Kate Ryan

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

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

She gropes for attention while he dies in the other room.

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.

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

I saw my old babysitter at a women’s wrestling cage match.

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.

He died a violent death. I saw him myself, flopping between wooden blades, his head bent back strangely.

The Gap come autumn: where normcore and film noir cleverly collide.

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