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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:
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 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. 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 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
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 near 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.