Kate Ryan

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

She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.

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

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

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.

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

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?

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

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.