I have a cowbell. It's an antique, and presumably it formerly adorned a bovine neck or two. I love my cowbell.
Incidentally, I love rock music incorporating the cowbell, for example, the classic song, "Lowrider." Who could argue that "more cowbell" is not a valid artistic choice? (The answer to that question is Lola).
The main use I get with my cowbell is ringing it to inform everyone that dinner is ready, and the robust tones of the cowbell may be heard from in front of the television upstairs to down in the garage workroom, where the husband toils on his computers. (The cowbell's secondary use is on New Year's Eve, when we make a hellish racket at midnight. One of my neighbors did evoke the SNL skit and yelled out last year, "More cowbell!" I obliged).
The other day, after ringing the bell for dinner, I childishly entertained myself by chasing the cat known as Frowstomatic the Immortal God around, ringing the bell. Lola was angry and covered her ears. Later at dinner, she harangued me: "You are insane in the brain with that thing!" Ouch.
Lola's complaint was itself rock-and-roll based, but from a non-cowbell using song. Any time you run across Lola, you can chant, "Insane in the membrane" to her, and she'll chime back, "Insane in the brain." The child seems to stand for heavy metal and against cowbells. She has in the past praised the musical stylings of Trent Reznor as "pretty." I will leave my cowbell to Iris in my will.
You generally make me laugh but, for some reason, this one particularly tickled me. I can't wait to see Lola and try out insane in the membrane. How does she feel about OutKast? I think "I know you like to think your shit don't stink, but lean a little bit closer, see if roses really smell like poo-poo" is a perfect preschooler lyric.
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