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.

Rule Two:
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.

Rule Three:
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 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.

Rule Four:
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.

Rule Five:
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."

Rule Six:
I have no doubt that you are a popular fellow with many
opportunities to date other girls. This if 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.

Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hall way, 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?

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 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 folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:
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.

Rule Ten:
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 Hà Nội. 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 to for you to come
inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.