Robin Williams: A Mind Like a Tornado

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am missing the hell out of Robin Williams. It’s been two weeks, and I still can’t believe he’s gone.

For years, I’ve watched his movies and his old comedy specials, like I was visiting an old friend. Cracking up at him as Adrian Cronauer in Good Morning, Vietnam, or weeping (with both sadness and laughter) at his portrayal of Parry in The Fisher King. To know that he will never create again makes the world feel a little strange.

TIME put up a video of Williams explaining how he does such top-speed improv. I’ve decided his mind is like a tornado, sucking in everything in his path. And sometimes those things end up miles away. This 9 minutes shows it well. Plus, you’ll laugh. I promise.

In More Cowbell lingo, Williams was a man who “really used his studio space.”

What is your favorite show, movie, special memory of Robin Williams? Are you mourning like I am? Enquiring minds always want to know these things here at More Cowbell!

~ Jenny

Update on the “Dog Hip“:
As most of you know, I had hip surgery on June 19th. It wasn’t a hip replacement. It was a labral tear repair and re-attachment, with a complete reshaping of the femoral head and neck. I just tell people who ask that “I had my hip rebuilt.” 

From my perspective it has been a very slow healing process. The intense pain for this injury started back in Feb/March, so there are many, many loose threads for me to tidy up. I’m just now starting to catch up a little, get out my thank you’s, and dive full-tilt back into my work and writing. I got the word last week that I have six weeks of physical therapy left (yes, I whimpered), so there is an end in sight. 

Thank you to all of you who have cheered me through this process. Truly, you can’t know how much you helped with your texts, calls, FB updates, and gifts. I appreciate every one of you. 60 hours a month of rehab is like having a third job. Thanks for your patience while my posting schedule is so scattered.

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If Men Had To Wear Lady SPANX [Video]

As a follow-up to the hilarious Kanga/Undie-roos, the undie-verse keeps putting these sorts of unusual (and thematic) items in my path. This video came from our own Perilous Pauline Baird Jones and had me shaking with laughter.

Of course, it all started with the guys wanting to be tougher than the lady on the cover of the SPANX package “who looks like she could kick my a$$.” Personally, I’d love for someone to make a similar video showing women the first time they try on football pads or, um…Jog Straps.

Note: We’re an equal opportunity shop for undergarment discomfort.

Have you ever seen SPANX? Who introduced them to you? Would any of you guys wear them? Enquiring minds always want to know these things here at More Cowbell!

~ Jenny

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The Cutest Undie Picture EVER…

Elayne Boosler posted this to Facebook and I am madly in love. Just look at that sweet little guy!

The Undie Chronicles

Her caption:

Kangaroo Joey was rescued from a forest fire. He’s learning to hop, hunt, and color co-ordinate his underwear.

Oh my God, the sweetness… I had to share!

As soon as they’re done torturing me so many hours each week in PT, I’ll get back to a more normal schedule here at More Cowbell. But enquiring minds want to know…what’s new with you?

~ Jenny

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Undie Chronicles, Volume 24: The Jog Strap

Those of you who are new to More Cowbell might have missed The Undie Chronicles. The regular posse here knows: When the Undie-verse speaks, we will always listenI had no idea when this began that there were so many hilarious undie-based topics to discuss.

I’ve been sitting on this Jog Strap thing for a while, if you know what I mean. Y’all know I had hip surgery in June, and I was laying too low to really trot out this strappy bundle-of-love in style.

I’m telling you, running would reach a whole new level of entertainment if the Jog Strap were a real product. Heck, I might actually run, if these were part of the standard attire. Please, Jockey, will you make these?!  Pleeeaaaassssssse!

Technically, this is an over-gizmo rather than an undie, but I do believe Jockey could burst forth with this and send sales soaring, either over or under the clothes. They haven’t picked it up (YET), so maybe they feel it’s more of a Banana Republic item…

Because the universe loves us (and NBC aired this), we’ve got video, people!

Jog Strap was brought to us by Dan Opsal, the same genius who wrote the #Hashtag skit performed by Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake. (Don’t say I didn’t deliver a smile on this fine Monday…)

I’ll be around later this week with a Dog Hip update and some major thank you’s for all of you that helped make my rehab a fun thing. All I have to say is: The More Cowbell posse rocks!

Would you wear the Jog Strap during your exercise regimen? What would we call the female equivalent? Enquiring minds LOVE to know these things here at More Cowbell!

~ Jenny

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Did You Shake Your Booty for National Underwear Day?

I’m usually completely on top of National Underwear Dayif you know what I mean, but I am running madly behind this week. If you forgot to sling around some drawers, or streak through your neck of the woods, let this serve as a reminder to you!

Those of you who are new to More Cowbell might have missed The Undie Chronicles. The regular posse here knows: When the Undie-verse speaks, we will always listen.

We’ve highlighted everything from Christian Panties to Thunderwear here at More Cowbell. In fact, if it can be worn under your clothes, it’s a pretty safe bet we’ve covered it. My own two favorite Undie posts are linked below.

Warning: y’all might need to scrub your eyeballs after viewing.


Fave #1: Man-Style Goes to the Zoo
(honoring Dr. Seuss)


I would not, could not booty-shake
if faced with that red knitted snake.
Not in the box with a cunning fox
or in the air with the “safe sex” pair.

They do not flip my “sexy” switch.
They mostly make my eyeballs twitch.

I was on a roll that day, for sure.

Fave #2What Your Panties Say About Your Politics (co-brainstormed with Julie Glover)

Me: I’m convinced that the parsimony of material in the thong panty makes them Republican panties. Really, it’s the whole “less is more” thing.

Julie: I thought Sister Myotis calls them “Democrat Panties.”

Me: Well, she does. But I think the cotton kind that give you a lot more coverage are the Democrat Panties. I kind of go between those and Libertarian Panties myself.

Julie: Less is more? Commando?

Me: *snort*

Example of Democrat Panties... Photo by By Iflwlou拍攝 (Own work) ~ Wikimedia Commons

Example of Democrat Panties… Photo by By Iflwlou拍攝 ~ Wikimedia Commons

Did you forget all about National Underwear Day too, or were you out there buying cool underpants, advertising your cash and prizes? Which political party does your fave pair of undies represent? (p.s. You might have to read that post to answer accurately, you’ll be surprised.) Finally, do we have any New York City peeps who got out to the Fresh Pair Event? Enquiring minds LOVE to know these things here at More Cowbell!

~ Jenny

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Funeral Planning in a Crazy Family Is…Different

That's my mama in between the Bag Whore and I...

That’s my mama in between the Bag Whore and I…

I’ve got my mama on my mind and, in honor of her and Jane Sadek, I had to put up this post. All of you who think I’m funny? I got it from my mama, who was way funnier.

A quick run-down about my mom, who passed away at age 65 back in January of 2004…

  • 3 words to describe her: compassionate, generous, irreverent. (Read: AWESOME)
  • My baking and gardening skills come from her.
  • She was a tall woman (6’1″) and the first female to letter in 5 sports at her high school.
  • A nurse for 43 years, she spent much of that time in Oncology.
  • Maxine cartoons remind us all of her…in our family she was known as “the Queen of the One-Liner.”

My mama was a stitch.

The night she died, we all quibbled over her Xanax stash, knowing we’d need it to get some sleep before doing all the work death involves. Any of you who’ve done this know there’s a million important details to get through when someone passes away.

My brother (the Bag Whore) and I had lots of help but some of the duties just naturally fell to us. We put my mom’s purse off for a day or so, but the time came to sort through it.

When we got to her wallet, we found all these slips of paper with beautiful quotes on friendship. Of course, I cried, so my brother patted me and kept going through all the other stuff she had tucked in there.

All of a sudden, he elbows me and says, “Sis…check this out,” and hands me a stack of bright orange cards.

“What is it?” I sniffled, not reaching to take them.

“Just read it!”

I grabbed them, looked down, and burst out laughing (language alert here). In huge bold letters, they said:

If you fuck like you park,
you’ll never get it in.

“Oh my Jesus. She has a whole stash of these things?”

“Obviously she’s putting these on people’s cars when they piss her off.” My brother snatched them back. “I could use these.”

When I spoke to the minister later that day, he asked if I’d made decisions about what to include in my mom’s service.

I was telling him about the beautiful messages we’d found in her wallet when my brother started yelling from down the hall. “Are you going to tell him what ELSE you found in her wallet??!”

I covered the phone and yelled back. “No I’m not telling him! Are you crazy?”

I ignored all the choice comments from my Bag Whore brother and got back on the phone with the minister, apologizing for how loud my brother was.

His first words were, “So, you’re not going to tell me??”

I blushed so hard, I thought I’d faint. “I’d rather not. There’s cursing involved.”

“Oh, come on… Your mom was a spicy lady. I’d love to hear.”

Obviously he missed her as much as we did, so I told him and he busted a gut laughing.

My aunts were horrified when I relayed the conversation. At the same time, they both wailed, “YOU TOLD THE MINISTER??!”

They all live in a fairly small town in mid-Missouri so I apologized and promised to mind my manners from there on out.

Then we got to the funeral parlor…

Like most of the big events in my family, we all showed up to offer support. I had aunts, uncles and cousins sitting alongside my brother and I. Plus, my mom’s best friend was there. We’d just gathered for my grandmother’s service the prior year, so we assumed the place was used to the likes of us.

Obviously, the previous funeral director hadn’t shared with the new guy that we travel in packs during times of need. He looked at all 14 of us and said he’d be back with more chairs.

Once we were all seated in a circle, with my brother and I on either side of Mr. Funeral Director, we hashed out the service (which involves a lot of people “shouting it out” when they think of it).

When we got to the end, I said, “I know it might sound kind of morbid, but if any of you would like some of her ashes, you may have them.”

My cousin, Aaron (who was an irrepressible 30 year old at the time), asked, “So how many ashes are we talking about?”

Mr. Funeral Man looked like he’d swallowed a toad. “Um…well. Uh, they come in plastic bag inside a hard plastic case about this big by this big.” And he moved his hands to demonstrate a 10 x 14 x 4 inch bag.

My brother reared back, looking completely offended. “That’s it? That’s all we get?! She was a BIG GIRL!

The room went completely silent.
The funeral director’s mouth opened and closed like a guppy.
Then the snickers started…

They spread around the room until we were all laughing so hard we couldn’t stop.

My uncle (who’d been in the restroom) came flying into the room. “You guys need to CUT IT OUT. There’s people crying and grieving out there and you’re in here laughing and carrying on.”

He turned to the funeral director and shook his hand. “Thank you for your time. We need to go.” He sent the lot of us a stern look that promised we’d be sorry if we didn’t STOP LAUGHING.

I swear, we tried. We just couldn’t stop.

We stumbled out of the funeral home, clutching our sides and gasping for breath, running for our cars so we could collapse in private. Then we all toddled off to lunch at my mom’s favorite burger joint and laughed some more.

Here’s what I know, all these years later: My mother watched us giggle our way through most of her funeral arrangements and, wherever she was, she LOVED it. I wouldn’t go back and change any of it.

Well, except for keeping her here so she could make me laugh that hard in person.

Do you guys have funerals like ours, or are you a bit more dignified? I’m looking for some family stories in the comments! Enquiring minds always  want to know these things here at More Cowbell!


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Dirty-Minded Signage…”If You Know What I Mean”

My PT sadists guys are loving the blog. And since they are getting me to where I can walk again, when they ask for a post I give it! In honor of the helpful crew at California Therapy Solutions, I’m re-running one of my favorite More Cowbell posts of all time. Those of you who missed it the first time deserve your Hump-Day laugh.

If you’ve read about my family’s Almost X-Rated Garage Sales and Gang-Banging Chickens, you’d know we’re just a little bit…off-center. Both sides of my family are filled with peeps who are amazing and hysterically funny. I’m one of those rare souls who LOVES family trips.

The big surprise when I visited Missouri a few years back was all the Dirty-Minded Signage. Only in the Bible Belt could people refer to monikers like this with a straight face.

You’ll see what I mean below.

I’ve gotten used to the Springfield, MO convenience stores that don’t seem to make anyone else pause.

It took me a few visits to take that place in stride.

The first time, I sat in the passenger seat while my husband pumped gas, clutching my sides, pointing at the sign and gasping for air. Maybe it was the little registered trademark symbol they include on the end (like someone’s dying to steal that logo). Maybe it was jetlag.

Then we went to Branson, where the traffic moves SO slow that you have plenty of time to really check the place out.

I was doing  fine until we passed the Rowdy Beaver. (Yeah, for real…and they have MULTIPLE LOCATIONS. The newest is on Dickson Street. I mean, what were they thinking? They couldn’t go a few blocks over to Percy or Main or wherever?)

After that, it was a free for all – we were in hysterics about everything we passed.

The God And Country Theater was across from Billy Bob’s Dairyland. The Ragin’ Rhino Tattoo parlor was just down from the Hillbilly Kitchen. Plus, we started using Leanne Shirtliffe’s (aka The Ironic Mom’s) trick of adding “if you know what I mean on the end of every name.

Note: Be sure to read Leanne’s post when you’re done here…it’s stellar. Plus, we like to use the #IYKWIM hashtag on Twitter.

It didn’t matter if it was funny or not, it was hilarious to us.  I mean, you try passing a billboard that says “Ride The Ducks!…if you know what I mean.” Go ahead. Add IYKWIM to all the businesses in this post. (Two words: Coffee. Snort.) You’ll see.

When my Branson-dwelling cousin got to our lodge that night for a fish fry, I demanded to know what was up with the Rowdy Beaver.

He smiled and said, “Oh, it’s got a great bar. But we don’t call it The ‘Rowdy Beaver.’”

I (of course) wanted to know what he did call it, figuring the locals had classed it up a little. He blushed to the roots of his hair and mumbled that he’d tell me later, rolling his eyes toward his parents and the older folk.

Well, if you read the links I put above, you’ve already seen what the “older folk” in my family will discuss. No topic is sacred.

They dragged the Rowdy Beaver scoop out of him in no time: Rather than call it the Rowdy Beaver, Bransonites refer to the place as “The Angry Vagina.” I doubled over laughing at this, staggering around the kitchen. Possibly I tinkled a little.

“What else do you have,” I wheezed. “There’s got to be more.”

“Well,” he says, “we do go over to The Bearded Clam in Kimberling City sometimes.”

I looked at my uncle. “He’s making that up, right?”

My uncle shook his head and said, “It used to be worse before they closed the bait shop next door.”

When I asked what could possibly be worse than naming an eating establishment “The Bearded Clam,” they said the old bait shop was called, “Master Baiters.” Swear. To. God.

And do you know the super-duper worst part of this story? The Bearded Clam is billed as a family restaurant.

Like I said, only in the Bible Belt would there be minds clean enough to eat there without making scads of juvenile jokes (like I would). I’ll bet they all wear Christian Panties for dinner. Amen.

It’s true that my family members aren’t the ones who own these establishments, but still…

When we visited the Lake of the Ozarks, we saw the absolute winner of the Dirty-Minded Signage Award. I still can’t believe anyone would name their hotel this but I guess it does leave an impression on people.

Do you suppose they get a lot of multiple visitors? Or just one good one each night? (Sorry, HAD to go there.)

The name of the place really is Big Dick’s Halfway Inn (you know you’re clicking that link). If you stay at this resort the next time you’re at the Lake of the Ozarks, please write to me about it! Better yet, send me a picture of you next to the sign.

I tell you, this trip put a whole new spin on the “Show Me” state thing. Since most of my people live there, I’ve concluded that I derive from some pervy stock. Who knew, right?

OK, it’s your turn. Do you have some places with signs and such that crack you up? What about if you add “if you know what I mean” on the end? Enquiring minds can’t wait to hear  what you come up down in the comments section!

~ Jenny
(Who is off to laugh her way through the pain at PT.)

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