Listen up numbnuts, I know you’re interested in my daughter but there’s something standing in the way of that becoming a reality: me. If you want to go out with her you’re going to have to get past me first and I’m standing here in the driveway because my wife won’t let me back into the house. Whether or not I get back into the house is all on you, bud.

I don’t know if they teach conflict resolution in that school of yours these days, but I sure could use some relationship advice, and given how often you’re talking to my daughter on the phone, maybe your punk ass could show me how to talk to a woman, that is if you’re not too much of a bitch.

I will do anything to protect my daughter from the roving hoards of eager drooling peckerheads who want to take her innocence, but it’s harder to do so when I’m not allowed in my own house. That’s where you come in. My daughter seems to never be mad at you for things like buying a boat or putting the kids’ college money into an NFT and that’s because a young doofus like you doesn’t go for the big scores, which is ultimately why you’re not good enough for my flesh and blood.

But back to the matter at hand: if you want to take my daughter to the Dairy Queen this evening just know that there is not a chance in hell of that happening until you can get my wife to at least come to the screen door just to hear what I have to say. If your video game-addled pea brain can make that happen, then you’re free to go enjoy a peanut buster parfait together, but if you take her to inspiration point or whatever afterward just know that I will be there with a crowbar once I get access to our garage again.

You’re not the first little shit to show up here, wanting to get close to my firstborn while pretending to be nice. Is that what it takes to get my wife to speak to me again? I can pretend to be nice. Can you act like you do when you talk to my daughter to me? Why don’t we just go to the Dairy Queen and I’ll be her and you be you and if it’s okay with your scrawny ass, I’ll take some notes. I’ll buy and then if it works when we get back you have my permission to take her to the movies, provided you sit at least a row apart and see something like The Father.

Look, I was a teenage boy once too and I know what’s on your mind but so help me if you think my daughter is that kind of girl I will come down on you so hard that you’ll think I’m the ground I’ve been sleeping on for the last two weeks in my backyard because my buddy Carl let me borrow his tent so I can at least stay on my own property.

My little angel was still playing with Barbie dolls what seemed like two weeks ago so you’ll excuse me if I’m not eager to let her go gallivanting around with some dipshit like you who looks like they do drugs or something. But if you run across any SSRIs in your dealings, maybe put a couple aside for me because having to climb into the window to use my own bathroom while my wife is at the grocery store is taking its toll on my psyche.

I came into this world to do two things: protect my daughter and chew bubblegum and I’m all out of bubblegum because I keep it in my top dresser drawer and…you know the rest. Just talk to her, man. She likes you and says how polite you are when you come over. Don’t get me wrong, she’s wrong about that and I will kick your ass if you think about touching my little princess, but I’d really appreciate it if you could just broach the subject of us having a five-minute sit down with no preconditions or anything. Just talking.

Thanks a lot, man I really appreciate it and if you don’t have my daughter back here at 10:00 on the dot I will shove this can of beans I’m cooking over an open fire so far up your ass.


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