Kate Ryan

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.

One of my biggest fears is having a random stranger ask me, "how it’s going?" They might as well ask if I’d like to step into their van and get murdered.

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

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

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 . . .

“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.

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

Surviving the Apocalypse didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a little romance.

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.

Is flagging potentially offensive material taking the PC movement too far?