Do you have a picture of your Dad chugging a Natty Ice and wearing a lax pinnie? Wearing a tank top and aviators?  Or better yet, do you have a photo of your pops indulging in Edward Crown Royal Hands?  If you answered yes to all of these questions, or if your Daddy is just plain bro, it’s time to take his bro-ness public.

Why, you ask?  Our frenemies over at Brobible.com are putting down their lacrosse sticks and Jager Bombs to publish “My Dad is Bro,” a bro-blication that will go on sale nationwide in May, 2011.

In order to make that happen, the bros are looking for picture documentation of bro-daddies everywhere. Yes, you supply a pic and your dad could go down in bro infamy! In case that’s not intriguing enough, if your papa is printed in the book, the editors of BroBible will send you a free copy for Father’s Day!  I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a pretty amazing (and free!) gift to fork over to your father instead of a car wash and Pine Forest car air fresheners. Read More »

According to an article on Gawker, there are only three types of students left in college: the snob, the dropout, and the cheater. We at CollegeCandy found this analysis to be total bullsh*t spewed by someone who hasn’t seen the inside of a lecture hall in 10+ years rather flawed, for it omitted several all-too-common college students.

Based on our own scientific research and findings (read: actually being in college), we have decided to share the stories of the most obvious of Gawker’s lost stereotypes.

These are their stories. [Insert Law and Order 'ching ching' sound here.] Read More »

Brobible, my favorite website in the whole world (ahem, gag me), never fails to spout tidbits of bro wisdom.  Case in point: today they tackled the issue of female body hair and how it is completely unacceptable.

Now ladies, I’m assuming everyone here is up on their personal grooming regimen.  While I by no means endorse waxing every part of your body until you resemble a baby prostitute, I think we can all appreciate that some things need to be taken care of.  That being said, I think the bro POV is especially harsh and clearly these fellas are choosing to ignore all the…er, unpleasantries…they often bring to the table (or the beach, or the bedroom, or the gym).

Back hair
Yeah, that mess happens.  Just because you can’t see it when you look in the mirror doesn’t mean we can’t, gentlemen.  You want us to wrap our arms around you and beg for more?  Take care of the sweater you’re growing.

Unibrows
Come on, you look like a Turkish cab driver.  Tweezers can be your friend, too.

Your armpit hair
It’s like a Chia pet under there.  And you know that move when you grab us in a playful headlock and we laugh like we’re enjoying it?  Well, that mini-bush you’ve got is rubbing all over the back of our necks.  Whether we’re good actresses or simply mature enough to accept you for who you are…you’ll never know.

Nose hair
Sure, it may hurt, but if I’m willing to put hot wax on my vagina to please you, then take one for the team and tweeze those spider legs coming out of your nostrils.  Not feeling so manly?  Mini-scissors can also work wonders.  Something.  Anything.

The Rape ‘Stache
For those guys who can’t grow full-on facial hair.  It’s those few stray hairs that grow around your mouth or under your chin.  You’re like a thirteen year old going through puberty, except you’re 25 trying to look like Burt Reynolds.  Throw in the towel, it’s not gonna happen, Champ.

Toes
Feet should not be hairy.  Case closed.

Ears
If you’ve got it goin’ on in your ears, I don’t want to know about it.  Then again, if you often get mistaken for the Missing Link, I probably don’t want to know you in general.  Sorry.

[Everyone’s got a morning after story (though most don't include campus-wide makeout tours) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]

I think we can all agree that it’s exciting when you run into someone wearing your university’s logo/mascot/colors when you’re far away from campus. You instantly wanna give them a “Go [insert team name here]!” before high fiving them and talking about all the wonderful things you have in common.

Or, in my case, going back to their dingy sublet and cab-of-shaming it home the next morning.

I’m currently living it up in Chicago, doing the whole summer internship thang. Last weekend, a few of my college girlfriends came to visit and I planned a big night out for all of us. OK, so maybe I just bought a handle of Skyy and figured we’d stumble to whatever big-city bar was closest to my studio sublet. Whatever. Details.

So we drank some vodka, did the obligatory “Party in the U.S.A.” dance (twice for good measure), then drunkenly navigated our way to a new sports bar that had opened up down the street. We were making our way to the bar (“SHOTS!”) when I spotted a boy wearing a hat with my school’s logo on it. Nevermind the fact that said hat was perched on his head at a 45 degree angle (read: he was a bro) or that he was was way skinnier than me, I approached him and gave him a hearty “Go team!”

Fast forward an hour and we’re making out in the corner. Read More »

[Every week, CC and John will bring you some of the wierdest, funniest, saddest things he hears on his college campus.  Join the Overheard revolution!  Leave your own overheard convos in the comments.]

“Is that your phone?”

“Yeah.”

“You have a pink phone?”

“Mmhm.”

“Is it, like, your girlfriend’s phone?”"

“Nope.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.”

Found in a dining hall, on a piece of paper shoved into a napkin dispenser:

“Students! Rise up! Class riot today, 3:00 in the courtyard. Refreshments will be served.”

Two in the morning – a pair of legs is poking out of a broken window. Two guys in striped hipster hoodies are standing nearby, craning their necks to look in.

“No, no,” say the legs. “This isn’t going to work. I’ll still be locked out, I’ll just be locked out inside.”

Ten or so sweaty people in t-shirts and tank tops are clustered around a cooler. One guy lifts the top off the cooler and dumps some colored powder in.

“What was that?” asks one, confused.

“Nothing,” says the dumper. “Just drink the Kool-aid.”

There’s a commotion outside, in the hallway. I poke my head out. A man is sprinting down the hallway with his sweater unzipped, a rhinestone necklace bouncing on his exposed chest hair, and his mouth wrapped tightly around a beer bottle. Read More »