If you’re looking for major brownie points from your tailgating crew, or if you just want to win over the hearts of every carnivorous, beer-chugging dude on campus (and who wouldn’t???) try these wings on for size!

Nothing brings a crowd together like a hearty plate of buffalo wings, especially a crowd of rowdy football fans looking to nosh on something hot and tangy. This all-time bar food favorite is easy to make, and fun to share, especially when double dipping comes into play. This recipe allows you to make your treats as spicy as you like, so either curb the fire breath or BRING ON THE HEAT!

Note: This recipe calls for 24 wings. Adjust as necessary Read More »

The primal sense of empowerment I get from the act of performing roadhead on an unexpecting driver is the top reason I’m a fan. (Asking for service usually results in the service station being closed for the season.) I realize I probably shouldn’t imply all this in one of my first CollegeCandy posts, but rest assured, I’m no roadhead addict. I’m very selective; in fact, my satisfaction is truly only the result of a singular victim.

Being dirty is always a turn-on. Unexpectedly being dirty is an even bigger turn-on; plotting your move between interstate signs and fluctuating traffic, precisely calculating your plan in an almost algorithmic poem. Knowing that you’re about to pounce on your victim as he’s pondering hot wings, crapping at the next rest stop, and while his left testicle is falling asleep crushed upon the relentless seat. Sure, guys are disgusting, but we clearly love them to please them.

The first glance communicating the coming act is the most powerful, letting him know you’ve been strategically planning your sexual endeavor. Though you’re interrupting his man fantasies of dynamite and dinosaurs, he’ll be pleasantly surprised and uncontrollably aroused as you crawl across the seat, ass perked up, and doing whatever naughty things below the belt that drives your victim-of-choice over the edge. Read More »

I don’t do sports. I don’t play them, I don’t watch them, and I most importantly don’t understand them. I still get basketballs, footballs, and blueballs confused. Until I was not-so-gently corrected by a friend, I thought Tiki Barber was the name of a Hawaiian hair salon. So it comes as no surprise that I not only don’t participate in watching the weekend football games, but I actually go out of my way to avoid them.

My roommate and I have an understanding: I leave the apartment when she watches the Eagles game and she leaves the apartment when I watch Grey’s Anatomy. We both find the others’ television viewing choice ridiculous and pointless. On the rare occasion I make the mistake of sticking around during a football game I am subjected to her ear-piercing screams that are so loud and so full of energy that people must mistake her cheers for domestic abuse. When they are winning she shouts; when they are losing she screams. Either way, it’s a lose-lose situation for me.

However, she apparently isn’t the only one that enjoys the sport and over the years I’ve had to endure several games. By several, I mean two. I’ve learned a few things along the way: Read More »