Ah, fall is in the air. Golden leaves, fireplaces, longer nights.

Right about now is when the elements conspire to make you think that your world is possessed with infinite possibilities, that the world doesn't suck so much ass after all. In severe outbreaks of this disease, some victims' natural immunity to psycho-sexual phenomena is compromised to the point that they may be infected by that nasty bacterial condition known as falling in love.

Back in the day I used to be in love with love. I was romance's bitch, and my tongue would often rasp like sandpaper against its jackheeled boot. It would show just enough of itself to pique my interest, and before I knew it I would be slamming it into my veins like heroin. Euphorically misguided in its wake, then puking my fucking guts out when it would inevitably betray me. A brief traumatic interlude, then it's off again to the slaughter—a sickening cycle. Covet, rinse, repeat.

Eventually, the sexy whisper that love once kissed into my ear became a baying cackle, like a hyena laying claim to a carcass whose vitals still steam into the winter air. The once inspiring aria had decayed to something akin to the disembodied voices beckoning from the inky, black night in Blair Witch Project.

That's when I decided I had two choices: either let this foul emotional narcotic bleed me until I'm dead, or get it before it got me. You're pretty smart, you read the title, so let me tell you how you too can wrestle this hoary beast to the ground and make it beg for mercy which you shan't afford it.

Obviously, the first thing you have to be capable of is spotting this crafty devil before it can wreak havoc on your psyche/soul. Typical signs include complete lack of perspective upon time, space and reality, usually when in contact with The Bait (love's occasionally unwitting, occasionally malevolent talisman).

This is followed by the sucking ache that accompanies his/her absence. The urge to spend time doing something other than fucking is also a dangerous symptom, if all you wanna do is watch this person cum screaming and squirming like John Hurt in Alien, and go back to your regularly scheduled programming, relax. You're just in lust, with which you should still be on sterling terms.

Okay, so you're thinking of this pawn of Dark Forces every time you hear a song with even the slightest morsel of emotional depth—what do you do? Don't panic—this seems a lot harder than it actually is. All you have to do is alienate this future asshole beyond the ability to tolerate you!

That's right, you know eventually the sound of this person's voice is gonna be like a thousand car alarms going off at once in your head! Why not just face up to this fact right at the start? Or better yet, fuck the shit out of him/her, get him/her to yelp "I'm your bitch!" as bodily fluids erupt all over you. Then pretend it never happened! This'll make love bash its ugly head against a wall in hopeless frustration—just like it made you do!

Now you've got this four-letter abomination on the run. Don't let it escape. Pursue it doggedly. Then, once it's in range… pounce! Grab it by its soft, viscous throat and squeeze that little bastard 'til its doing the fish. Don't be afraid: remember all the times that romance made you sit in the dark, listening to The Wall and feeling like you were swallowing peach pits as you questioned your own self-worth.

Once you've strangled the life out of this gushy gremlin, don't forget to bury it deep below the earth's crust, lest it twitch back to horrible life. Now, do you feel that sensation in your chest? That's not a rock in your chest, that's your heart! Doesn't it feel great? Thrill to the rush as others' attempts at emotional connection bounce off of you like flubber! Listen to the echo of your own voice as it sounds throughout the cavern that used to be love's killing field! It's so much more placid than chaos and turmoil, right? You betcha! Now go out, enjoy autumn and kick this rotten, stinking, ass-sucking world in the nuts!