Kate Ryan

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

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

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

She knows you’re not supposed to call it an “it,” but she honestly can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl or . . . undecided.

She got too high while watching The Bachelor and had a misanthropic breakdown.

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

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

Motherhood is easily the toughest, most sacred job on earth. Without moms, the human race simply wouldn’t be here. But personally, I’d rather dangle myself from dental floss over a volcano full of spiders than push another human being out of my body.

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

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.