Ho" Versus "Stud" Conundrum
I sleep with four women in a weekend and I'm a God. A girl sleeps with more than two in a year and she's known as the village bicycle. I once had a vicious rumor circulating about me a few years back that I was a giant man-whore. The year that followed its propagation yielded a copious bounty of women proffering their services, all trying to find out what the buzz was about. Pathetic lemmings.

Lame. Lamer. Lamest.

Bachelorette Parties
Guys go to Vegas, gamble like fiends, drink like friars, and go to strip clubs as if they were sex addicts. Women go to an 80s bar wearing penis pops and t-shirts that proudly display their scavenger hunt achievements, such as: "picture of gorgeous guy with red hair" or "kiss on cheek from black man." Blowout. Not even close.

Bridesmaid Dresses
Has any woman in the history of weddings ever looked good in a bridesmaid dress? If you happen to see one, immediately whisk her from the aisle to the altar and make it a 2 for 1 wedding, because she's the hottest woman on earth.

Peach, purple and ruby-red taffeta abound, watching these monstrosities run around the reception dance floor is one of my favorite