Ten Simple Rules for Dating My
Daughter
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.
Rule Two: You do not touch my
daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do
not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes
or hands off my daughter's body, I will remove them.
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. 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: In order for us to get to
know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other
issues of the day. Please do not do this. 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: I have no doubt you are a
popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This
is fine with me as long as it
is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with
my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until
she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you
cry.
Rule Seven: 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 that 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 car?
Rule Eight: The following places are
not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there
are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places
where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight.
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 theme are to be avoided; movies which feature
chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are
better.
Rule Nine: Do not lie to me. I may
appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged dimwitted
has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am an
all-knowing, merciless monster, who owns numerous weapons of
annihilation. 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 acres behind
the house. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Ten: 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 outside of
Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my
head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to
bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you
should exit your 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.
This was sent to me by my Aunt--- someone
else wrote it- heres your credit to whoever wrote this.