• Wal-Mart shoppers rioted over a $2 waffle maker. Reporters are ecstatic over the news. I mean, they knew there would be stampedes, but nothing quite this exciting!
• There was some kind of balloon parade in NYC yesterday. I think it might have been a one-time thing. So you should look at photos now, because this parade might not happen ever again.
That’s right, when she arrived to school dressed up for the day her fellow students crowded her classroom door, shouting for her to come out so that they could rape her. As she was escorted out, the male students screamed “Puta!” and “whore!” while grabbing at Arruda and attempting to take cell phone pictures between her legs.
The next day Arruda was informed through an ad in the school newspaper that she was expelled, not even given the courtesy of being called and informed of this directly. Their reason for expulsion? Her dress provoked a “collective reaction in defense of the school environment.”
And what environment is this exactly? One where the male students can do whatever they feel like? Threaten women with violent and disgusting acts like rape? Leave class and start rioting in the hallways without even a slap on the wrist? Not only are they not being reprimanded for their outlandish behavior, but they are actually being defended by the school, all while this poor girl is made out to be a criminal. And for what? Putting on some eyeliner and wearing a cute sweater-mini to class? 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 »