Ginny Schkamander had always hated testosterone Skyrim with its miniature, melodic MOUNTAINS. It was a place where she felt despressed. She was an isaichole, shoothead, watre drinker with big nose dingalongs and small toes thumbs. Her friends saw her as a bulbous, black big tiddy goth gf. Once, she had even brought an exuberant todd coward back from the brink of death. That's the sort of woman he was. Ginny walked over to the window and reflected on her cold surroundings. The sunset teased like dominating baby gorillas. Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of John Meat. John was an erect masculin (the fourth evolution of machop) with small dingalong dingalongs and full of testosterone thumbs. Ginny gulped. She was not prepared for John. As Ginny stepped outside and John came closer, she could see the teeny-tiny glint in her eye.
"Look Ginny," growled John, with a full of testosterone glare that reminded Ginny of erect aardwolves. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want a big ol' tasty bite of Ginny's piggy bank. You owe me 6017 US dollars." Ginny looked back, even more glee and still fingering the can't write good endings etch a sketch. "John, I love you no hom-o tho bro i love hot dudes haha no gay here," she replied. They looked at each other with frisky feelings, like two handsome, huge hamsters climbing at a very happy Gucci's 55th aniverasary, which had mumble rap music playing in the background and two tubular uncles pudding to the beat. Suddenly, John lunged forward and tried to punch Ginny in the face. Quickly, Ginny grabbed the can't write good endings etch a sketch and brought it down on John's skull. John's small dingalong dingalongs trembled and her full of testosterone thumbs wobbled. She looked todd howard, her wallet raw like a rough, rotten refrigerator. Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later John Meat was dead. Ginny Schkamander went back inside and made herself a nice drink of watre.