Can You Get the Property Brothers the Fuck Out of My House?

Property Brothers

Dear HGTV,

Look, I agreed to be on the Property Brothers’ show Property Brothers because my wife goes fucking apeshit for those guys and I couldn’t tell her no. So Jonathan and Drew Scott found a house and fixed that shit right up for us. I’ll admit they did one hell of a job. This place is dope as fuck and I feel like a goddamn king when I come home. But it’s been three months since they finished shooting, and it is high time for the Property Brothers to get the fuck out of my house.

Every night while I make dinner for my beautiful wife, I have Jonathan Scott standing over my shoulder asking me how I am enjoying the backsplash. Look, I like the backsplash a lot. I think the yellow and white chevron pattern is really modern and hip, and it looks fucking amazing with the carrera marble countertops. But I already told that to this asshole when he showed it to me the first time. I also like the mid-century modern chrome pendant lights above the kitchen island, but having to talk about them every goddamn day makes me feel like I’m in some demented circle of hell.

And you should see the way Drew shows my wife how to set the mood lighting in the dining room every fucking day. I don’t think it’s necessary to stand behind her and manually guide her fingertips in a slow circle around the rotary dial of the dimmer switch. This isn’t Ghost and we all know how to work light switches. No need to condescend to my beautiful wife. Jesus Christ.

I’ll admit that the Property Brothers did an incredible job transforming an underutilized cupboard beneath our stairway into a compact but very useable laundry room. I never thought I’d be the kind of guy who has a separate space dedicated to laundering his shit, but I am and it feels fucking rad. You know what would make it even better? If Jonathan Scott would move his fucking clothing from the washer to the dryer in a timely manner. Last week I got so fed up with this fuckery that I put on my big boy pants and switched a load into the dryer for him. Well apparently I shrunk one of his favorite red plaid work shirts, and you better believe he flipped his shit. He retaliated by carving his likeness into our bannister, which is borderline psychotic if you ask me. That bannister is a unique turn-of-the-century white oak craftsman masterpiece, and I sure as shit didn’t want his fucking dopey-ass face carved into it.

Oh, I have a man-cave now. Cool, right? WRONG. These fucking grown-ass twin men have annexed my subterranean dude den. Every time I go down there to watch the game with my buddies, they’ve beaten me to the punch. But instead of watching the Mets, they’ve got on reruns of Brother vs. Brother, and will not change the goddamn channel for anything. They also insist on keeping Leinenkugel Summer Shandy in the kegerator at all times. That beer fucking sucks. And don’t even get me started on the fucking Fathead posters of themselves they have stuck up on all the walls. Shit is absurd down there so I try to avoid it altogether, except when my beautiful wife asks me to fetch her a frosted mug of the abomination that is Leinenkugel Summer Shandy, which I do only because I love her very much.

My house has three bathrooms. Three. So tell me why I walked in on Drew Scott drawing a bath in our tricked-out ensuite? Upon seeing me, he got defensive and claimed to be checking out the heated floors and freestanding porcelain soaker tub. Well, let me ask you one goddamn question. Don’t you think Drew Scott had ample time to check that shit out during the renovation? I’m pretty sure if you’re just scoping out my master bathroom, you don’t need to be spreading rose petals all over the goddamn heated floors and dropping a Lush bath bomb into our classy af tub. As I’m getting ready to lay into this clown, my beautiful wife comes out of our walk-in closet wearing a tiny ass kimono I’d never seen before. You better believe I had to practically drag Drew out of there to give the poor woman some privacy. The whole thing was unreal. Absolutely un-fucking-real.

So, yeah. I’d appreciate if you shit-for-brains over there at HGTV could send someone over to get the Property Brothers the fuck out of my house. Or at the very least give us a stipend so we don’t have to spend so much goddamn money feeding them. Jonathan is on a new diet and we have to buy him special kinds of grains that are very expensive. If this situation isn’t remedied soon, we will be forced to move out of our baller house. And if it comes to that, you can bet your sweet ass we wanna be on House Hunters.

Sincerely,

Phil Thompson

 

 




Adrienne Teeley

Author: Adrienne Teeley

Adrienne is a writer and comedian living in Chicago. She is half of the writing duo Not Your Mother's Baby.

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