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ThErEsA's SiTe
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my dad's rules for dating me
(I took these from a website, but its no longer up, so I would link back to it, but the site doesn't exist anymore)

 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 to big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact come off during the course of you 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 xxx, 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 than 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 is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to introduce 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 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 driveways you should exit the 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.

Q. What do you call 20 blondes in a freezer?
A. Frosted Flakes

Q. What do you call a dumb blonde behind a steering wheel?
A. An airbag.

Q. How can you tell a blonde has had a bad day?
A. She has a tampon tucked under her ear and she can't find her pencil.

Q. How can you tell that a blonde sent you a fax?
A. It has a stamp on it.

Q. How do you drown a blonde?
A. Put a scratch 'n sniff sticker at the bottom of a pool.

Q. Hear about the blonde that bought an AM radio?
A. It took her a month to figure out she could play it at night too.

Q. What did the blonde say when she saw the banana peel on the floor?
A. Oh no, I'm going to fall again!

Q. How can you tell a blonde has used your computer?
A. There is white out on the screen.

A highway patrolman pulled up alongside a speeding car on the freeway. As the officer peered through the driver's window, he was astounded to find that the blonde behind the wheel was knitting. The trooper cranked down his window and yelled to the driver, "Pull over!" at the top of his lungs. "No!" the blonde yelled back, "Scarf!"

A blonde and a brunette are driving down the highway in a convertible. The brunette knows that she's speeding so she asks the blonde if there's a cop behind them. The blonde looks behind her and sees a cop and tells the brunette. The brunette then asks if his he's got his lights on. The blonde replies "Yes...No...Yes...No...Yes...No"

A blonde went to a hair dresser's one day, listening to a walkman. The hair dresser asked her what she wanted, and the blonde replied, "I need to get my hair trimmed, just make sure that you do not take these headphones off." The woman looked at the blonde, surprised, but did as she was told. While she was brushing the blonde's hair, she accidentally bumped the headphones, knocking them to the ground. As she bent down to pick them up, the blonde fell over, onto the floor. The hair dresser was very confused. She picked up the head phones and listened. This is what she heard..."breath in...breath out...breath in...breath out..."!

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A girl from my school named Rebecca was killed on Saturday when a truck ran into her.  She was with her friends walking home form 7-11.  She was 15, in my grade.  She was in my cooking class.  She was in my brownie troop.  I never got to know her.  Now I never will.  Just because some stupid driver cant look before they go.  This is the third person from my school to die this year.  Everyone, please be careful!