Whoo Whoo girls

These are the girls whose lacquered and taloned claws have single-handedly ruined Friday and Saturday nights for the rest of us. Why are Thursdays the new Saturdays? Because of these bitches.

You know them. Probably more than you want to. They are the ones whose good looks and charm increase proportionally to how much you've been drinking. By the time you've done binging, you're either going home to pass out on one of them or to the emergency room to get your stomach pumped.

But, allow us to dwell for a second on the unique phenom that is the Whoo Whoo girl.

Observed in their natural habitat, the sorority house, they will engage in strange grooming behaviors to attract the male of the species seen here:
A subset of the species can also look like this:


Once the female species has adequately shaved her upper lip, spritzed herself with cheap perfume (most likely to obliterate the smell of fish and last night's mating ritual), blown out her overprocessed hair, strapped herself into a dress three sizes too small and applied a ritualistic war paint, she is ready for the evening's festivities.

They usually travel in herds of not less than four. They convene at watering holes where they surmise that they will obtain free alcohol. Their drink of choice is usually some hellacious version of an Long Island Ice Tea (native to their home environment) or Red Bull and vodka. Once properly intoxicated, the female of the species will often begin their unique and loud mating call, "Whooooooo! I'm am SOOO drunk!"

More often than not, this is heard by the aforementioned male of the species who respond quite enthusiastically to their calls even as most other species move away quickly and quietly, so as not to be detected.

Upon siting, the male will often engage in sort form of romantic overture at which point the female will respond.

The most threatening aspect of this creature is that she hunts over many decades. Long after her assets become droopy and the sell-by date on her milkshake is expired, she still hunts on. Interestingly, the whoo-whoo girl actually becomes a different species in her old age: the urban cougar. Knowing that this is their fate, many whoo-whoo girls indulge in animal prints so as to ease their entry into the Urban Cougar den. (Editor's note: check out the link--it's pretty amazing. Don't miss the classification of Urban Cougars!)


Spent and tired, used-up and past her prime, the whoo-whoo girl stumbles on and perseveres much like the majestic wild salmon of Alaska.


While they are a major urban annoyance, they are relatively harmless unless you decide to engage with one of them in person. In that particular and highly ill-advised instance, you risk contracting a cocktail of different STIs and your brain cells dying slow and painful deaths from the high-pitched and constant blather. Yes, in fact, your brain could liquefy upon contact. They are the Ebola of socializing. Beware.