Kate Ryan

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

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.

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 . . .

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

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.

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

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

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

Sheila applied widely and on a whim. She needed a job and she needed one fast.

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