Kate Ryan

I would send some chocolates, but I’m not allowed anymore since they found the shiv in the birthday cake I sent you.

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

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

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

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 thought I was mad, but in an artistic way; I thought he was horny all the time, but in an artistic way.

Is flagging potentially offensive material taking the PC movement too far?

As an Uber driver, I have the privilege of talking to and eavesdropping on a sampling of L.A.’s finest, ranging from the clinically insane to the simply self-absorbed. As a writer, there is no end to the amount of inspiration my passengers provide.

Recently, it was announced that the Ocean’s Eleven remake will be ladies-only too. Could it be that we’ve embarked on an era in which women take center stage?

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