Kate Ryan

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

The birds abandon their posts in the pepper trees, sending tiny, oblong leaves raining to the ground.

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 . . .

Sheila applied widely and on a whim. She needed a job and she needed one fast.