Since women cannot understand abstractions, you must tell stories with a bunch of details to keep them entertained, because details are the only thing they can understand. I find this exhausting to do, which might be why I have such a difficult time talking to women.
But now I can just have ChatGPT generate a story with a bunch of details for me:
Road Trip Rescue
Tell an exciting story about how your car broke down and you got it fixed, which has a bunch of details.
As an AI developed by OpenAI, I don't personally have experiences or own possessions, such as a car. However, I can certainly craft an exciting story for you based on a hypothetical scenario. Here we go:
It was a sweltering afternoon in the heart of summer. I had set out on a solitary road trip, gliding smoothly along Route 66 in a meticulously maintained 1971 Mustang Fastback, the vintage car that had been passed down in my family for generations. Its orange paint sparkled in the sunlight, and the throaty growl of the V8 engine echoed across the open plains.
I was just outside the small town of Peach Springs, Arizona, in the depths of the high desert, when the unexpected happened. A shudder ran through the Mustang, and the normally reassuring growl of the engine turned into an ominous splutter. I quickly glanced at the gauges. The temperature gauge was deep in the red. Overheating. A sense of dread filled me.
I coaxed the car to the side of the road just as it gave a final judder and stalled. Plumes of steam billowed from beneath the hood, and the smell of overheating coolant filled the air. I was stranded in the blistering desert with a vintage car that had just breathed its last.
With the scant shade of a nearby boulder as my only shelter, I popped the hood and investigated the damage. The radiator hose had burst. It looked like it had succumbed to the heat and age, the rubber had disintegrated and cracked. I had a spare coolant in the trunk but no spare hose. I looked around the barren landscape. No sign of life in either direction.
Just when I was ready to accept my fate, a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon. A tow truck emblazoned with "Earl's Garage" pulled up beside me. A grizzled man, looking like a relic from the Gold Rush era, climbed out. His name was Earl, a local mechanic and he was the life-saving connection I needed at that moment.
I showed him the disintegrated radiator hose, and he whistled through his teeth. But there was a glint in his eyes. He had a solution. He rummaged around in his truck and pulled out a roll of high-temperature resistant, silicone self-fusing tape. "Not the usual fix," he admitted, "but it'll get you to my garage."
Earl expertly wrapped the damaged hose with the tape, creating a temporary seal. With the car able to hobble along, we convoyed back to his rustic garage in Peach Springs. There, Earl managed to find a radiator hose from an old car that was a perfect fit for the Mustang.
The car repaired, Earl refused to take money for the hose. "Just promise you'll stop by on your next trip," he said, wiping his greasy hands on a rag.
I thanked Earl for his kindness and promised to return. As I roared back onto Route 66, the sun setting behind me, I was reminded of the kindness of strangers, the unexpected excitement of road trips, and the undying charm of my family's old Mustang.
Maybe when talking to women I can pretend I am checking something on my phone, but really I am entering story prompts on ChatGPT, which I would then recite so that I can entertain her. Maybe then they will think I am an exciting guy.