Kate Ryan

Okay, so maybe she didn’t really understand feminism.

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

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

Hollywood continues to flounder in a dick-sucking frenzy of self-congratulatory white male directors, writers, and producers.

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

The bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

It was a tradition of theirs. When siblings Sue and Johnny went home to their mother’s for Christmas, they watched the 11 o’clock local news.

Everywhere you look these days (on Instagram), beautiful pictures abound. From teacups overflowing with succulents to smoothie bowls arranged as art. All while a lavender-haired model casually eats ice cream in front of a stupidly gorgeous Tahitian sunset. All this endless beauty has become a bit dull.

Light some candles and use those bath salts you've been saving for a special occasion. Masturbate for 55 minutes.

A bloated mother in her polka dot one-piece gnaws on a corndog while reading the romantic pulp she picked up on her way out of the supermarket . . .