Kate Ryan

You could take this easy, informative quiz to find out with whom you side on important legislative issues and social policies. Or you could go my route and pick your candidate based on what dinosaur they resemble.

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

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

Someone would always cook in their tighty whities, his package at eye level for the person doing French homework at the kitchen table.

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

She doesn’t know how to communicate the feeling that all is for nothing, nothing is normal.

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

Everyone wants to have the funny tweets because people equate them with wealth, power, and beauty. The problem is, we’re not all funny.

We all love our dogs. However, some of us take it a little too far, convincing ourselves that our dogs are actually our children. You call your dog your “baby” one day, and the next thing you know, you’re pushing him or her down the street in an expensive stroller. How did we get here? Trust me, it’s a slippery slope. Here are 12 signs you might have a dog-child.

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.