I have a few rules for you follow if you do.
Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package,
because you're sure not picking anything up. Do not honk when leaving either.
Honking is for fairies.
Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so
long as you do not look at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep
your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them from your body.
Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to
wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their
hips and hats screwed on sideways. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your
friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded
about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the
door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and
I will not object!. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do
not, in fact come off during the course of your date with my daughter,
I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in
place to your waist.
Rule Four:
I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing
a 'Barrier method' of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when
it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.
Rule Five:
It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other,
we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day.
I do not require this. I don't even want you to speak to me.
The only information I require from you is an
indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my
house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is: 'early.'
Rule Six:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear,
and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to
be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is
putting on her makeup, a process than can take longer than painting
the Golden Gate Bridge . Instead of just standing there, why don't you
do something useful, like changing the oil in my truck?
Rule Seven:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer t han a wooden
stool. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing,
holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is
warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff
T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down
parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual
themes are to be avoided. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.
Rule Eight:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-
aged, dimwitted southerner but, on issues relating to my daughter,
I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you
where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell
me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun,
a shovel, and five hundred acres of forest behind the house. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Nine:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the
sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice
paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange and flashbacks start acting up, the voices
in my head frequently tell me to clean and load my guns as I wait for you to bring
my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit
the car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password,
announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely
and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come
inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.
Any questions?
Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package,
because you're sure not picking anything up. Do not honk when leaving either.
Honking is for fairies.
Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so
long as you do not look at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep
your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them from your body.
Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to
wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their
hips and hats screwed on sideways. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your
friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded
about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the
door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and
I will not object!. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do
not, in fact come off during the course of your date with my daughter,
I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in
place to your waist.
Rule Four:
I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing
a 'Barrier method' of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when
it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.
Rule Five:
It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other,
we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day.
I do not require this. I don't even want you to speak to me.
The only information I require from you is an
indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my
house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is: 'early.'
Rule Six:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear,
and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to
be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is
putting on her makeup, a process than can take longer than painting
the Golden Gate Bridge . Instead of just standing there, why don't you
do something useful, like changing the oil in my truck?
Rule Seven:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer t han a wooden
stool. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing,
holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is
warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff
T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down
parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual
themes are to be avoided. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.
Rule Eight:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-
aged, dimwitted southerner but, on issues relating to my daughter,
I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you
where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell
me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun,
a shovel, and five hundred acres of forest behind the house. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Nine:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the
sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice
paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange and flashbacks start acting up, the voices
in my head frequently tell me to clean and load my guns as I wait for you to bring
my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit
the car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password,
announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely
and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come
inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.
Any questions?
