My girlfriend has a horrible picture of me and she shows it to everyone. My sack is hanging out of my boxers and I'm really drunk. I hate that she's showing people but I guess because I'm a dude I'm not supposed to have feelings. I tried deleting it from her phone but she has backups. It's pissing me off.
--Nuts on parade
Great balls of fire!
Do you remember Colorado's Hayman fire in 2002?
The Rocky Mountain News (rest in peace, cousin) took a photo of a man sitting on the rubble remains of his house. Unaware dude's right nut was dangling from his cutoff jean shorts, the Rocky put it on the front page.
It was awesome.
Fred Finlay grabbed his 15 minutes of fame by the bushy sack and ran with it. (Well, jogged with it. He went on local radio shows and re-posed for the picture -- this time giving his left stone some camera love.)
Now you, Sir Cojones, should take your situation by the jewels and cash in your fame. Start putting your shiny (waxed) marbles on real-life display. See how your lady feels when other girls ogle your rocks.
Or, you can be a child (I vote child!) and take a picture of her lookin' a drunk fooo. How does she like those jugs publicized in men's rooms?
But maybe you should just change your tampon and show your girlfriend your pretty feelings. Surprisingly, us broads kinda like it when our dudes are honest with us.
My boyfriend is trying to teach me how to change my oil, change a flat and other car things. He says he's helping me in case I get in trouble one day. The thing is, I hate car stuff. I have no interest in learning how to do any of that. How do I tell him to back off without hurting his feelings?
--Girl, not gas station
You know what's awesome? Mechanics.
You know what else is awesome? Our pals who go to school to be mechanics.
Then we the people of the don't-know-shit-about-cars variety can pay said chums our hard-earned cash to do what they do best.
(Until you get stranded 100 miles outside of Vegas in the desert. Incidentally, AAA exists. Not to be confused with the anti-booze variety of As.)
Your man wants to teach you survivor skills. It's cute. They really could come in handy one day, on many grounds. Aside from a desert blowout, said skills are practical when your cute little ass walks into a dingy tune-up shop and swindlers of sorts want to play Assault the Checking Account.
This is when your car knowledge can allow you to retort:
"Dude, I know how to take the restrictor plate off to give the Red Dragon a little more juice. Don't fuck with me."
Just basic car knowledge can help on a shady play date with Mr. Goodwrench.
In your favor -- since astrophysicists don't give a fuzz about Associated Press style, as poets could care less about doing taxes and chefs don't give a whore about flying an airplane -- you don't have to feign interest in what makes the wheels on the cars go round and round.
Straight up tell your man you have no interest in learning. If he wants to grease up your engine, he can have his own whack at it.