Kate Ryan

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.

For all of you crazy people that think going to Target is ever a good idea during the holiday season, this is a list on how to survive a shopping trip to Target is for you…

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

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

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

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

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.

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

The bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

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