Slim Pickens
New Member
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 of my daughter's body, I will remove them.
Rule Three:
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 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 features
chain saws are okay. Football 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 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
100 acres in East Texas. The fireants and wild hogs will take care
of everything. 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
in Vietnam. 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.
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 of my daughter's body, I will remove them.
Rule Three:
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 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 features
chain saws are okay. Football 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 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
100 acres in East Texas. The fireants and wild hogs will take care
of everything. 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
in Vietnam. 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.
