Kate Ryan

It was a tradition of theirs. When siblings Sue and Johnny went home to their mother’s for Christmas, they watched the 11 o’clock local news.

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

The bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

At Monster High, Jimmy Werewolf gets another demerit for forgetting to shave again.