The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are sofas, beds, 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 my old Army Field Jacket - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature power tools are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a middle-aged, gray-headed, 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 a half acre behind the house. Do not trifle with me.
Very good. Link (via Hugh)