Me: Hey dad, how do you [insert random task or activity]?
Dad: Very carefully.
He's been using this reply on me for fifteen years, since I was six years old. As such, it has become a daily usage for me. My girlfriend hates me for it.
We were going out to hang out with our friends and like usual the mrs was taking her time to get ready to leave.
She came out of the bathroom and told me we were pregnant. My response:
"That's great! Now come on we're late, and so are you."
I personally love it. But she wasn't so thrilled.
That night somebody had broken into his shop and stolen a few very expensive suits, and he wanted the person responsible arrested.
He approached the counter, where the owner of the workshop stood.
"Hi!" she said. "I'm Emmy, how can I help you today?"
"Well, I have this problem, and I saw online that you could help me for cheap." he responded.
"My shop was robbed of some of my most expensive suits tonight, and I want your help catching the perpetrator."
"That's awful, but I am confused as to how I would be of assistance?" she said.
The tailor was silent for a second, noticeably confused.
Before he had a chance to respond she asked,
"What did you see on our website?"
"Well I didn't actually see it on your website, there was actually this ad that intrigued me. It had big bold letters and read:
For a limited time only, click the link to find the cheapest and best deals!!! Emmy's Suit cases - Now 50% off!!!"
I'm feeling really bummed about what happened to my car, and to make matters worse, my insurance called and told me that I'm not a responsible person.
Today, through the typical Christmas conversation,the topic of dogs came up. We were talking about what dogs we like and dogs we've owned. One person goes, "I love my dog, but he's kinda dumb and broken." Naturally I responded with the only logical response. "Maybe you should get him fixed"
I'm still young, but I feel ready to be a dad.
and it showed an artist sketch of a person that had been robbing some local corner stores. The sketch had a dude in a snow cap and sunglasses.
I didn't catch the first half of the story and asked what he was wanted for.
His response..."I guess he was looking kinda shady." and then gave me that little dad joke smile.
The CIA had changed its recruiting practices, what with all the recent leaks and other problems. So Mr. Johnson was more than a little surprised to see a pine tree, which was dressed in a rather nice suit, waiting outside his office when he arrived at 9 am. He asked his secretary, "Gladys, who is this?"
"Mr. Johnson, this is Mr. Cone, our newest hire. He wanted to talk with you about the Honduras assignment."
Mr. Johnson spoke to Mr. Cone in his office. His new pine tree colleague was very knowledgeable and well-spoken, but there was something about him that threw Mr. Johnson off. He tried to dismiss his concerns as imaginary, but it gnawed at him all through the morning. He barely touched his lunch, as some of the things Mr. Cone had said were still swirling around and around in his mind. He was sure something was wrong, so he went in to see the head of their office branch, Mr. Smith.
"Johnson! Come right in, come right in," said Mr. Smith, puffing on a cigar. Mr. Johnson poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and sipped at it nervously.
"You're being rather quiet today, Johnson. Tell me, what's troubling you?"
"It's just this new guy, Mr. Cone," Mr. Johnson said carefully, staring at the bottom of his whiskey glass. "Are we sure we know him as well as we think we do?"
Mr. Smith took only a small puff from his cigar before letting his hand rest back on his desk. "Now really, Johnson," he sighed, "you're a good agent. Your caution has served you well in the past, but paranoia doesn't look so good on you. Mr. Cone has the most impressive resumé I've seen come across my desk in the last fifteen years. I've personally had him vetted by the best men in the business. He's going to be an asset to this office."
That was the response Mr. Johnson had been afraid of getting, but he continued to press his cause. "I understand that, sir. It's just that I'm getting the strangest feeling from this Cone fellow. Don't you think he's a little too perfect? A little too well-qualified?"
Mr. Smith stopped smoking his cigar altogether. A distant look came into his eyes as he mulled over the possibilities. "You don't suppose--"
"Yes," said Mr. Johnson, "I think he's a plant."
Note: I'm a mom, not a dad, but I'm pretty sure I only thought of this because my father-in-law tortures me with these kinds of stories almost constantly.
I just told my dad I don't know what to do with the cantaloupe because it's too much melon for one person, and he responds "those melons have been responsible for hundreds of thousands of dollars being spent on a party for people that cantaloupe."
Like can't elope. My father everyone.
