"What the... Hell...?" Road Trip Style

I spent the weekend making a long overdue roadtrip up to see two friends, friends who clearly need to get out of the house more. Now. They have 3 cats, all female, two being new arrivals. One of them had just gone into estrus, complete with rolling around, meowling and fanny waiving. I'm checking some email on their PC when one picks up the poor hard-up kitty and says to the other, I swear I'm not making this up:

"Smell her armpit, it smells just like Fritos..."

Cue my favorite phrase signifying my brain's inability to parse what my ears had just reported.

And no, I don't care whether it was true. Determining what snackfoods kitty pheremones smell like interests me about as much as Fran Drescher's latest sitcom. (Ok... you got me. I'd rather smell the kitty hormones.) But really, I could do without the unending assault upon my poor brain's cognitive pre-parser.