Radar magazine delivers a shocking blow to elite education by including an Ivy Leaguer in gonzo-journo story “Inside the World of High-Class Hipster Hookers.” Seriously, $40K-per-year education and Sally Straight-A grows up to be a hipster?

Just kidding! The shock is that she became a whore:

After graduating from an Ivy League college in 2006, Kelly says she was thinking about going to grad school to become an English professor. She’s decided to put that aspiration on hold, though, while she rakes in the equivalent of an investment banker’s salary selling sex.

I’d make a joke, but I used them all up on a nearly identical story last March.

As it turns out, finance is something of a sister industry to the whore-o-sphere. The three main characters get into the business of vag-selling at the behest of some “sleazy banker types” they meet at a bar. Whore #1 gets sleazy banker’s business card, and before you know it she’s making $3000 a thrust! The ladies frequent “douchebag spots in the Meatpacking District” and turn themselves into an unstoppable trio of whoredom. Each girl has a special personality niche, just like in Charlie’s Angels:

These days Heather tends to book with more bankers and Wall Street types, Olivia with a lot of retired hipsters and club owners, and Kelly with men from the art world. During a typical week they each entertain at least three different clients—and sometimes as many as nine. “I don’t mind sleeping with two guys in a night,” Kelly says. “Just as long as the second client isn’t rough with me.”

Ivy League Angel has all the time management skills.

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Sure, Harvard students may not have much actual sex.  But they certainly like to think about it!  From sex bloggers to sex magazines to actually buying sex services, the good old ivy is crawling with horny yet mostly virginal overachievers.

The latest addition to this slew of slutty scholars is a certain Lesley R. Winters, whoever she is.  You see, Lesley R. Winters is merely the name behind last semester’s awkwardly titillating literary phenomenon on campus.  The actual writers of The Stableboy have chosen to remain anonymous.  (tips!)

The Stableboy is a steamy farce of a Victorian and oft-times-homosexual romance novel.  Part One was published in five installments in The Arts section, and is to be continued after the summer.  The basic plot is something along these lines: there is an unhappily married couple, the woman is dissatisfied; the man is a sleazy lush.  The new stableboy on their property is a hot young thing that manages to catch the lady’s eye…and then her husband’s.  Budding romance - and budding homosexuality - ensue in a prose that’s so self-consciously imaginative, sensual and innuendoed that reading it (or listening to it being read to you by The Crimson’s new audio option/robot voice) is pure, indulgent fun.

Here’s what I mean, from the fifth installation:

The yellow firmament above the vast courtyard was assuming an ominous gray. The play of moisture and heat in the air made the supple boughs wag. The tumultuous wind tore violently at her hair and thrust its cold cruel fingers through the laces of her bodice.

Then came the rains, first in scattered drops that teased her skin with their heated lightness, then in a warm torrent that laved her arms and head and parted the shirt from her bosom and thrust its tongue into her bare-stript heart. She struggled, gasping, in the direction of the stables.

When she came into the stable, she was thoroughly wet. She was unraveled.The mares and steeds were pawing restlessly at the ground in their stalls. “Stable Boy!” she called. There was no answer.

An instant later The Stable Boy strode through the door. He was soaked from the rain, and as he entered he pulled off his shirt in one fluid motion and tossed it to the ground. In the gray light of the stable, drops of rainwater could be seen sliding between the Olympian muscles of his shoulders and back.

“Why don’t you take off that dress?” he suggested coolly, his biceps bulging as he raked his fingers through his darkened curls.

With the recent news that our favorite sex blogger will be taking the next year off, let’s be glad that more Harvard students have decided to hop onto the media bandwagon of impossibly lewd prose.

After the jump, a link to The Crimson’s audio version of The Stableboy for your listening pleasure, and more pictures of Harry Potter’s Daniel Radcliffe trying to be a sexy stableboy and failing/succeeding miserably. Just cause the pictures are too good not to post.

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Oh how easily we do forget.

When Brown freshman and native Canadian Harrison Zolnierczyk was charged earlier this year on accounts of “child pornography,” the commentators on Ivy Gate went wild.  There were cries for justice, for retribution, for glimpses of the footage he put on photobucket of his girlfriend getting down and dirty on his friend/hockey teammate Bradley Harding.

You ivy league plebs demanded that the law (albeit Canadian) be put into effect, saying that he deserved to go to jail for secretly directing underage porn without his girlfriend’s consent, and that he deservedly would never get this off of his record.  In particular, one commentator who goes by the name Irony wrote, “What a foolish mistake he made and now that will cost him for the rest of his life.”

Well, ironically, as the Brown Daily Herald recently reported, Zolnierczyk’s record will be as clean as a whistle by the time he graduates.  In April, Harry pleaded guilty to “two counts of electronic voyeurism,” and in June was sentenced to three years’ probation with conditional discharge.

This means that if he can keep his hands on his hockey stick and off of his video camera for the next few years, there will be no legal record of this crime.  All he needs to do is change his name (let’s be honest, there are too many consonants in that thing anyway) and no one will ever know.  Zolnierczyk will be back in school this coming fall, and he may even be playing hockey.  Better yet, Brown’s Vice President for Public Affairs and University Relations Michael Chapman made this statement to The Herald:

“The conditional discharge means the court found no charges to pursue. We expect him to return this fall, and his conduct at Brown has raised no concerns.”

Gotta love Brown: you can pass/fail all your classes, read whatever the hell you want, and maybe even create an academic major in something like “electronic voyeurism.”  Hey, it’s no concern!

–JULI MIN

Apparently, someone who goes to Penn actually knows how to talk to Girls. And he’s willing to teach! Steve “Danger” Dingley, Penn ‘08, has been labeled “Philly’s Own Love Guru,” but I sincerely hope his services are better than that awful movie.

Steve charges $40 a session to coach hapless Penn students who are awkward with women and turn them into hapless Penn students who are less awkward with women. This is a good idea!

From what I know about him (nothing) he doesn’t seem all that sleazy, so there’s really no downside here. In fact, more people should be doing their part to protect the world from socially inept nerds.

A preemptive note to his haters: you’re just mad because he’s making money! Stop hating!

After the jump, a more revealing photo of the love guru and a testimonial from one of his clients that shows he can help with even the “smallest” problems.

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The world works in mysterious ways: Sometimes bad things happen to good people. Sometimes bad people are really pretty. And sometimes that guy who hits on all the girls at the bar, the one who uses phrases like “my mojo” and “the sweet spot” and “When it Rains, It Whores,” actually has a big dick. Quoth Spec’s sex blogger, The Big Bad Wolf:

I’ve always been told I have a huge cock. When I was 14, my first girlfriend to engage in heavy petting started a rumor that must have helped me to get quite a few handjobs in high school. She told everyone I was enormous.

A 14-year-old girl’s expertise on male anatomy. Unassailable.

Wolfie is theoretically anonymous, but seeing how Commentariat’s “author” pages use suffixes featuring the author’s first initial and last name, and seeing how the Wolf’s author page uses the suffix “/cchima,” we’re guessing the Big Bad Penis belongs to this guy. And if it doesn’t, some poor kid named Chikodi is going to be pissed that the world now thinks he masturbates chronically.

More on The Big Bad Wolf’s penis after the jump!

UPDATE: Whoa, touchy. Commentariat pulled everything we linked to, except the author page. (We try to back up sources, but seriously, every single post? No, I did not save them all.) Commentariat is a branch of the Spectator, which takes itself pretty seriously, so altering the record is a bold move.

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We did a mini-post yesterday on the NYT article “Students of Virginity” featuring Harvard’s True Love Revolution, Lena Chen stuffing her face with ginger cake, and our own esteemed IvyGate commenters. Today we considered writing a lengthier post deconstructing the article blow-by-(not that kind of)-blow, but then we thought, why rush this? If we’ve learned one thing from TLR it’s the value of “taking it slow.” So instead we will deal with this in painstakingly small increments, gradually, pleasurably, one baby-sized scrap of hilarity at a time. Now presenting hilarious scrap #1: TLR co-president Leo Keliher (’09) in one of the more glorious photo/caption combos of our time:
 

Is that even a dorm room, or did he import a 12C monastery to sleep in? Leo’s 15 minutes of rather embarassing fame after the jump.

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From the New York Times Sunday Magazine article about Ivy League abstienence societies:

Chen’s perspective on society, and Fredell’s, was borne out in the aftermath, as people wrote in to Ivygate, calling Lena Chen a “slut,” a “whore,” a “total whore,” a “whore whore slut.” And then someone by the screen name of Sex v. Marriage wrote in to say that “most guys out there would rather end up with a girl like Janie.”

My favorite? “Whore whore slut.“ We love you guys. Even if you are real bastards sometimes.

More BREAKING NEWS on the New York Times‘ far too generous approach to True Love Revolution to come.

First things first: Jacob extends a half-hearted apology to the dude Angela Rasmussen (C’GS) screwed figuratively but not literally. Ryan Subaran, you might be a totally cool guy; or, you might suck. We really have no idea, because we recently discovered that Angela is batshit crazy.

But at least her blog is fun! 

In an email sent yesterday, Razzy thanks us for posting about her and notes,

Just one thing, though.  I HATE that picture of me. … I would simply like to humbly propose some alternatives.  They are equally ridiculous and certainly don’t qualify as a glamour shot, but I don’t wince every time I look at one of them like my lab photo.  Considering I’m totally in love with myself, that says a LOT.

And then she attaches five pictures of herself, three of which feature nudity. Um, hello, strange woman who posts topless pictures of herself on her blog and claims “most men are intimidated by me.” Are you aware that embarrassing nudie pics are usually sent to us by the crazed member of a relationship, not the one claiming righteous indignation? And girl, if there is anything worse than a puple wig, it’s a matching purple mini-toga that reveals your entire right breast. And if there’s anything worse than that? It’s taking a picture of the ensemble, then emailing it to us.

After the jump: Razzy’s five preferred photos and all the rest of the crazy that Jacob somehow missed, probably because he is a man, and for some reason men don’t catch these things until way too late, like when they are lying naked in bed with one and suddenly realize, oh shit. I can’t go down on this girl. She is crazy.

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Looks like our frienemy Lena Chen isn’t the only one with ex-boyfriend grad student stalker issues. We now bring you the sad saga of Angela Rasmussen, a Columbia GS, who, in her words, is “tired of Columbia dicking me around and telling me they’re going to handle it, when it has come to my attention that my department’s administrators have been lying to us both to avoid creating a big scene.”

Basically, on her blog, Angela called out a certain Ryan Subaran”for refusing to perform oral sex on her and demanding it for himself nevertheless, insisting his “culture” forbade his going down on her. Saying he went apeshit is a bit of an understatement. Here’s Angie’s account of the story.

We went to my hotel room and proceeded to strip down, when things went awry. Since we didn’t buy any condoms, he refused to have sex with me. I was like, “No problem, we can do other things.”

He responded that on account of his being Jamaican, he doesn’t “do that.” When I established that “that” referred to performing cunnilingus, I informed him that he wasn’t getting a free blow job from me. Actually, I don’t think I specifically said that, but I somehow put the brakes on our hooking up. I am not stingy with the fellatio, but in the words of the inimitable Robert Sylvester Kelly, “I ain’t goin’ down on you if you ain’t goin’ down on me.” Blow jobs are challenging! They really hurt your jaw and you don’t know the meaning of “epic struggle” until you’ve had one with your own gag reflex. Giving a solid blow job is hard work, and I don’t just hand them out to any asshole who wants one, especially someone I might never see again who I don’t know and don’t really care to impress.

After reading the post, Subaran - who at this point hadn’t been called out by name - went nuts.

Several days later, Ryan apparently decided to check out my website, and discovered the entry. He marched right into my lab’s tissue culture room to unleash hell. One minute I was loading mouse cells into a MACS column in the hood, and the next, Ryan was inches from me screaming, “YOU FUCKING CUNT! HOW DARE YOU SMEAR MY NAME? YOU WHORE, YOU CAN’T FUCK WITH MY CAREER!”

Subaran then posted an insane, insane diatribe on Razzy’s blog. Angela then tried to get the Columbia administration to intervene, but to little avail.

After the jump: Ryan’s JUICY response.

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Gawker’s already linked to this video of Harvard students “debating” sex on World Savior Al Gore’s start-up cable channel Current, and we thought it’s particularly relevant, as many of you are now on spring break thinking: are Harvard students having sex? The answer: probably not, and if they are, it’s gross, disgusting sex. There’s so much nerdiness here it’s adorable/frightening.

Watch closely: there’s Katarina Cieplak-von Baldegg (is this seriously even a name? Remind me not to marry her so my children can avoid the curse of having twenty-seven hyphens in their name), the founding editor of the Harvard sex magazine H-bomb talking disengenuously about how the magazine is as much “not about sex” as it is about it (the real reason for the magazine? As this is Ivy League, it’s probably just a resume-builder - according to Gawker, Cieplak-von Baldegg has since been hired at Current).

And then there are the Weirds at True Love Revolution: notice out the way green-shirted guy is rubbing his girlfriend’s hand! He literally can’t let go. I mean, it’s so rhythmic, it’s practically like sex! Who needs sex, especially when you can hold and caress your girlfriend’s arm in a super-creepy way like all day long!

Only at Harvard. Right?