Archive for June, 2011

If You Get Your Stom­ach Pumped, You Can Write All About That in Your Es­say

Girl to guy: You should­n’t be wor­ried about get­ting in­to med school. You should be, like, wor­ried about get­ting al­co­hol poi­son­ing over the week­end.

Over­heard by: Brent

There Were Al­so Squirt Guns!

Girl to an­oth­er: It was a gay bi­cy­cle rid­ers’ par­ty, com­plete with gay­ish cel­e­bra­tion mu­sic and lots of cham­pagne corks pop­ping. And by the looks of the con­stant make-out and grop­ing ses­sions, I’m pret­ty sure those bot­tles weren’t the on­ly cylin­dri­cal things spew­ing liq­uids last night.

At­lanta, Geor­gia

And I Do Mean Every­thing

Boy #1: I’m gonna take out my iPhone and post these pic­tures on YouTube.
Boy #2: You can’t post pho­tos on YouTube.
Boy #1: Fine, I’ll post them on Face­book.
Boy #2: You don’t have a Face­book.
Boy #1: I’ll e‑mail them to your mom. She posts every­thing on Face­book.

Cen­tral Is­lip, New York

Over­heard by: Val

Like Hamburg­er Comes from the Pig Part

Eight-year-old boy to moth­er brows­ing meat counter at the gro­cery store: Mom, what’s veal?
Moth­er: It’s just an­oth­er kind of meat.
Eight-year-old boy: But what kind of an­i­mal does it come from?
Moth­er, mo­tion­ing to her chest area: Oh, I think it’s from the lamb part of the cow.


Will You Put Your Hand Down My Pants?

Guy: I will get you any­thing you want, and I mean any­thing, if you walk back from lunch with your hand down my pants.
Girl: But we are al­ready walk­ing back from lunch, sil­ly.
Guy: Start­ing now, if you walk back with your hands down my pants, I will get you any­thing.
Girl: Any­thing?

Over­heard by: re­al­ly?