Kate Ryan

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

Motherhood is easily the toughest, most sacred job on earth. Without moms, the human race simply wouldn’t be here. But personally, I’d rather dangle myself from dental floss over a volcano full of spiders than push another human being out of my body.

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.

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