Listen up, buttercup. I am a firm believer in the principles of God, country, and family. In that order. So if you’re going to ask for my beautiful daughter’s hand in marriage, you better not disrespect any of ’em while doing it. So get up off your knees and propose to my daughter like a patriot: standing on two feet and saluting a custom American flag with 50 little crosses instead of stars.
Now when my gorgeous little girl brought you home, you were polite to me. You even brought our family a gift basket with assorted maple syrups. That was two strikes right off the bat. However, I’m willing to overlook all of this weakness if you propose like a man. Not like some wimp who gets on their knees and shows humility. I want you standing as straight as God made all of us, with you hand over your heart. Preferably while holding a baseball cap that you took off the moment I started playing the Star-Spangled Banner on a boombox from across the candlelit walkway you set up for my sweet, sweet princess. Only then will you have earned my, God’s, and President Trump’s approval to marry the most important woman in my life.
This country—specifically us men—gave these fine girls the right to vote. They have a right to choose who to vote for just like I have a right to choose whom she is allowed to marry. And God forbid that man be some skinny jean wearing, Molson Ice drinking, cuck who bends over to propose. If you want to be a part of this red-blooded American family you better kneel for the cross, stand for my daughter, and grab her by the pussy.
Is that clear? Good. You have my approval. Welcome to the family, Colin Kaepernick.