Kate Ryan

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.

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

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

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.