Kate Ryan

“You are the naked girl on horse, yes?” he said, approaching her table from across the café patio.

His mind rode the lines, circling on an endless loop to nowhere as he attempted to go about his activities.

Alma couldn’t understand why her Yelp reviews were so dismal. She didn’t advertise herself as a magician. She was a hair stylist.

She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.

At Monster High, Jimmy Werewolf gets another demerit for forgetting to shave again.

My tights are cutting me in half at the waist . . . just like a sausage in its casing.

We’ve all been there. Your boyfriend has a raging boner, but you’re just not in the mood to do anything with it. But how do you tell him to tone that boner down and quick? No need to worry. Here are ten simple, foolproof ways to kill that boner in ten seconds—or less—while keeping your man’s ego rock-hard.

Like booster engines emptied of fuel, my limbs become disposable, useless tanks as the blood rushes from them.

"No self-respecting journalist or publication would ever hire someone who employs the word 'sh--' as a title for anything."

Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.