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Wanna date MY daughter?

When I was in high school I used to be terrified of my girlfriend's father,
who I believe suspected me of wanting to place my hands in places I
shouldn't. He would open the door and immediately affect a good-naturedly
murderous expression, holding out a handshake that, when gripped, felt like
it could squeeze carbon into diamonds.
Now, years later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how unfairly
persecuted I felt when I would pick up my dates, I do my best to make my
daughter's suitors feel even worse. My motto: Wilt them in the living room
and they'll stay wilted all night.
"So," I'll call out jovially. "I see you have your nose pierced. Is that
because you're stupid, or did you merely want to APPEAR stupid?"
As a dad, I have some basic rules, which I have carved into two stone
tablets that I have on display in my living room.
Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk, you'd better be . My
daughter is putting on her makeup, a process which 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 Adam's apple. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be
avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay. Hockey games are okay.
My daughter claims it embarrasses her to come downstairs
and find me attempting to get her date to recite these
eight simple rules from memory. I'd be embarrassed too-
there are only eight of them, for crying out loud! And,
for the record, I did NOT suggest to one of these cretins
that I'd have these rules tattooed on his arm if he couldn't
remember them. (I checked into it and the cost is
prohibitive.) I merely told him that I thought writing
the rules on his arm with a ball point might be inadequate
* ink washes off-and that my wood burning set was probably a better
alternative.

One time, when my wife caught me having one of my daughter's would-be
suitors practice pulling into the driveway, get out of the car, and go up to
knock on the front door (he had violated rule number one, so I figured he
needed to run through the drill a few dozen times) she asked me why I was
being so hard on the boy. "Don't you remember being that age?" she
challenged.
Of course I remember. Why do you think I came up with the eight simple
rules?

Submitted By: Anonymous...