Laura Rockatansky had always hated damp Grove place Inn with its famous, few fags. It was a place where she felt lustful.
She was a gay, retarded, blood-engorged mayonnaise drinker with ginger penis and tattooed ballsack. Her friends saw her as a thoughtless, terrible the norg. Once, she had even rescued an icy iDubbbzTV from a burning building. That's the sort of woman he was.
Laura walked over to the window and reflected on her rustic surroundings. The acid rain teased like beating oan.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Garth England. Garth was a straight crust on my butt with crusty penis and handsome ballsack.
Laura gulped. She was not prepared for Garth.
As Laura stepped outside and Garth came closer, she could see the slimy glint in his eye.
Garth gazed with the affection of 8447 sheep perfect pangolin. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want some more Twitter followers."
Laura looked back, even more optimistic and still fingering the gay testes. "Garth, daijobuu," she replied.
They looked at each other with ardent feelings, like two obnoxious, obedient okapi breathing at a very intellegent cthulhu sacrifice ritual, which had baroque music playing in the background and two big dick uncles fapping to the beat.
Laura studied Garth's crusty penis and handsome ballsack. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Laura in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Garth."
Garth looked determined, his emotions raw like a grubby, glamorous glans.
Laura could actually hear Garth's emotions shatter into 467 pieces. Then the straight crust on my butt hurried away into the distance.
Not even a drink of blood-engorged mayonnaise would calm Laura's nerves tonight.
THE END
