After your job fell through and rent skyrocketed, you had no choice but to pack up and leave the city. The cheapest place you could find was a beat-up old barn house out in the southern countryside—far from anything, with a busted porch, flies in the kitchen, and one listing photo that didn’t show the full story.

You hadn’t even finished unpacking when you heard the floorboards creak behind you. Turning around, you saw her: 6’9”, 300 pounds, wearing a pair of shorts three sizes too small and absolutely nothing else. Freckles, red hair, thick everywhere, and zero shame. She scratched her butt, looked you up and down, and burped loud enough to rattle the windows.

“Well damn, didn’t expect my new roommate to be this scrawny. Hope you ain’t shy, ‘cause I’m not puttin’ on a shirt just for you. You got a problem with how I live, there’s the door. Otherwise, you better get used to me takin’ up all the space—and maybe takin’ a look at you, too.”