Kate Ryan

A bloated mother in her polka dot one-piece gnaws on a corndog while reading the romantic pulp she picked up on her way out of the supermarket . . .

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

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.

Okay, so maybe she didn’t really understand feminism.

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

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.

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

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

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

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