Smile a While!

An Aussie walks into a pub and takes a seat next to a very attractive woman.
He gives her a quick glance then  casually looks at his watch for a moment.
The woman notices this and asks, ‘Is your date running late?’
‘No’, he replies,’I just got this state-of-the-art watch, and I was just testing it..’
The intrigued woman says, ‘a state-of-the-art watch?
”What’s so special about it?’
The Aussie explains, ‘It uses alpha  waves to talk to me telepathically.’
The lady says, ‘What’s it telling you now?’
Well, it says you’re not wearing any panties.’
The woman giggles and replies  ‘Well it must be broken because I am wearing panties!’
The Aussie smiles, taps his watch and says,’ Bloody thing’s an hour fast!’

You Don’t Stop Laughing Because  You Grow Old……You Grow Old  Because You Stop Laughing

A widowed Jewish lady, still in good  shape, was sunbathing on a mostly  deserted beach at Ft. Meyers, Florida.
She looked up and noticed that a man her age,  also in good shape, had walked up, placed his
blanket on the sand near hers and began reading a book.
Smiling, she attempted to strike up  a conversation with him. “How are you today?”
“Fine, thank you,”  he responded and turned back to his book.
“I love the beach. Do you come here often?”  she asked.
“First time since my wife passed away 2 years ago,”  he replied and turned back to his book.
“I’m sorry to hear that. My husband passed  away three years ago and it is very lonely,”
she countered. “Do you live around here?”
“Yes, I live over in Cape Coral,” he answered,  and again he resumed reading.
Trying to find a topic of common interest,  she persisted, “Do you like pussy cats?”
With that, the man dropped his book, came over  to her blanket, tore off her swimsuit and gave
her the most passionate lovemaking of her life.
When the cloud of sand began to settle,  she gasped and asked the man,
“How did you know that was what I wanted?”
The man replied,  “How did you know my name was Katz?”

The telephone bill was exceptionally high and the man of the house called a family meeting…
Dad: People this is unacceptable. You have to limit the use
of the phone. I do not use this phone, I use the one at the office.
Mom: Same here, I don’thardly use this home telephone, I use my work
telephone.  Son: Me too, I never use the home phone. I always use my company mobile phone.
Now all eyes were on the maid, waiting for her response…
Maid: So manje yintoni ingxaki apha? ( So what is the problem here?) We all use our work telephones

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The Ghost of Uniondale

She is probably South Africa’s most well known highway ghost.

On our recent vacation, we passed through Uniondale and we were told the following story, the inhabitants swear it is true:

The story starts on the evening of 12th April 1968 when a recently engaged couple, Maria Roux and G.M. Pretorius were travelling from Graaf Reinet to Riversdal.  They however never made their destination , Pretorius lost control of the vehicle just outside Uniondale and they were involved in a horrible accident. Pretorius was injured and when the wreck was found by a local farmer the next morning Maria was dead.

A few years later, in 1976 motorists started seeing a woman in white alongside the road where the accident took place. Some motorists picked her up, minutes later they would hear a shrill laugh , the sound of a door closing and an icy chill would be felt inside the car. This became known as the ghost of Maria Roux.  It is also said that the local police department kept some sugar water available to calm tourists who came in to report seeing a ghost.

The story further goes that Pretorius got married a year after the tragic accident and that is why Maria became restless, the fact that her fiancé had found love in the arms of another woman.

When Pretorius himself died in a car accident in 1984, Maria stopped appearing, she was at peace at last.

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The Legend of Savuri and the Rain Bull

There was drought upon the land. The clouds that carried the rain sailed high above, not seeming to notice the suffering of Africa. No fruits, no fodder and hardly anything to drink.

But then came a day that the rain sniffed at the scents of the earth and he sensed the enticing fragrance of a young woman, Savuri. He looked down on her. Savuri’s skin looked like shining wet rock, her hair was as dark as dew-moist berries and the rain desired her. So the rain made himself in the shape of a bull, though he had the thoughts of a man. On the shaft of lightning, the great Rain Bull came down from the sky and he trod the earth like rippling thunder. He stood by the low hut where the young woman slept, and the place became misty with his breath like cloud heavy with moisture. The sweet smell of rain filled the hut and Savuri woke. She watched as the Rain Bull laid his ears back, lowered his lashing tail and bent his forelegs to kneel before her. She gathered up her kaross, made of the soft skins and covered herself with it, tying it around her body. Savuri could smell the Bull’s sweat of desire.

Legend of the Rainbull, featured on a South African stamp

The Rain Bull stamped his hoof and the earth rumbled with thunder. He wanted to take Savuri away, his eyes were dark and clouded. Somewhere, behind the bull’s shape and the man’s mind, she caught the sweet smell of rain – and Savuri knew that any hope of rain must be welcomed with love, she smiled and climbed up on his back. The Rain Bull trotted away and the sound of his hooves was like rain pattering on dry ground. Across the field he went with her, trotting, trotting, trotting towards the far distant mountains where the rain comes from. As the rain fell lightly on the thirsty earth, life-giving rain that filled up the empty waterholes, Savuri’s people admired her. She had not angered the Rain Bull when he was a man, but she had given herself to him and for the hope of rain.

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Historical Recipes

The following recipes were named after South African historical events and people and should be preserved for future generations as part of our Heritage. If anyone can add to this list or comment on the origin of the recipes, I will gladly add your comments to this page….
This part of the site started as a result of a request for Nasionale Pudding, and after some searching came across these gems…
Our Generals seemed to have loved their food, I see a lot of them have cakes or cookies named after them:-)

Nasionale Poeding
Depressie Poeding
Afrikanerbond Poeding
Paul Kruger Cake
President Steyn Cake
Outydse Stormjaers
General Smuts Cookies
Hertzog Cookies
Oorlog-poeding (War Pudding)
Queen Mary Pudding
Botha Pudding
Voortrekker Pudding
De Preez Speculaas
Jan Smuts (Dessert)

Nasionale Poeding (National Pudding)
Not sure where the name originated from, probably from the national festivals we used to celebrate…

2 cups cake flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 eggs
1 tablespoon butter

Sift flour and baking powder and rub butter in.. Mix with well beaten egg and a little water. Roll out and spread apricot jam on, then roll up again.

Syrup – make with

2 cups sugar
3 cups boiling water
1 dessertspoon butter
1 teaspoon flavoring

Pour syrup in long ovenproof dish, place dough in and bake for 1 hour at 350ºF
Depressie Poeding (Depression Pudding)
I seem to remember reading of the Great Depression way back in 1918?? The historians can correct me, please.

25ml butter
30ml apricot jam
62.5ml sugar
10ml bicarbonate of soda
25ml vinegar
300g cake flour
2ml salt
375ml milk

Melt butter and place with apricot jam and sugar in mixing bowl and mix well. Dissolve bicarb of soda in vinegar and add to butter mixture. Mix well. Sift dry ingredients together well and add to mixture, alternating with adding milk and mix well. Ladle into greased ovenproof dish with prepared syrup (below). Bake at 180ºC till golden brown and done.

1.25 litre water
300g brown sugar
2ml ground cinnamon

Heat all ingredients together over low heat till sugar is dissolved. Boil for 5 minutes and cool.
Afrikanerbond Poeding (can anyone help with translation and some background?)

50ml soft butter
200g sugar
1 egg
240g cake flour
10ml baking powder
2.5ml salt
250ml milk
5 ml vanilla essence

Mix butter and sugar well. Add egg and mix. Sift dry ingredients together and add to butter mixture, alternating with milk. Mix well. Add vanilla essence. Ladle into greased ringform and bake for 45-50 minutes at 190ºC. Serve with wine sauce, custard or cream.
Paul Kruger Cake
Possibly a favourite of Oom Paul?
Ingredients can be halved and be sufficient for two cake pans.

500g butter
500g brown sugar
10 eggs, separated
750g cake flour
5ml bicarbonate of soda
5ml salt
5ml ground cinnamon
8ml mace of nutmeg
5ml mixed spices
300ml brandy
2ml almond flavoring
500g currants
250g mixed peel

Mix butter and sugar till light and creamy. Add egg yolks separately and mix well after each addition. Sift dry ingredients together twice. Add almond flavoring to brandy and add dry ingredients to butter mixture alternating with brandy. Shake currants and peel together with some flour in a plastic bag and add to mixture. Mix well. Ladle into two lined, round, 250mm cake pans , and sprinkle some milk on the top to prevent cracking of the crust. Bake for 2 1/2 hours at 180ºC. Place a round piece of brown paper on top of each cake after 1 hour.
President Steyn Cake
OK, so why was this named after him? Does anyone know?

240g butter
180g castor sugar
3 eggs, separated
30g flaked almonds
30g candied orange peel
120g sultanas
120g seedless raisins
5ml baking powder
240g cake flour
pinch of salt

1 eggwhite
62.5ml sugar
pinch of salt
1ml almond flavoring
40g coconut
75g flaked almonds

Whisk eggwhite till stiff, add sugar , salt and flavoring gradually. Fold in coconut and almonds.
Mix butter and castor sugar till creamy. Beat egg yolks well. Add to butter mixture and mix well. Whisk egg whites till stiff and set aside. Mix almonds, peel, sultanas and raisins and set aside. Sift together dry in gredients and add to butter mixture. Add the fruit and mix well. Fold in the egg whites and mix. Ladle half the batter into a greased, round, 250mm cake pan. Spread meringue layer on top and add the rest of the batter. Bake at 190ºC for about 75 minutes.
Outydse Stormjaers (Stormtroopers)
Variation on vetkoek, originally deep fried in fat.
Possibly originating from the Anglo-Boer wars round 1900..

300g cake flour
15ml baking powder
5ml salt
5ml fine ginger
3 eggs
200g brown sugar
375ml milk or curdled milk
300g seedless raisins
5ml vanilla essence
oil for deep frying
100g brown sugar mixed with 10ml cinnamon

Sift cake flour, baking powder, salt and ginger together and set aside. Whisk eggs with 200g sugar, add milk and whisk again. Add dry ingredients gradually and mix well. Add raisins and flavoring. Ladle spoonfulls of the batter into heated oil and deep fry. Drain well and sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar mixture. Can be served warm or cold.
General Smuts Cookies

360g cake flour
10ml baking powder
pinch of salt
250g butter
2 eggs
smooth apricot jam

Upper layer
50ml butter
50ml sugar
2 eggs, beaten
50ml cake flour
5ml baking powder
50g dessicated coconut

Sift cake flour, baking powder and salt together well. Rub in butter with fingers till mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Add the beaten eggs. Mix till stiff dough. Roll the dough out to 5 mm thick on a floured surface and cut into rounds with a pastry cutter. Line greased patty tins with the rounds of pastry. Put some apricot jam in each.
Prepare the upper layer. Beat butter and sugar till creamy. Add beaten eggs ans mix, sift cake flour and baking powder together and add with coconut to egg mixture, mixing continuously. Ladle spoonsful of the mixture on top of the apricot jam and bake in preheated oven at 180ºC for 20-25 minutes.
Hertzog Cookies
It is said that General Hertzog was so fond of these cookies that they were given his name.
(Makes 60)

500 g self raising flour
50 ml (4 tbs) sugar
25 ml (2 tbs) margarine
3 egg yolks milk or water
5 ml vanilla essence
1 ml (¼ tsp) salt

Apricot jam
3 egg whites, stiffly beaten
250 ml (1 cup) sugar
500 ml (2 cups) desiccated coconut

1. Cream the margarine and sugar in a bowl until light and creamy.
2. Stir in the egg yolks and vanilla essence, blending well.
3. Sift the flour and salt into the mixture, blending well, then stir in a little milk or water to form a fairly stiff dough.
4. Roll the dough out to 5 mm thick on a floured surface and cut into rounds with a pastry cutter. Line greased patty tins with the rounds of pastry.
5. Make the filling. Gradually add the sugar to the beaten egg whites, beating well to blend.
6. Fold in the coconut and mix well.
7. Place a little apricot jam in the centre of the rounds in the patties and spoon some of the coconut mixture over the jam.
8. Bake in the oven at 200°C (400°F) until the pastry is lightly golden, about 15 minutes. Cook slightly in the patty tin, then cool completely on a wire rack.
Oorlog-poeding (War Pudding)
Originated during the First World War

30ml tapioca
250ml milk
5ml bicarbonate of soda
62.5ml water
500ml bread crumbs
200g sugar
150g dates or raisins
15ml butter

Soak tapioca overnight in milk. Mix bicarbonate of soda with water and add all ingredients together, then pour into a greased ovenproof dish. Bake at 180ºC about 30-45 minutes. Serve with custard.
Queen Mary Pudding
When South Africa was part of the British Empire and George V reigned, this pudding was named after his wife, Queen Mary.

125g butter
250g cake flour
60ml golden syrup
2 eggs, beaten
60ml milk
5ml baking powder
1ml salt

Rub butter into flour. Add syrup, eggs and milk and then baking powder and salt. Beat mixture for a few minutes. Grease a dish and pour mixture in, steam for 55 minutes. Serve with golden syrup.
The following 3 recipes were kindly sent to me by Sarah Fulguirinas, all the way from New Zealand!

Botha Pudding

2 cups flour
4 ozs butter
1 cup sugar
4 eggs
1/4 teaspoon bi-carbonate of soda or baking powder
1/2 lb seeded raisins
strips of citron peel (orange peel)

Beat sugar and butter thoroughly to a cream, then gradually add flour,
sifted with soda and salt, alternately with well-beaten eggs and a
little milk, if necessary. Lastly, add chopped raisins, pour into a
well-greased mould that has been decorated with strips of citron peel.
Steam for 3 hours and serve with a Sweet White Sauce or custard.
Important warning. At high altitudes all measures must be level,
particularly the Baking powder while at sea level the measures must be
slightly rounded or an extra teaspoonful used otherwise the cake will be heavy and of a close texture, owing to the “high pressure” In another book it says use half as much baking powder as it calls form at sea level viz 2 teaspoons baking powder should be 3 at sea level.
Voortrekker Pudding

1/2lb margarine
2 eggs
4 tablespoons Apricot Jam
2 cups flour
1 cup milk
2 teaspoons Baking Powder
2 cups sugar
3 cups boiling water
2 teaspoons ground ginger
2 teaspoons bicarbonate of soda

Place sugar in deep (baking) pan, add boiling water and stir
until sugar is dissolved. Cream margarine and jam, add flour, baking
powder and ginger (sifted together) alternatively with beaten eggs.
Lastly add bicarbonate of soda dissolved in a little milk. Add last of
milk. Place spoonfuls of the mixture in the syrup. Bake in a moderate
oven (375 degrees Fahrenheit) until dark brown. This is a self-saucing
pudding but if wish can serve with custard or cream.
De Preez Speculaas

2lb flour
1 and 1/2 lb yellow (brown) sugar
1lb butter
1/2 lb chopped almonds
2 eggs
1 dessertspoon soda (bicarbonate or baking soda
1 teaspoon cloves
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon mixed spice
3/4 cup port wine
2 teaspoons salt

Rub butter into flour with the finger tips until fine like breadcrumbs,
add the rest of the dry ingredients excepting soda, and mix well. Make
a hollow in the centre, pour in the wine mixed with soda. Form into a
smooth dough and leave overnight in a cool place, then roll out and cut
into shapes. Bake about 20 minutes in a moderate oven of
350 degrees F.
JAN SMUTS (Dessert) Submitted by Valda

Jan Smuts, dining with my grandfather, enjoyed this dessert so much that he insisted on personally extending his compliments to the cook, who thereafter named it “Jan Smuts”.

1 tin (410g) evaporated milk
1 cup (250 ml) orange juice
125ml sugar adjusted to taste
3 tablespoons gelatine powder
1 tablespoon hot water

Dissolve gelatine in hot water and mix carefully with orange juice. Whip up evaporated milk until light and fluffy. Slowly add orange juice mixture. Refrigerate for at least two hours until set.

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Letter from Zimbabwe

Dear Family and Friends,

After a fortnight away you return to Zimbabwe and instantly know you are home: you can feel it in your heart, sense it in your soul, breathe it into your lungs, see it with your own eyes. It’s not just the beautiful blue sky, hot sun and stunning landscapes but much more than that, it’s the people: children straggling home from school along the highways, waving as you drive by; women sitting on the roadsides selling veggies and bowls of wild fruits; hundreds of people along all the pavements selling everything they can think of in order to make a living. Yes, there are the negatives too and as ugly as they are, they have also become the face of home, the face of Zimbabwe in

2016 and for many years before today: hundreds of people queuing outside every bank in every town to try and withdraw their own money; endless police stops, many with their intimidation and determination to extract a few dollars from you; derelict, unproductive seized farms; endless kilometers of missing roadside fences leaving cattle, goats and donkeys straying onto the highways; dumped litter everywhere, on the roadsides, around the towns, in the suburbs; closed factories, crumbling industrial areas with rusting fences and weeds growing through concrete.

Before long it is your civic duty as a Zimbabwean to again catch up on the news about what’s been happening while you were away: the incessant political positioning and posturing, finger pointing, accusations and stories of corruption. There has been more brutality at attempted demonstrations, more arrests, and just more, more, more of the same. It’ almost too much to bear, too shocking, embarrassing, disgraceful to follow but then you find the hidden gem, the light in the darkness. This week it came from 28 year old Zimbabwean Nyasha Musandu.

In a superb article after her arrest in Harare for sitting in a park with nine others in peaceful protest against the introduction of Bond notes in Zimbabwe, Nyasha Musundu uses one simple phrase that leaves you unable to sleep at night as you wrestle with your own conscience about your place and your role in the 17th year of Zimbabwe’s crisis. Musandu says: “I am You.” Musandu’s article is posted in full on social media sites but these extracts bear repetition:

“Despite earlier reports that activists… had been abducted and tortured during the night, … we decided to be accountable to each other.”

“We …decided that sitting peacefully in the park, in solidarity, was the very least we could do to exercise our constitutional right and to register our dissatisfaction with a policy of government.”

“We held on to the belief that if we could be the example of the Zimbabwe we want to create, then that would be a victory…”

“I am merely a concerned citizen, who looks up and sees a country being deprived of the promises it was made at the dawn of independence.”

“I am a citizen who wants the opportunity to work hard, buy a home and also create opportunities for my future children. I want an equal playing field that allows me to thrive within my own country….”

“I wanted to lead by example and face fear. I wanted to be a living example of kusatya (being unafraid). I wanted to reassure myself that if a few people stand up for what is right, eventually we can all stand together. I wanted to get home and feel I had played my part in nation building.”

“I am someone’s daughter… I am someone’s sister… I am someone’s girlfriend, friend and associate. I am you . . . a mere citizen of Zimbabwe.”

“We don’t want to be something special, we don’t want to be heroes, we just want to be the change we want to see in the world….if we really want change, we all have to do better. ALL OF US.”

Nyasha Musandu, a 28 year old Zimbabwean, born eight years after Zimbabwe’s Independence, ended her article with the words: “ I stood up to Goliath. What are you doing?…” A damning question that leaves us searching our souls and questioning if we are being accountable and empathetic to each other through this nightmare or simply floating in a bubble. I salute you Nyasha Musandu and as we struggle in our own ways to strive for a new Zimbabwe and not be broken in the process , it helps to remember the words of Michelle

Obama: ”When they go low we go high.”

Until next time, thanks for reading, love cathy. 25th November 2016 Copyright   Cathy Buckle. <>

For information on my new book, “RUNDI,” about hand rearing baby elephants in the mid 1980’s , or my other books about life in


“AFRICAN TEARS”, “BEYOND TEARS” and “IMIRE,” or to subscribe/unsubscribe to this letter, please visit my website or contact <> . (To see pictures of images described in this and other letters go


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A Mom’s Reply to “Rules for Dating my Daughter”

Lisa R. Petty – Blogger at (Petty Thoughts), Mom, Wife, and all around awkward cat lady
Normally, I flip through the interwebs casually and inattentively. I read headlines, glance at cat pictures, and roll my eyes at religious and political stuff. Every so often, I see a popular meme that irritates me so much that it jars me from my semi-conscious social media induced zombie state. I know you have probably seen this one, too. It’s everywhere. It’s even on t-shirts. As you can probably tell from looking at the title, it’s the Rules for Dating my Daughter meme that irritates the pacifist right out of me.
Why would this irritate me? It’s funny, right? WRONG. It’s not funny when you have a son. Not one bit. It’s not funny when someone assumes your Star Wars watching, animal loving boy is a threat to anyone. So, Mr. Macho Rules for Dating my Daughter, I’ve got some feedback for you and your silly little rule list.
Get a job.
Why? Are you counting on my son to pay your bills while you sit around, pull the bedbugs out of your navel, and write stupid ass rules for dating your daughter? School is his job right now. Obviously, it was never your focus.
Understand I don’t like you.
Understand he probably doesn’t care. Also, understand your snotty little princess might get on my last nerve.
I am everywhere.
That’s an odd statement. Are you on any psychiatric drugs or did you fail basic physics in school? While you are floating around EVERYWHERE, can you tell your daughter to stop leaving hickies on my son?
You hurt her, I hurt you.
First of all, that is a comma splice. You would have learned fancy writing skills in school. Also, DO NOT threaten my son. If you hurt him, I can promise that you will never know what hit you. I will fly at you with some Lifetime movie level shenanigans like the Wicked Witch of the West on meth riding a Dyson.
Be home 30 minutes early.
Then tell BOTH of them to be home 30 minutes earlier than you originally said. Don’t play games. Just give a damn time.
Get a lawyer.
Why does my son need legal representation? Is dating your daughter is a crime because she is such a special princess? Screw off.
If you lie to me, I will find out.
How? Did Harry Potter mind reading skills come with your “I am everywhere” starter kit?
She is my princess, not your conquest.
I didn’t know princesses traded in their crowns and gowns for shorts that show their gender. My son generally wears pants that cover his genitals. Who is the conquest, again?
I don’t mind going back to jail.
Really? Is it the food or your big, burly lover that you miss most? I also have to say the fact that you WERE in jail is not shocking.
Whatever you do to her, I will do to you.
So, you will buy him jewelry for Christmas? You will take him to the movies every week, and out for ice cream, too? You will hold him when he cries during sad movies. You’ll get him ibuprofen and a heating pad when he has cramps? I think you need to think this one through a little.
Really, I’m not sure why any of these “rules” bother me. They were obviously written by a “man” who sits on his porch, polishes his gun, and spits tobacco juice into a Mountain Dew can. In other words, he’s a walking stereotype not a real person.
Hey, I’ve got an idea, Mr. Rules. You could maybe get to know my son as a person rather than an imaginary threat. In return, I will stop rolling my eyes whenever your daughter complains of being cold in her denim bikini bottoms and tank top. Deal?
Lisa R. Petty is a former stand-up comedian who decided she would rather just write funny stuff than deal with drunk people touching her after shows. When she is not cracking inappropriate jokes, Lisa is an online English professor. You can read more of her snarkasm on Petty Thoughts.

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10 Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter

10 Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter

by jonah jones / September 13, 2009 5:50 AM PDT

Copyright 1998 W. Bruce Cameron
Please do not remove the copyright from this essay

When I was in high school I used to be terrified of my girlfriend’s father, who I believe suspected me of wanting to place my hands on his daughter’s chest. He would open the door and immediately affect a good-naturedly murderous expression, holding out a handshake that, when gripped, felt like it could squeeze carbon into diamonds.

Now, years later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how unfairly persecuted I felt when I would pick up my dates, I do my best to make my daughter’s suitors feel even worse. My motto: wilt them in the living room and they’ll stay wilted all night.

So, I’ll call out jovially. I see you have your nose pierced. Is that because you’re stupid, or did you merely want to APPEAR stupid??

As a dad, I have some basic rules, which I have carved into two stone tablets that I have on display in my living room.
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:
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 so help you God. 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 outside of 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.

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