Kate Ryan

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.

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

Like booster engines emptied of fuel, my limbs become disposable, useless tanks as the blood rushes from them.

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 . . .

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

My parents got the idea they’d send me to stay at my grandparents’ house in Florida for a week. I think my mother needed a week to herself.

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.

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

Everyone wants to have the funny tweets because people equate them with wealth, power, and beauty. The problem is, we’re not all funny.

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