  So you know it was a blog-worthy night when you accidentally leave yourself a phone message with nothing but distorted voices, loud music and monkey-like laughter. Stranger thing is I felt obligated to listen to the whole message just in case I could dicipher something somebody said.
But alas, the best I could hear was a man talking mumbly smurf talk and then a higher female voice laughing and talking (most definitely identified as my no bum chum). When we get together, it's like the bouquets of our pheromones blend so perfectly that men start dropping to the ground before us. Which was great when we were single but is now just a prefered form of entertainment. Sit, boy, sit - follow me - dance white boy dance like you've never danced before! Watching us dance is a huge reward in itself because we both make very sensuous facial expressions which are sure to arouse anybody.
The problem is that if we are out to dance and have fun, we inevitably meet somebody to have fun with and dance with, they are inevitably attracted to one if not both of us and then we inevitably have to break the news that we are both in long term committed relationships. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Poor guys right? Pfffft! Poor us! We are then treated like diseased chickens. Of course they try to pretend they aren't kicking themselves for spending this much time with unfuckable women but they quickly find some excuse to rid themselves of these claimed clams.
Surely they noticed the strong smell of urine coming off us and the little flags protruding from our crotches claiming these pussies as discovered and owned. Last night was a perfect example of this. We started the night at a comedy club. We'd been there a couple of times before and especially enjoy ourselves if we prep with a few tokes on the way. You must restrain from too much laughter though, otherwise the Comedy Nazi will be on your tail. Shhhhhhh! While the comics are on stage you must keep it down! (intense eye glare with slight eyebulge) Oh of course! I'm sorry! I thought we were at a comedy club or something. The comics must get so annoyed when we laugh, really must distract them! The Comedy Nazi is astute and sly. He roams the room just waiting for a loud-laugher or a side-joke-teller to rear their ugly heads so that he can quickly put out the flame.
No laugh for you! We all know that Comedy Clubs are the scene for many a riot, so he must be diligent and maintain the control in a place that could explode in laughter at any moment. Hats off to you Comedy Nazi! for providing us with entertainment throughout the last half of the feature act and again we apologize for all the noise.
(bowing head in shame) Shortly after the end of the show, the Pheromone Queens decided that we would make our way out to a dirty old country bar we love. As we are getting into the taxi one of the comics, who looks suspiciously like Seth Green, asks if we need a ride somewhere. But alas, him and his comic friend were cultured down town folk and were reluctant to enter to world of cowboys and indians. But the scent is strong with us and he couldn't help but follow his nose, later showing up despite his fear of chaps. Of course at this point he had no idea that we were diseased chickens and was paying no attention to the urine smell or the crotch flags. Did I mention that he looks like Seth Green? and his friend's a ringer for...well...a black female comedian, so you can imagine they must feel right at home in a country bar.
It was quickly apparent that they were much too intelligent for country, but gathering material in like a snow plow is a good enough excuse to stick around I suppose. I began to get this paranoid feeling that we were being made fun of. Either because we were or because these are funny people, that's what they do!!! So by the end of the night I'm feeling like a paranoid schizo diseased chicken but hey it will go down in the Pheromone Queens books as a classic night of tomfoolery. 
