If I could choose my fantasy son-in-law, I'd choose this guy:
Zac Efron. Oh, Zac Efron. Has anyone ever told you how dreamy you are? I mean, besides your twerpy little girlfriend? Ditch Vanessa. Seriously. Nobody likes her anyway. And now that I think about it, we should really ditch the son-in-law part of your title and acknowledge that you are just my fantasy. Period.
And, so...ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased (oh, not really) to present to you my daughter's fantasy husband. My fantasy (by proxy) son-in-law:
Jeff Hardy. Oh, Jeff Hardy. Has anyone ever told you how creepy looking you are? I mean, without getting pounded into the cement by your fluorescent green Fists o' Fury? Or even your fluorescent pink Fists o' Fury? Is there a set of neon orange Fists o' Fury? I bet there is!! Because you are Just. That. Awesome.
Oh, wait! How did this not occur to me?
Check it: the Rainbow Fists o' Fury! (or, really, the singular Fist)
I'm not quite sure what's going on, but when I was eight years old I was writing love letters to Jon Bon Jovi (Jon, I'm still waiting for a response...ahem!!). But every other 2nd- or 3rd-grader I knew back then was joining the Bon Jovi fan club. Or the New Edition fan club. Or even writing such letters of devotion to one of the Coreys.
...I just don't get it.
Maybe it's his jazz hands.