[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.]

Two guys, in the dining hall, sitting over empty plates:

“What are we doing tonight?”

“Dan’s probably going on a beer run. I think there are a few parties up at the apartments. I wanna get crunk.”

“Definitely, man. Gonna rock it.”

After a moment:

“We’re playing Magic tonight, aren’t we?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Two girls at a party:

“It’s not ‘yes’. I’m drinking. It can’t be yes if I’m drinking.”

“Can you just say ‘yes’ now?”

“But I won’t be be able to say ‘no’ later.”

“You wouldn’t say ‘no’ anyway, would you?”

“No. No, I probably wouldn’t.”

Nearby, the boy with his arm around one girl looks terribly uncomfortable.

One frat boy, from across the library: “Burrito?”

Many frat boys, holding burritos: “BURRITO!”

“So, like, bondage?”

“No, no. How about this. We pretend the bed is a rocket ship, and that we’re all astronauts. And we can only talk with our short-wave radios. And every time we talk dirty, we have to say ‘over and out’.” 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 »