Kate Ryan

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

He died a violent death. I saw him myself, flopping between wooden blades, his head bent back strangely.

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

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?

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.

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.

I have no choice but to start all over again, tomorrow or not at all.

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

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

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 . . .