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.

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

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

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

Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.

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

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

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

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

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.