Kate Ryan

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?

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

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 . . .

She couldn’t imagine the water she sat in, the water that enveloped her body, wanted to be here.

Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.

“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.

Someone would always cook in their tighty whities, his package at eye level for the person doing French homework at the kitchen table.

The Gap come autumn: where normcore and film noir cleverly collide.

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

We all love our dogs. However, some of us take it a little too far, convincing ourselves that our dogs are actually our children. You call your dog your “baby” one day, and the next thing you know, you’re pushing him or her down the street in an expensive stroller. How did we get here? Trust me, it’s a slippery slope. Here are 12 signs you might have a dog-child.