Please note that these links do exist -- but
they're in the process of being shuffled around a little because of some
asshole making an issue of my web sites in court. If one doesn't work today
-- it will very soon. I'm guessing November 30, 2005!
So you want to
date one of my daughters? This a copy of the rules handed out to
boys on the 1st (and often final) date. An application to date my
daughter must also be completed.
Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a
package, because you're sure as Hell not picking anything up. You
will not call our home before 9 AM or after 10PM.
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 of 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 his 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. 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 pulling weeds in the flower beds
or changing the oil in my truck?
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 features chain saws, Clint Eastwood, or John
Wayne 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, middle-aged,
dimwitted has-been with a goofy haircut. 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, rope, cinder blocks, and a very deep pond behind the
house stocked with hungry gators, 25+ Lb. catfish, Cottonmouth
snakes, and large snapping turtles. Do not irritate me.
Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake
the sound of your little Jap car with the big coffee car muffler for
one of Charlie’s Soviet made choppers coming in over a rice paddy
near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange affliction 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 behind your head; speak the
perimeter password; announce in a clear voice that you have brought
my daughter home safely and early; return to your car; then slowly
back out of the driveway and through the front gate. There is no
need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window will
be mine.
