Daily Joke: Jokes Library

While dads may be glad to see their daughter happy or in love, when it comes to dating, there are some hard-line rules that NO suitor should cross, unless they want to meet the kind of special wrath only angry dads can dish out.

Here are 10 rules from a father to a teenage daughter’s boyfriend:

Rule One:

If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package because you’re sure as heck 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 for you.

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 you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities 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 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 hallway, 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 chainsaws 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 Hanoi. 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 for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window – is mine!

A famous British explorer was invited to a seaside town to give a talk about his adventures in the African jungle.

“Can you imagine a people so primitive that they love to eat the embryos of a certain bird and slices of the belly of a certain animal?” the explorer asked the assembled audience.

Its members gasped and looked around at each other in horror.

“They also grind up grass seed, make it into a paste, burn it over a fire, then smear the result with a greasy mess that’s extracted from the mammary fluid of certain other animals,” the explorer continued.

“Utterly barbaric! How can people live like that?” said a lone voice.

“All I’ve described is a breakfast of bacon, eggs and buttered toast, sir!” retorted the explorer.

Moral of the story: Don’t be quick to judge cultures before you understand your own!

The preacher’s Sunday sermon was “Forgive Your Enemies.”

He asked how many of the congregation have forgiven their enemies?

About half held up their hands.

He then repeated his question.

Now about 80% held up their hands.

He then repeated his question once more.

All responded, except one elderly lady.

“Mrs. Johnson, are you not willing to forgive your enemies?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Mrs. Johnson that is very unusual. How old are you?”

“Ninety-three,” she replied.

“Mrs. Johnson, please come down in front and tell the congregation how a person cannot have an enemy in the world?”

The little sweetheart of a lady tottered down the aisle and said, “I outlived every one of those bitches!”

A fellow walks into a bar very down on himself. As he walks up to the bar the bartender asks, “what’s the matter?”

The fellow replies, “well I’ve got these two horses (sniff, sniff), and well… I can’t tell them apart. I don’t know if I’m mixing up riding times or even feeding them the right foods.”

The bartender, feeling sorry for the guy, tries to think of something he can do.

“Why don’t you try shaving the tail of one of the horses?”

The man stops crying and says, “that sounds like a good idea, I think I’ll try it.”

A few months later he comes back to the bar in worse condition than he was before.

“What’s the matter now?” the bartender asks.

The fellow, in no condition to be in public, answers, “I shaved the tail of one of the horses (sob, sob), but it grew back and I can’t tell them apart again!”

The bartender, now just wanting him to shut up or leave says, “why don’t you try shaving the mane, maybe that will not grow back.”

The fellow stops crying, has a few drinks, and leaves.

A few months later the fellow is back in the bar.

The bartender has never seen anybody in this sorry of a state.

Without the bartender even asking the fellow breaks into his problems. “I.. I shaved the (sob) mane of one of the (sniff) horses, and… it… it… grew back!”

The bartender, now furious at the guy’s general stupidity, yells, “for crying out loud, just measure the stupid horses. Perhaps one is slightly taller than the other one!”

The fellow cannot believe what the bartender has said and storms out of the bar.

The next day the fellow comes running back into the bar as if he had just won the lottery.

“It worked, it worked!” he exclaims.

“I measured the horses and the black one is two inches taller than the white one!”

A 6th-grade teacher posed the following problem to one of her arithmetic classes:

“A wealthy man dies and leaves ten million dollars.

One-fifth is to go to his wife, one-fifth is to go to his son, one-sixth to his butler, and the rest to charity.

Now, what does each get?”

After a very long silence in the classroom, one little boy raised his hand.

With complete sincerity in his voice, answered, “A lawyer!”