No Way In Hell is My Boyfriend Getting Out Of Apple Picking This Year

There’s no denying it: fall is here! School’s back in session, there’s a crispness in the air, and no way in hell is my boyfriend getting out of apple picking this year.


Jeremy better buckle the fuck up, because I’m not playing around this autumn. If he thinks he’s going to make it to November without painting miniature pumpkins and gourds, he is one sorely mistaken motherfucker.


Last year Jeremy said he was too busy at work to drive upstate to look at the foliage. Well, he’s living in my world now, and we’re taking in the majesty of nature or he can find himself a new motherfucking place to live.



You think I’m joking? You think this is a test? Allow me to open your eyes: if Jeremy doesn’t wake up and smell the mulled cider that we’re bringing to Laura’s harvest potluck, I’ll cancel every sports channel in the goddamn package.


I’m talking ‘bout fucking leaf-crunching hikes in cable-knit sweaters. Talking ‘bout lighting up some fucking Apple Spice and Autumn Leaves Yankee Candles. Talking ‘bout getting up early on a Saturday and bringing home some PUMPKIN MOTHERFUCKING SPICED LATTES, BITCH.


And Halloween? Oh, you know he’s on notice for Halloween. Remember that haunted hayride that Jeremy suddenly developed an allergy to last year? DONE DEAL. My sister Christine’s masquerade party? LOCKED IT DOWN. And if he thinks he’s getting out of a couples’ costume this year, he’s got another thing coming. Katniss and Peeta are a PACKAGE. FUCKING. DEAL.


You think I’m being harsh? You think I’m being cruel? This mofo has got a LOT of making up to do since he said we could dress our shih-tzu up as a baked potato for the Halloween dog parade last year, but was too hungover to make it. Fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice, I’ll smash every window on your car. Do you really want to mess with crazy, motherfucker?


And allow me to clarify a few things we will NOT be doing this fall: we will NOT be watching football every Sunday. We will NOT be drinking any of your shitty pumpkin ale, and I will NOT let you grow your patchy fucking Movember mustache. These piece-of-shit men, they have no idea how to celebrate fall properly. And Jeremy, your facial hair is as patchy as the Raggedy Andy costume you refused to wear last year. That weak shit is only bringing prostate cancer one step closer.


So get ready for one badass fall this year! And if Jeremy can’t handle it, tough shit; I’ll still have plenty of time to find a new man before the holidays.