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Posts Tagged ‘Rule’

Rule One: I am aware that it is concidered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off your hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are idiots. Still, I want to be fair. You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants 10 sizes to big, and I will not object. However, to ensure that your pants 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 at your waist.
Rule Two: I’m sure that you have been told that in today’s world sex without a barrier can be deadly. Let me elaborate: When it comes to sex, I am the barrier and I will kill you.
Rule Three: I have no doubt the you are a popular fellow, with many oppurtunities 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 daughter, you will continue to date no one but her until she is through with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.
Rule Four: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not fidget and complain. 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 change the oil in my car?
Rule Five: The following places are not approporiate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are sofas, beds or anything softer than a wooden stool or folding chair; places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight; places where there is darkness; places where the ambient temperature would 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 chin. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.
Rule 6: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, 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. I have a shotgun, a shovel and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.
Rule 7: Be careful, be very careful. 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 the flashbacks start, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean my guns as I sit at home waiting 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 safetly and early, then return to your car. There is no need for you to come inside. The camoflauged face in the window is mine

New Rule #1: Stop giving me that pop-up ad for Classmates. Com! There’s a reason I didn’t talk to them for 25 years. Because I didn’t particularly like them!
Besides, I already know what the captain of the football team is doing these days: mowing my lawn.

New Rule #2: Don’t eat anything that’s served to you out a window unless you’re a seagull.
People are acting all shocked that a human finger was found in a bowl of Wendy’s chili. Hey, the chili costs less than a dollar.
What did you expect it to contain? Trout?
Luckily, it was only a finger! If it were a whole hand, Congress would have voted to keep it alive.

New Rule #3: Stop saying that teenage boys who have sex with their hot, blonde teachers are permanently damaged.
I have a better description for these kids: lucky bastards.

New Rule #4: Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here’s how much men care about your eyebrows:
do you have two of them? Okay, we’re done.

New Rule #5: There’s no such thing as flavored water. There’s a whole aisle of this crap at the supermarket, water,
but without that watery taste.
Sorry, but flavored water is called a soft drink. You want flavored water?
Pour some scotch over ice and let it melt. That’s your flavored water.

New Rule #6: The more complicated the Starbucks order, the bigger the asshole.
If you walk into a Starbucks and order a “decaf Grande half-soy, half-low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n’-Low and one NutraSweet,” ooh, you’re a huge asshole.

New Rule #7: Girls, just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn’t make you spiritual. Come on, it’s right above the crack of your ass and it translates to “beef with broccoli.”
The last time you did anything spiritual, you were praying to God you weren’t pregnant.
You’re not spiritual. You were just high when you picked it out.

New Rule #8: Competitive eating isn’t a sport. It’s one of the seven deadly sins.
ESPN recently televised the US Open of Competitive Eating,
because watching those athletes at the poker table was just too damned exciting.
What’s next, competitive farting?
Oh wait. They’re already doing that. It’s called “The Howard Stern Show.”

New Rule #9: If you’re going to insist on making movies based on crappy old television shows,
then you have to give everyone in the Cineplex a remote so we can see what’s playing on the other screens.
Let’s remember the reason something was a television show in the first place is the idea wasn’t good enough to be a movie.

New Rule #10: No more gift registries. You know, it used to be just for weddings.
Now it’s for babies and new homes and graduations from rehab.
Picking out the stuff you want and having other people buy it for you isn’t gift giving, it’s the white people version of looting.

New Rule #11: and this one is long overdue: No more bathroom attendants.
After I zip up, some guy is offering me a towel and a mint like I just had sex with George Michael.
I can’t even tell if he’s supposed to be there, or just some freak with a fetish.
I don’t want to be on your web cam, dude. I just want to wash my hands.

New Rule #12: When I ask how old your toddler is, I don’t need to know in months. “27 Months.”
“He’s two,” will do just fine.
He’s not a cheese.
And I didn’t really care in the first place.