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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
Do not lie to me. 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 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.