I've never been a fan of meeting chicks' dads. Not for the usual reasons. As a man myself, I can sympathize with a father who has to deal with another set of testicles encroaching on his castle with every intention of banging his little princess. Denying that simple fact is as misguided as thinking a dog balances a treat on its nose to impress you with its agility and extraordinary willpower.
My true worry lies in the family resemblance. Nothing kills my will to mount and hump faster than a father who looks like a girl I thought was attractive before I met him. Facial structure, mannerisms, and speech patterns are all eligible for a quick case of BONER-B-GONE. It's this effect that made it impossible for me to masturbate to any Janet Jackson videos. No amount of sit-ups or simulated sexual gyrations could wipe clean the memory of her brother. A bad camera angle or a stray thought could default me into technically beating off while thinking of a dude, and I avoided the situation altogether.
Like Janet said: That's the way love goes...
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