we blog your mom

police officers smell like porc tenderloin

have you ever noticed that the professional of Police Officer, once a respected a honorable one, has become a go-to backup plan for procrastinating redneck morons who A. couldn’t get a real job because of their low I.Q and high level of testosterone (combined with a vicious inability to get laid) or B. didn’t have anything else to do after they got out of the Marines (hard to self-promote job skills often include incessant masturbating while hurrying up to wait: see Jarhead). think about it, actually…it’s scary. all of our resources for promoting the advancement of intelligent people are thrown into the higher education system. Colleges, universities…ect. Smart people usually like to either 1. make money or 2. help humanity by using their intelligence to make money. SO, these smart people become doctors. lawyers. advertising executives. film directors. journalists. marketing slaves. et cetera. smart people do not become police officers. YET…insert dooming music…who do we call when shit hits the fan? the procrastinating, butt-picking nuff punting policemen who, in the back of their heads, actually wouldn’t mind seeing their own form of fucked up social justice being preformed on the very people that call them for help. you think a policemen gives a shit if someone broke into your car and stole your ipod? the ipod that you:

1. got good grades in highschool to move on to…

2. college where you worked (drank)/(fucked) hard to get the…

3. job that you work (slave)/(fuck) hard in order to pay for things like ipods.

no, (s)he doesn’t give a shit. (notice that? gotta love that feminine inclusivity. even stupid people can be women…although we believe that guys usually take that bitch home for the mantel)

so, big deal, your ipod was stolen. but what about if theres someone in your house and they’re going to main/assault/murder/buttrape you? we call the cromagnons in. the synapse-lapsing “fuck i only have my high school diploma i guess i’ll be a cop” cops. and its fucking scary, yo.

so anyways, when one of us becomes a cop in 5 years because this whole “make advertising money by selling our decrepid social lives through our blog” doesnt work out… dont read us this.

love,

kate and cannon

once you go yellow, you never go b(l)ack

penises.

probably one of the funniest concepts we can think about. they’re ugly beautiful(but mostly ugly)…often veiny and generally offensive when not kept where they belong. inherently, there are many myths that come along with the parallel (or perhaps perpendicular…) connection between race and penis size.

black guys have huge cocks.

easy myth. it feels good to say because it’s been so beaten into our pop cultured minds. thanks, 1990’s rap.

but lookit: the fact is that there is a race out there that has been completely looked over. and it rhymes with cream cheese.

chinese guys. or, more politcal correctedly known as asian men. our yellow-fevered friends are full of surprises, one of which is the size of their wangs (rhymes with P.F Changs-damn, those lettuce wraps are good)…

((side note: another notably hilarious hereditary social trait of asian men are things like “the asian glow”: the red skin that bursts out of their faces after drinking more than 2 beers. addiction specialists call it a self-defense mechanism where their body tells them to stop drinking. white people were born without this.))

ok back to dicktalk: think about it, people. its perfectly normal (and when we say normal, we mean typically pathetic and generally attemptedly hidden from society) for some white guys to have asian fetishes. Asian women are slim, dark haired and often carry distintive facial features that attract causasian advances. but why is it that white girls don’t seem to like asian men? you’ll find the white girls out there that are all about the BBD… but it seems that there has been some group-thinking brainwash movement on white women’s minds to believe that asians guys aren’t packing.

our advice, ladies: drop the alabama black snake as your favorite closet pet. and pick up a chiapet (not the head bush thing that grows grass out it’s face or whatever…although there could be some future innuendo to explore in this subject)

cause girls, once you go yellow? you never go b(l)ack.

love,

kate and cannon

airport cancer. i think it’s terminal

sitting in our respective airports, we have reached some infinitesimally small conclusions:

1. The Brownsville, TX airport, like the Nashville airport, is full of rednecks and Mexicans. Only the people in Nashville want to be stars and the people in Brownsville want to be US citizens.

2. Law and Order along with CSI are great TV shows but the psychology behind them should not be a major in college or pursued by nice people in post graduate studies because when you integrate someone’s mind into constantly questioning the psychology behind everyone’s every minuscule action, the studier starts to become desensitized to the hope that human beings aren’t all irreconcilable criminally delinquent liars. but hey, loss of innocence right?

3.Rogaine is a vitally important product. It can mean the difference between an active sex life and early withdrawal of your 401k funds so you can take that long awaited trip to Boca Raton with your Jewish grandmother that she’s always wanted. BOCA SB 09!

4. A Pigeon Forge reststop is not a good place to get a tattoo. It is a good place to get phone numbers and Hot Pockets from a vending machine.

5. Highly evolved people need extensive therapy to deal with their emotional maturity. And Lithium. if you can’t fool your psychiatrist into giving you a prescription, self medicate with jack daniels.

6. Being pulled out of line to be searched is not worth it if there is no investigation of the cavities.

7. Text messaging will make waiting for delayed flights go by much faster. It also makes you look very important- like you are finally closing the deal on the latest Blakeman, Hofstedler, Smithson merger. also, in a real pinch you can do the “fake phone call”… answering your phone and laughing hysterically, saying some really poignant or adding lying side quips into the phone that outline a hint into your “exciting and adventuresome” life that may attract the within-ear-shot object of your boredom. try not to cry after you ‘hangup’ your fake call with a ‘i love you too, mom’.

hopefully you learned something today. if you didn’t, you obviously weren’t reading close enough. and if you’ve been kept awake at night thinking, “where have Kate and cannon been? why aren’t they blogging?” Well, the truth is, Kate has been constantly cleaning up the litterbox that is her life and cannon, well, cannon is breaking bones (both his own and other people’s), traveling, and generally pining away for something with a long overdue expiration date. That’s right, sour milk. or is it sour grapes?

love,

kate and cannon

weBLOGyourmom… cause theres just more to in a city of 10 million.

after a series of shits, big and small, (and figurative and literal) that the world decided to take on us, we needed to take a break and to somewhat regroup. Life has obviously been very pissed off at the both of us and was telling us to step back and shut the hell up. so we did. sorry, bitch

we’ve been sitting on our respective couches 7000 miles away from  one other, commiserating, and made the united decision to listen instead of talk.

kate read some self-help books, drank alone, and caught up on every VH-1 and Bravo reality tv show she could.

cannon’s been popping pain pills and washing his antibiotics down with champagne and dreaming of a day when infection would no longer wreak havoc on his body. (here’s a hint: dont mix alcohol, depression and prescription medication)

then like a beacon in the night an opportunity arose and the gods told cannon and kate that it was time to talk again. they had listened enough, their ears were bleeding and the ball was rolling.

cannon was just accepted to the NYU School of Journalism to get his master’s in blogging (insert your congratulations here. Mom is so proud!) kate, who cannot imagine writing another paper in her entire l didn’t get accepted inyo to this prestigious program. then again, you have to apply first.  this exciting little treasure of news did, however, quickly made its way to the Ville. And a seemingly inocuous email turned into the best kind of adventure- the unplanned kind.

so, where is weBlogyourmom going? Well, they’re packing the u-haul full of all the moms, crusty semen-stuck keyboarded laptops and european sterotypes they could get their hands on and are moving to the Big Apple- cannon to pursue something and kate because she didn’t have anything else better to do in august. Nashville has been home forever, but these kids gots to hit the road. The world waits for no one, so when opportunity knocks, answer the mother-bloggin door bitches!

love,

kate and cannon

unconditional love

tuesday’s Dr. Phil was about seeking unconditional love. We hate Dr. Phil and the Oprah he rode in on. speaking of interacial sex and unconditional love (we think they’re hilariously connected), kate stole that line from her ex-boyfriend. but what’s he got to do with anything? let’s just revisit one of kate’s first blogs ever:

________________________________________________________________________

19 Dec 2006 

Why I am the best you ever had mother fucker
Current mood: ecstatic

So you wanna know why I am the best girlfriend you’ll ever have? Well, I’m gonna tell you. I don’t mean to toot my own horn but toot mother fuckin toot.

1. I flew you to another city to watch, from club level seats might I add, your favorite NFL team play.

2. I bought you tickets to see you favorite band play while I was in another country just so you would have something to do on Valentine’s Day. I just didn’t realize that something to do was another girl you douche bag.

3. I loved your dog like she was my own. I even kept her for you on several occassions after we’d already broken up. And I didn’t tell you about most of the times she shit in my house because I didn’t want you to feel guilty about it. But, you don’t really feel guilty about most things, do you?

4. I included you in everything my family did because your family didn’t live here.

5. I would surprise you with presents at your office when you went out for lunch so there would be something waiting for you when you got back.

6. I bought you a kick ass horsehoe set, sand included bitches, so that you and your guy friends would always have something to do.

7. I never went grocery shopping without buying you your favorite things so that I could keep a stock of them at my house just for you. And I hate Cheez-Its and most of the other shit you ate.

8. I cooked for you and I hate cooking like Rachael Ray hates meals that take more than 30 minutes.

9. I let you stick it my ass!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (that should be number 1 but i’ll stick with number 9)

10. I found you lawyers and doctors to help you with your medical malpractice that you never followed through with but still bitch about all the time!

What I have’t given you that you truly deserve is a fucking punch to the throat. Take care of my dog because I always loved her way more than I ever loved you. I hope cheating on me was worth it because you just lost these top 10 things and a million more than I shouldn’t even have to mention. Don’t talk to me, don’t talk to my family, and I highly advise staying away from my friends because they might just throat punch you too!

_________________________________________________________________________ 

Now that’s unconditional love.

love,

 kate and cannon
 

why st. patrick’s day has nothing to do with ireland

It’s the day after St. Patrick’s Day. Our heads hurt. But not enough to keep us from uncovering the great truths of St. Patrick’s Day. 

What does it mean anymore, really, to have a national identity? Before being pummelled by a bar full of drunk Irishmen, two Russian mobsters from the movie “boondock saints” were told to chill on their aggression cause “it’s st. patty’s day…everyone’s irish”.

Here at weblogyourmom, we feel like St. Patrick’s day is very simliar to your highschool disco dance or halloween…which are essentially events designed to excuse women from dressing up like 5 dollar hookers. The similarity to these events and St. Patrick’s day are not just in the fact that both Irelanders and Peter Pan sport the ever-verdant green… but it’s role playing at its finest. For one day in March we get to dress up like mardi gras gone kermit the frog, talk in horrible irish accents, and call everyone we meet Paddy O’Mac.

America is a nation of runts founded by a bunch of wig-wearing, slave owning, “god” fearing castaways. Through the years, we saw the influx of immigrants grow and with the potato famine all the lackey Iirishmen arrived. Many of you probably claim Irish roots. Kate does all the time. She even has it tatted up on her back. Skank. But don’t try to tell us that all these brunettes with dyed blonde hair(Kate) running around panty dropping their green leggings and showing off their Guiness paraphenalia should be claiming any hereditary connection. 

People, you just want to get shitty. 

Luckily, you’re in good company. Kate and Cannon like to get shitty, too!

So as you wake from your stupor today, pee stained green from the compulsory dye cast into the beer last night, do what a real Irishman would do. Go back to the bar and do it again! Or eat some rocks and at least make your teeth look like a proper Emerald Islander’s.

love, 

kate and cannon

walk of shame

the best part of every Sunday morning is going to church and worshipping the Lord. But really… it’s more like the walk of shame. Whether you are in college and you’re the “I never do this kind of thing” girl who can’t quite reach that spot of gizz on her back and can only find one shoe, the hungover dude that wakes up with BALLS written on his face or the guy who wakes to find a circulation-cutting condom still on his wang creating a half red/half white cock (kinda lookin like the cat in the hat)…the walk of shame does not discriminate.

kate: 4:30 AM, after calling the only pizza place open in Nashville for the 3rd time to see how much longer it would be, decided it would be better to pass the time emailing one of cannon’s best friends in AFGHANISTAN. (And thanks for all you do- you allow us to have the walk of shame every weekend in peace….you also allow the afghanni poppy seed fields to stop operating which makes it fucking that much harder to get some heroin…so fuck you, actually. *smiles*) See the following correspondence…

Kate to Soldier Boy:

————————- Original Message ————————-
From: Kate
Date: 16 Mar 2008, 04:32


what are you doing? i am hammered with my friends. are you having like the best time ever„„okay that was mean b/c i know you’re not, but we’ll have the best time ever eventuanlly. ok,. imm drunk. i have to go before i misspell any more words….

xx,
k

So, even in a drunken stupor, kate finds the wherewithal to harass people in combat. Way to go, kate. You are officially an asshole. i’m calling mccarthy on your ass…pinko anti-american knob slobber.

karma, however… like the walk of shame, discriminates against no race, creed, nationality, or whatevs. After her friend ran out of beds, kate was forced to sleep in a toddler’s bed. That’s right. One of those twin beds that is half the length of a normal twin bed. Kate is 5’9”. She is tall. Toddlers are short (and apparently fun to put on leashes nowadays? if you’d have tried that shit with us, momma’s arms woulda been pulled out her sockets and she’da been tied to the train tracks with that fucking leash…ACME road runner style). Thank God(because that is what Sundays are all about after all), there was no toddler in the bed. kate and cannon are truly fucked up individuals, but we have boundaries, too (old enough to pee…old enough for…)

waking up in a distorted state of reality, kate, who was the most sober of the group and therefore the designated driver of her friend’s car the night before, realized she needed to get back to her own car before the day escaped. 9AM…gold lame’ mini skirt (admit it, we all have one…even cannon), black tights gone(but where did they go?), a number 4 purple pool ball in her purse(were we somewhere where they have billiards?), and several 20 dollar bills missing (see Jack Daniels piss), Kate made her way to her silver bullet- not the the vibrator, but her pet name for her car. Only instead of just walking to her car, she had to walk past a line of approximately 50 people waiting in line for one of Nashville’s most legendary and shittiest pancake breakfasts. Not to mention the restaurant full of people in the actual parking lot where her car was so soberly parked.

so, what is the lesson here, folks? Do bad things and God will make you pay. Sundays are not for tithing and reminding yourself of all the things God has done for you- it is a biting reminder that God will get you. He will make you sleep in tiny beds, have hangovers, and publically embarass you. The only thing more nauseating (awesome) than this fact is that while kate nurses a hangover in Nashville, it is about time for cannon to do it all over again in Paris. It really is always 5 o’clock somewhere.

love,

kate and cannon

inspriration’s a three-legged bitch

kate’s myspace bulletin today read:

“Subject: I’m converting to Judaism.

Body: Inspiration is like a circumcision.

It’s there and then it’s
gone.

Now pass the challah.


Who wants to go to Coachella?”

what do you write about when the normality of your life punts you in the face and you don’t run across something divinely inspiring throughout the course of your day that will make someone laugh? people that can’t get off their asses call it writers block. we call it being ordinary and realizing it.

sometimes we feel about as procreationally useful as a nun’s left titty.

sebastian horsley, an insignificant writer living an unextraordinary life, says “from the very start I wanted to be the bride at every wedding, the corpse at every funeral and the baby at every christening”. real women should be inherently scared of the bright white of wedding dresses and the lie of fidelity just as most men properly fear their own death having not concurred the world in some way. i think we identify more with babies in that we spend a significant amount of time babbling our words when we’re trashed, having other people take care of us and pissing and shitting on ourselves constantly.

the dank realization of trying to entertain people is that sometimes you just dont give a shit about them. after all, this blog is much more for the two of us than any of you fuckers anyways.

SO, despite giving you nothing interesting and generally wasting your time, we hope you have somehow otherwise enjoyed our self depreciating lack of insight. even at our lowest point we are at least inherently better dressed than you.

love,

kate and cannon

“people who are not vain about their clothes are often vain about not being vain about their clothes” -horsley

gymtactics and sociology

many types of people have jumped on the gym/yoga/pole dancing/pilates express. You’ve got your jocks and prom queens, dorks and fat people, angry people… sad people, young people and geezers. We’d like to talk about some of the more pathetic personality types and sad soppy shit we see (in ourselves…?) when we hit the gym.

be it your SoHo New York Crunch Fitness, with neon tubing and mod decor or the local sweat pit in Murray, Kentucky, a gym is essentially a venue for humans to flex their (egos) muscles. Physically, the men are competing and fluffing their plumage in the tradition of Neal Strauss’ peacock theory (Read his book The Game. NOW. It will change your life).

essentially, peacock theory “is the idea that in order to attract the most desirable female of the species, it’s necessary to stand out in a flashy and colorful way” (Strauss, The Game). In the gym, men do this by wearing Hanes Beefy T’s with the sleeves cut off, having their veins stick out in non-vein sticking out places, or having their crotches bulge more offensively than the guys bicep curling next to them.

speaking of bicep curls, we are intrigued by the concept of working out only one’s upper body. These upside-down triangle looking men spend all day pushing tricep and pulling bicep in order to pump up their arms. This is an excellent mating technique, given that the fashion of the times is the skinny jean. Fat muscley asses just aren’t going to fit into those slims, bitches. Stop leg pressing and start working on those fucking popeyes: notice the defined arms and lack of muscle in the thighs in this picture:

see, cannon does it and look how much ass he gets. Or you can just keep praying to the fashion gods that hammer pants make a swift comeback.

kate, as you may know, has always had her head up the fitness asshole. Since she was 16, she’s been working on lowering her self-esteem by surrounding herself with people who constantly make her insecure and long for the day when she could suck on a baby bottle and not count calories. Now she just sucks. Being neck-deep in the world of Pilates, she is constantly exposed to women with camel-toes deep enough to see when their next period is coming:

perhaps in the way men flaunt their peacock feathers, women flaunt their duck bills? Either way, Kate leaves work most days fighting back the urge to vomit. Whether she is sickened by old women in Spandex or just trying not to purge again, we’ll never know.

so, whether you’re at the Y (some sort of christian organization we hear…more on Them later), working out with the gay men in fluorescent tank tops, converse all stars, and hair gel or sweatin’ to the oldies with the receding testicle meatheads and their WWE girlfriends, be grateful you are not a washed up sorority girl (aka slut) wearing your barely broken in New Balances and some old frat party t-shirt making you long for the days of being date raped, priding yourself finally on the fact that you are not a fatty who signed up at the gym because it was cheaper than getting Comcast cable or a subscription to Newsweek.

love,

kate and cannon

a tit for a tat

ugly people should avoid getting tattoos at all costs. Tattoos only work on hot people…or at least people who rate a 5.5 or higher on the do-ability scale. (5.499’s or lower should just go ahead and have themselves removed from the gene pool). Tattoos will not make an ugly person pretty or cool. (neither will sequined/bleached jeans, faux-hawks, or superfluous piercings). Clichéd tattoos such as flowers, butterflies, fairies, lady bugs, or “precious moment” renditions on an ugly girl will only make her more ugly and make a pretty girl trashy. Just like barbed wire and tribal tattoos make “alpha males” vagina lips look thicker.

so, should you get that ‘too you’ve been pining for since your last spring break in ’98?

maybe. And who cares if you “don’t think you’ll like it when I’m 50”? If you’re the type of person that is worried about this then you probably:

A. won’t have anyone sexually interested in you enough to want to see your insipid lower back tattoo at 50 unless it is your proctologist giving you your yearly colonoscopy or

B. you won’t be alive by then anyway because your personality is like dry wall and the universe has a way of weeding out the bor-ies

body mutilation should always augment pre-existing attractiveness…not be a supplement for it. Sorry Chinese-character-you-already-forgot-what-it-stands-for-because-you-had-too-many-long island teas-at-the-big-kahuna/fudpucker’s: you look like shit.If you’re getting a tattoo to try and show some profound connection to a primarily ethnic concept, perhaps you would do better to first reincarnate yourself before offending people who actually have a historical relationship to the inkage on your skin.

take kate, for instance, who feels a strong connection to colonial Williamsburg, and therefore, has a butter churner stamped on her lower abdomen.

or cannon, who likens himself to a Viking, has a scene depicting Thor raping and pillaging Canadian women. How do we know they are Canadian? They don’t tip.

love,

kate and cannon