Rules to follow when you come to my house for dinner.
|"8 Simple Rules... to Follow When Having Dinner with My Psychotic Parents"
I've been asked constantly by friends and other people, "Is this the way it always is?" when they come over to my house for dinner. The answer is "yes", I am sad to say. But in my defense, my parents are psychotic. There is not too much to say or how to explain an evening at my house because not one soul can bravely say from experience. These old fogies of mine and their dinners at three o' clock in the afternoon have been able to dictate their way to power in the household like Fidel Castro has risen to power in Cuba.
The only sheer warning that I can give any of you if and when you ever come to dinner is to follow these eight, but simple, rules.
Rule One: If you eat the last piece of cake, then you'd better be a starving third world country immigrant.
Rule Two: We all know that everyone has jokes thrown at him or her sometimes, but if you do it with my parents, expect hell for the rest of your puny little lives.
Rule Three: Do not even bother coming up to the door if you're not looking in the least bit respectable. This includes rags for clothes, chains, weird piercings, the Sistine Chapel on your body, Gothic pants with those clanking chains, any type of exotic or poisonous animal wrapped around your neck, or Daisy Duke shorts that you decide to wear in a fat and ghastly manner.
Rule Four: If my parents don't like you, then they will tell you up front and then ramble on about it for days. Don't take this as an insult, but as a compliment. They do not like anyone.
Rule Five: If you overstay your welcome, then you will be told so, and then you will be aversively thrown out. I hope you don't mind the burn on your ass from the concrete.
Rule Six: The bathroom is for toilet using only, and please don't occupy most of your time in there with a lot of grunts and groans. If there are any oddly scented smells coming from the room, then you will never be permitted to use the bathroom ever again. And if you ever have to go in the future, then there's a bucket outside with your name on it. Also, the hand towels are for show only. When you wash your hands, you're only permitted to use your shirt - or your hands will be disposed of with a meat cleaver.
Rule Seven: You seem like a reasonably intelligent person. Please act that way. If you say something that makes you look like a pompous imbecile or a complete dumbass, then you will be given the stare of complete disgrace, and then be lectured on why you're the way you are: a complete pompous dumbass. Please act accordingly.
Rule Eight: Our house is not your house. Please do not try to make yourself at home; it'll just make things akward. When in the house, you will not go through the refridgerator, sit on anything softer than a wooden stool, watch television of any kind, listen to music, or even talk in volume that is louder than a whisper. You are to answer each question with "yes" or "no", and you wil listen intently and nod as if you understand to the long and grueling lectures my father will throw your way. And please, never call him 'sir'.
I swear that there could be at least another thirty rules, but I'm not going to get into those details. But those eight are the main and most important of all rules that are around. Please do whatever it takes to keep these in mind. The best way is to write these on the back of your hand, or at least memorize them and be able to repeat all of them verbatim. They're not hard, and certainly not that long. It should only take a couple of hours.
The best advice, other than the rules, that I can give you is this: stay the hell away from my home all together and go to a movie instead. It'll be cheaper and less gory than a night in my house.
"Are your parents always like this?" people ask.
"Yes, they certainly are... because they are completely psychotic."
Look, here they come now. Run you stupid bastard.