Dating My Daughters Rules and Application
I first posted the below on my DaveSchultz.com site back in January 1994.
Application for permission to date my daughter
NOTE: This application will be incomplete and rejected unless accompanied by a complete financial statement, job history, lineage, and current medical report from your doctor.
1. NAME_______________________________ DATE OF BIRTH____________
2. HEIGHT:__________ WEIGHT:__________ I.Q. _________ G.P.A._________
3. SOCIAL SECURITY#_________________ DRIVER’S LICENSE # __________
4. BOY SCOUT RANK ____________________________________________
5. HOME ADDRESS___________________ CITY/STATE_______ ZIP_____
6. Do you have one MALE and one FEMALE parent?_________________
7. Number of years parents married: ______________
8. Do you own a van?_____ A truck with oversized tires?____ A waterbed?______
9. In 50 words or less, what does LATE mean to you?
10. In 50 words or less, what does DON’T TOUCH MY DAUGHTER mean to you?
11. In 50 words or less, what does ABSTINENCE mean to you?
12. Church you attend? ________________________ How often? ___________
13. When would be the best time to interview your father, mother, and priest? ______
14. Answer by filling in the blank: please answer freely – all answers are confidential (That means I won’t tell anyone-ever-promise).
A. If I were shot, the last place on my body I would want to be wounded is ________
B. If I were beaten, the last bone I would want broken is _____________
C. A woman’s place is in the _________________
D. The one thing I hope this application does not ask me about is ___________
E. When I first meet a girl, the thing I notice about her first is ________
(NOTE: If answer E begins with a T or A, discontinue and leave premises; keeping your head low and running in a serpentine fashion is advised).
15. What do you want to be IF you grow up? __________________
16. Do you have any holes in your body other than the ones God graced you with and if so, how many? _______________
I SWEAR THAT ALL INFORMATION SUPPLIED ABOVE IS TRUE AND CORRECT TO THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH, DISMEMBERMENT, NATIVE AMERICAN ANT TORTURE, CRUCIFIXION, ELECTROCUTION, CHINESE WATER TORTURE, RED HOT POKERS, AND HILLARY CLINTON KISS TORTURE.
Signature (that means sign your name, moron)
Rules to Date My Daughters
So you want to date one of my daughters? This a copy of the rules handed out to boys on the 1st (and often final) date. An application to date my daughter must also be completed.
If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure as Hell not picking anything up. You will not call our home before 9 AM or after 10PM.
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.
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 his 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.
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.
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.”
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.
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 pulling weeds in the flower beds or changing the oil in my truck?
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 features chain saws, Clint Eastwood, or John Wayne are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been with a goofy haircut. 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, rope, cinder blocks, and a very deep pond behind the house stocked with hungry gators, 25+ Lb. catfish, Cottonmouth snakes, and large snapping turtles. Do not irritate me.
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your little Jap car with the big coffee car muffler for one of Charlie’s Soviet made choppers coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange affliction 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 behind your head; speak the perimeter password; announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early; return to your car; then slowly back out of the driveway and through the front gate. There is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window will be mine.