Kate Ryan

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

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

My tights are cutting me in half at the waist . . . just like a sausage in its casing.

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

You could take this easy, informative quiz to find out with whom you side on important legislative issues and social policies. Or you could go my route and pick your candidate based on what dinosaur they resemble.

She doesn’t know how to communicate the feeling that all is for nothing, nothing is normal.

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 would send some chocolates, but I’m not allowed anymore since they found the shiv in the birthday cake I sent you.

His mind rode the lines, circling on an endless loop to nowhere as he attempted to go about his activities.

Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.