10 rules to dating my daughter

Well, I'm not too long past being the one dating the daughter, but as I have a baby daughter myself, I can already appreciate this!

Enjoy, Ray Floyd Mad Max Presents: 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.

Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. 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. 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. I really like the part about I have a shotgun, a shovel and five acres out back of the house.   Oh, here in North Idaho many practice the three S's:   You know, shoot, shovel and shut-up!

I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. It's a rather universal language in many parts of the country!   We have the opportunity for them to go to an excellent private Christian school, they are really well rooted in the Lord, love our church youth group and youth pastor, and have a great peer group that polices their own ranks wonderfully.

I walked down, opened the gate with my german shepard next to me looking real hard at him.

I then proceded to open the hood of his truck and rip his horn wires out and gave them to him, along with instructions on how to get back to the hi-way.

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. I received this text anonymously in the winter of 1998.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.Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been.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. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. 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.

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