I would never call my father a stupid man. I would call him many things, and I have, but he's sure as hell not stupid. This does not mean that he is not immensely embarrassing and has the social skills of a ficus tree.
Case in point: Dating advice. My Dad has two employees, both smart, beautiful girls, who look up to him as a father figure since their own father is something of a complete and total toolbox. Unfortunately, they tend to go to him for fatherly advice, and while I love my Dad dearly, I rarely if ever take personal advice from him. Not that this has ever stopped him from giving it.
The older of the sisters recently decided that the guy she met in New York City about a week ago is the man she will marry. On top of the completely preposterous idea that two people can get married without inevitably trying to turn each other into unwilling knife-holders, pretty much every single other part of this sentence is, for lack of a better term, completely and totally shitballs retarded.
My Dad decided to straighten her out with some dating advice. Now, one thing you should know about my Dad is that, much like Halle Berry behind the wheel of a hummer, he tends to start off perfectly well before things go straight to shit. His first piece of advice was never to get involved in a long-distance relationship. Good advice; when even a basic understanding of geography is telling you that you two are not together, that's usually a sign.
Piece of advice number two: Keep an updated list of pros and cons about your man. Okay, maybe a little much, but I can see that helping. Mind you, it might be a little awkward if after sex, I whip out a note book and write "premature ejaculator" under cons, but...Well, that's just the chance you take when you sleep with me.
Piece of advice number three (and bear in mind, this is the point where Dad takes a hard left into What-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about? Land): If you date a guy, don't sleep with him for six weeks. Now, I may be gayer than Christmas morning, but regardless of sexual orientation, I think we can all agree that if the person you're dating is willing to blue ball you for a month and a half, it might be time to find someone new. Christ, I think after four days my ass will literally seal itself shut if my cup doesn't runneth over.
It was at this point that it occurred to me that apparently, my Dad still lived in the Leave It To Beaver era, where teens went on dates to malt shops, people met at sock-hops, and underwear was apparently made of fucking adamantium and welded to your ass. This is 2010! Doesn't he know that everyone meets on Facebook, the average marriage lasts about four months, and at any given moment, Unzipped can and will report on your break-up before you even have a chance to comment? Obviously, there was something wrong with the man.
It was at this point that I noticed Dad's track record. When it comes to Dad's love life, there's apparently nothing he likes more than a blousy alcoholic who works as a waitress. Thus far, every single woman he's dated has fallen into this category (although God be praised, Mom has long since grown out of it), and it does seem to support Dad's overall track record.
Overall, Dad's advice really doesn't make me change my position that dating is a conspiracy made up by straight people to get us to fuck one person forever. If anything, it's convinced me that people who make the conscious decision to date are obviously nucking futs and need to be put on 5150 before they hurt themselves or others. Or before they cock-block someone for a month and a half.