Kate Ryan

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

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

LAX, on the other hand, seemed like a perfect place to pick up the latest deadly virus.

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

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.

Writing simply does for me what long walks do for small dogs; it makes me tired and happy.

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

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.

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

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