Kate Ryan

Kate Ryan

Bio

A Revolutionelle is the woman curled up in the back of a cafe, accompanied by a good book and lots of espresso. She’s the kind of girl you want to grab a beer with. She unapologetically loves the Bachelorette and Masterpiece Classic. She’s a fiend for dark chocolate, cheeseburgers, juice cleanses, milkshakes, kale, boxed wine, and whatever the hell she feels like. She goes for long walks on the beach, takes long naps on the couch, hikes through the Sierras, skinny-dips in community pools, soaks in lavender-scented bubble baths, rides mechanical bulls, or does none of those things because she does whatever the fuck she wants. She’s a tomboy, jeans-and-tshirt-wearing, girly girl, diva, fashionista, rebel rockstar, tea-drinking diplomat, hellhound motorcycle babe, spiritually-centered yogi, bookworm, historical buff, comedian, jack of all trades, all in one day.  She’s a contradiction and that’s okay. She speaks her mind. She loves herself. She’s an all-around badass motherfucker.

Kate Ryan Articles

How To: Kill Your Boyfriend’s Boner in 10 Seconds or Less

We’ve all been there. Your boyfriend has a raging boner, but you’re just not in the mood to do anything with it. But how do you tell him to tone that boner down and quick? No need to worry. Here are ten simple, foolproof ways to kill that boner in ten seconds—or less—while keeping your man’s ego rock-hard.

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Don't Pick: Flash Fiction

She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.

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Valentine’s Day At The Corcoran State Prison: Flash Fiction

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

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Seahorse Man: Flash Fiction

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

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Dormant Insecurities: Flash Fiction

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

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It's Not Funny: Flash Fiction

“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.

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My Husband, My Rock: Flash Fiction

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

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A Pleasant Morning Ritual: Flash Fiction

The birds abandon their posts in the pepper trees, sending tiny, oblong leaves raining to the ground.

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Siblings: Flash Fiction

She gropes for attention while he dies in the other room.

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It'll cure what ails ya.

The Only Tip You’ll Need To Survive The Holidays: Masturbate

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

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