• Brown: Dancing days are here again.
  
• Columbia: “For Crystal, intimacy was a set of rules. She fucked only under certain conditions: heels on, hair down, eyes closed, dress up. Sex was like clockwork and she loved having good timing. And there was no better time to get laid in the stacks than the week before winter break. Or so she heard.“
• Cornell: “We recognize the need to adapt in the game of college recruitment, but we’re not about to downplay the diversity of Cornell’s undergraduate colleges to attract a few more satisfied applicants. Maybe we’re just grumpy in our old age.” Right: you juniors and seniors are like so old.
• Dartmouth: “A relative drop” in arrests at Winter Carnival. 3 is less than 3 dozen, right?
• Harvard: “Barackula.“
• Princeton: “It was terrible to have to hose as many as we did.” The Prince’s self-serving, sickening ode to the Tower Club. 
• Penn: Let’s just say Amy will not be Baracking the vote.
• Yale: JuicyCampus tearing Yalies apart!

Imagine you’re a member of a female a cappella group from Yale. (Bear with us.) You’re on tour in L.A. You show up for a gig organized by HBO sex host and Yale alumna Susan M. Block, where you sign mysterious, Borat-like release forms. After the concert, your hostess serves drinks and asks you to dress up in weirdly revealing period costumes and pose for a camera. At this point, our sketch-dar would have been overheating. Unfortunately for Yale’s Whim ‘n Rhythm, all this didn’t quite register — or if it did, they didn’t want to insult their hostess.

And now there’s a DVD.

It’s pitched on Block’s website as a sort of caught-on-camera “Yalies Gone Wild” that’s somehow also “hilarious and heart-warming.” We hear the video may or may not contain full frontal nudity involving a Whiffenpoof. (If you don’t know, don’t ask.)

Needless to say, the Whim’n are miffed. And rightly so: Block was clearly dishonest (although, to be fair, it was a sex palace). She’s even been peddling the DVD on the Yale Alumni Magazine’s website. So far the group has been unable to get their names removed from Block’s site. (We’re trying to keep everyone un-Googleable, but just know it features the stunning Ickieray Udeautray, aughterday of Arrygay). But before you feel too bad for the ladies, consider that they don’t see a problem with pocketing 30 percent of the DVD’s revenues. Whether that’s hush money or not depends on your definition of the term; either way, expect some spicy confirmation hearings 40 years from now.

Anyway, we don’t expect much repentance from the woman who brought us the seminal film “Dr. Susan Block’s Squirt Salon.” If it makes the Whim’n feel any better, they’re astonishingly good. Here’s hard video proof (beware sudden cutaways to Block’s face):

UPDATE 10:48 p.m.: Just when we were looking forward to never wasting bandwidth on Susan Block again, a reader informs us that, as usual, Yale’s Rumpus did it first and did it better. In 2005, Jon Carlo Bruttomesso penned an account of his traumatic interview/photoshoot with Dr. Block and her merry band. The original version of the piece supposedly contained passage too scarring even for Rumpus’s jaded readership, so they toned it down to merely horrific. Read it at your own discretion (PDF).

There’s nothing we love more than professorial flirtations with pop culture, be they as straight-faced as Margo Jefferson’s On Michael Jackson or as laughable as Cornel West’s LP. Now comes Jed Rubenfeld: Yale law prof, Freud enthusiast, and, we hear, the next next Dan Brown.

His new book, The Interpretation of Murder, has the makings of a hit. Historical backdrop (turn-of-the-century New York), controversial figures (Freud, Jung), and some of the freakiest sex scenes to drip from an Ivy Leaguer’s pen since that adjunct got desperate for cash. Here’s a quickie from the NYT Book Review:

“[T]here’s a hot girl strung up from the ceiling, being suffocated with a silk tie and cut with a razor while she’s coached by her abuser to moan in pleasure. Her torture is shamelessly eroticized: ‘She cried out, her back curved in exactly the same arch as the great windows, her raven hair flowing down her back …’ “

Later:

“‘From above, Nora watched him light a cigarette in the flame of her bedside candle, place a knee against her supine form, and extinguish the glowing cigarette directly on her skin, down there, only an inch or two from her most private part.’”

Yowza! All that privacy law making you antsy, Jed? If this slobbering review is any indication, Rubenfeld can soon trade his crappy day job for the glamorous life of a Hollywood screenwriter. (Or at least the kind whose stuff airs at 10 p.m. on channel 512.)