Kate Ryan

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

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

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

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

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

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?

12:48 AM. Why would someone schedule an exorcism for the middle of a weeknight?

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

Everywhere you look these days (on Instagram), beautiful pictures abound. From teacups overflowing with succulents to smoothie bowls arranged as art. All while a lavender-haired model casually eats ice cream in front of a stupidly gorgeous Tahitian sunset. All this endless beauty has become a bit dull.