Kate Ryan

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

Someone would always cook in their tighty whities, his package at eye level for the person doing French homework at the kitchen table.

We all love our dogs. However, some of us take it a little too far, convincing ourselves that our dogs are actually our children. You call your dog your “baby” one day, and the next thing you know, you’re pushing him or her down the street in an expensive stroller. How did we get here? Trust me, it’s a slippery slope. Here are 12 signs you might have a dog-child.

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.

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

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

My parents got the idea they’d send me to stay at my grandparents’ house in Florida for a week. I think my mother needed a week to herself.

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

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.

The Gap come autumn: where normcore and film noir cleverly collide.