Kate Ryan

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.

Alma couldn’t understand why her Yelp reviews were so dismal. She didn’t advertise herself as a magician. She was a hair stylist.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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