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- If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be
delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up. 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.
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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 to big, and I will not object.
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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.
- 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.
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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.
- 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.
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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 car?
- 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 is darkness. Places where there is dancing,
holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm
enough to introduce 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 folk’s homes are better.
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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.
- 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 driveways 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,
and then return to your car -- there is no need for you to come inside. The
camouflaged face at the window is mine.
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