Crime Novelist Writes Up Annie Le Case, Forgets We All Already Know

In (almost) record time, one Stella Sands missed the nationwide memo. This week, she has released (in paperback) the complete, gory, exaggerated tale of the late Annie Le‘s untimely death in the form of Murder At Yale: The True Story of A Beautiful Grad Student and a Cold-Blooded Crime. Aside from crafting long-winded titles and maintaining a name that might as well be an Antiguan club resort, Sands also excels at forgetting that Yale, the Le family, and a nation of 300 million have, frankly, heard it all. See if you can detect any novelty in her blurb:

Annie Le seemed to have it all. A beautiful graduate student at one of the world’s most prestigious universities, she was also deeply in love. But just days before she was set to get married, Annie went mysteriously missing…and her fiancé started to fear the worst.

Good use of hook-words: “love,” “prestigious universities,” “mysterious.” Yet, if she’s going to exploit a tragedy on time, we suggest she arrange a rendezvous with Mavis Beacon and learn to type a lil’ bit faster. We give her a D+.

Thank you, class – that’ll be all.

Penn Professor Looks for Someone to Profess His Pen, Is Still Single

Apparently, this guy isn’t the only sexhog twiddling his thumbs for some online company (amongst other appendages). Thanks to Under the Button, we now know that professors are in on this whole “world-wide-web-is-for-more-than-just-Proquest” thing too, especially those burning with the Jungle Fever. We’ll let you read this for yourselves:

He’s still on the market (read: Craigslist), so pull on your hump-me heels and mini-skirts, non-white and mixed ladies! A few things you should pull from this posting, before your first date:

1) Prof. Pennetration has some sexual history – he’s experienced – so, if anything, don’t appear too desperate!

2) Prof. Pennetration apparently likes vertical straddles at some point on his dates.

3) Prof. Pennetration is secretly Justin Timberlake, which means you should secretly be Ciara.

Summertime really does draw out the cave dwellers.

Penn Alum Competes For a Paletteful of Glory, the Redemption of Television

Remember television? At least, remember the television that wouldn’t cater to the brain-dead, the attention-deficit, the emotionally-challenged, and the desensitized? Ever since Gossip Girl hit the Ivy college wall, it has spiraled into oblivion (kind of like Saved by the Bell: The College Years). ABC Family (and all of its naive college depictions) has always been a moralistic, cringeworthy disgrace. Exhausted, reality television and even internet porn (maybe) have recently sought to scoop the cream from the crop, looking for the next big star (clothed or otherwise) with some Ivy history to spice things up.

Enter Abdi Farah, a 2009 Penn graduate and general hotshot. He’s one of the fourteen groundbreaking contestants on Bravo’s new reality show Work of Art. The premise? Simply: filmed art – with deadlines – with a grand prize of bucketfuls of money and a Brooklyn Museum solo exhibition.

IvyGate first had this reaction: Fine art for the masses?!?! What is this, the New Deal?

Actually, though, it is a pretty Big, New Deal. Out of thousands, Abdi, placed into what seems to be television’s first (beneficial) cultural revolution. Abdi, the youngest contestant at 23, likes to paint Obama. And himself. If there’s some sort of mockery of “intraracial” confusion or allusion to Abdi’s sexy-presidentesque ego, we can’t say. What we do know (and all that really matters): the kid can paint!

Television isn’t this and this packaged, oleaginous bullcrap  anymore – or, maybe, television’s just so innately crapular that it was inevitable it smudged its soiled fingers all over the last fringes of “elite culture.” Either way, where this hopelessly ambitious Penn alum failed, let’s just pray Abdi can succeed and prove television, once again, worthy.

Yale Fan? Yeah, Right

When’s the last time you asked yourself what Yale really was?

“Never.” I know, right!?

But, really, what is Yale? Sweet honeysuckle tossed on the ashy remains of New Haven? Or that place where Darth Bush and Bush Skywalker guzzled lager and ran around in “secret” cloaks? What’s in its name? What does it conjure? The face of Elihu, the eponymous British East India Company governor? Nausea? Indigestion?

For Yale Fan, 18, it’s just his name. And, of course, he’s headed to college. With all the eighteen years of his name as a backdrop, you could easily guess – and bow in wrongful shame. Yale Fan is going to Harvard – which translates to Yale Fan will hear boos at roll call, at cold breakfasts, at football games. One sip of Ciroc (read: Popov with its label swapped) too many and Yale will find himself in a raw match of geek fisticuffs, crimson-nosed in the Harvard gauntlet.

We at IvyGate, first and foremost, commend Yale for his bravery in the face of four potentially disastrous years. We then cringe when realizing that, despite his name, his anticipated late nights, parties, Harvard pootie tang are at zero anyway – he’s a physics major.

Keep the ruler/protractor/calculator handy, buddy. They’ll be out to get you.

And the Poison(ous to the) Ivy Award Goes To…

An I’m-relatively-positive-it’s-a-porn-pseudonym “Cooper.” We at Ivygate have a penchant for hastily avoiding gooey gossip like this, but a well-exposed tipster’s turned us on to what could possibly be the world’s smartest porn-star. For this “stunningly handsome hunk” on (we’ll spare you the hyperlink), who claims to be “East-coast born and bred” and an “ivy-leaguer,” stripping down seemed more bang for the buck than suiting up. What could possibly drive “Cooper” to porn? Well, what could possibly drive Kurt Schneider to this dirty film? No one’s really meant to answer these questions.

We’ll remain skeptical – at least until someone can prove us otherwise. And Cooper, some advice: razors can shave even where you can’t see.

Harvard: You’re On Candid Camera

What does a Harvard alumni really look like? At your best, Matt Damon, David Foster Wallace – hell, even Mark Zuckerberg…if they had stayed. At your worst, this (he could’ve made it, folks). Sorry, let’s revise this question: what does a Harvard alumni really sound like? The yawning, oleaginous mouth of a sesquipedalian aristocrat? Close enough. Minus the “sesquipedalia.”

The Harvard Crimson recently interviewed the 2010 graduating class and alumni from 1960 forward to make some repetitive claims about the inherent school-wide disappointments of fifty years of America’s finest men (and now women). What’s changed? Apart from women, African-American people – check. Congratulations!

What hasn’t: watch it for yourself –

Props to the pink booty shorts. You’re making strides, Crimson.

Penn Alum Looks to Inherit Oprah Legacy, Forgets She Lacks Charisma

Some people just never learn about self-worth…especially clueless Penn alum like one Jordan Zucker. Despite four years of top-notch Philadelphian fraternal passion, Ms. Zucker has resorted to joining other P-college attendees, digging up her meals out of the fleshy, sour trash can of reality television by auditioning for Oprah Winfrey’s Search For the Next TV Star competition. Ms. Zucker aims her bottomless bimbo glasses of wine at the Oprah throne, and at best, splashes just a drop of incompetency on her royal toes. Her brilliant idea? A female-oriented sports-themed fantasy-football cooking Dr. Seussian nightmare. Rhymes aside (and multiple empty wine glasses, faux Bohemianism with a trophy guitar,cheesy beach backgrounds, etc.), her belief in her “experience” in television – which boils down to a guest screenshot on Scrubs and some DVRed Food Network special – leaves me wondering what concoctions of self-humiliation and self-illusion are brewed on Penn campus. Oh wait, I already know.

No offense, Jordan. But literally – No. Offense.

Yale’s Bomb Squad Rushes to Action, Bombs

Rich Shapero. Google him, because, guaranteed, you’ve never heard of him (and we refuse to hyperlink him). His recent courageously self-published book, Wild Animus, apparently covers for an extensive underground bomb ring. Well, at least for Yale bomb squads.

The brave men and women of Yale Security and their subsequent (completely necessary) Bomb Squad Division – the guardian angels against a bevy of local New Haven-based terrorists (aka Gin and Juice) – do make mistakes. Apart from failing to mention their very existence before Tuesday, Yale bomb specialists recently confused scattered cardboard boxes near Yale’s Beinecke Rare Book Library, full of Rich Shapero’s burgeoning, unrecognized artistry (aka unsold books), for explosives. Sure, perhaps, they were just taking precautions. But…perhaps, really, they were looking for some recognition from the Academy. Or biting off of recent Times Square gallantry. Or just bitterly reacting to this oh-so-verbose review of Shapero’s epic novel:

Reading Wild Animus is like climbing, skiing or intense adventuring. It puts you in the ‘time is now’ state.

On second thought, such evidently raw, contemporaneous (and necessary) literature is the perfect excuse to take the bomb-bot for a stroll. And besides, rolling, vibrating machines attract the ladies. Good job, gentlemen!

Ying, Yang Yak with Feminists

BREAKING NEWS: the Ying Yang twins didn’t go to college! The closest they’ve gotten? Galumphing across stage to slurred renditions of fratboy anthems at Yale’s Spring Fling, this Tuesday. Clad in the typical obsolete hood boy raiment (doo-rag, red colors, gratuitous night-sunglasses), they sat down, unabashedly, for an interview with Yale’s first Feminist Magazine, Broad Recognition (their first mistake) before taking the stage. Their mission: to quash much of the controversy surrounding them. They preached the values of a quality education:

Cuz nowa days, you ain’t got no diploma you can’t even work at McDonald’s, dammit!

They espoused their significantly independent brand of music:

We, our main objective as the Ying Yang Twins was to make hype songs for women that work in the strip club.

They reassured us of their sensitivity towards the disabled:

They say we was at Yale. I thought all the deaf peo ple was here cuz they said Yale. [Laughs]

They related the inherent flaws of religion (and with it, the power of the adjective):

Religious is nothing but a pawn of slavery

And, most importantly, they clarified their stance on sexuality:

If you like penis, say you like penis. If you like kitty cat, say you like kitty cat.

Most impressively, they even had time to dive into Chinese philosophy:

Yang: My brother’s more of the peace; I’m more of the war.

One-liners aside, one thing is for certain: Yalies certainly have good taste in men.

Spring Fling Penetrates Penn [PICS]

Let’s say (for whatever arbitrary reason), you’re taking a Saturday stroll in Philadelphia on a pleasant April 17th. You’re whistling, perhaps, because it’s a beautiful, sunny day. You expect to see maybe a few studious backpackers, the occasional closet-case, some of the homeless – it’s Philly after all – until you crash into the biggest shitshow on the East Coast (see picture), U. Penn’s annual Spring Fling. Yes – Spring Fling fever hit U. Penn a few days ago, tearing the skirts off of (innocent) young things and galvanizing Penn wastrels to over-imbibe for 35 years (read: beer and sex). Also, this guy has his head up someone’s skirt.

Apart from the typical fare – the girl-on-girl, man-on-keg, hand-down-shirt, eyes-too-red action – U. Penn saw itself inundated with an army of over 10,000 skinny-jeanned-soldiers. Their mission: to inhale the sweet smoky nectar seeping out of Snoop Dogg’s promising nostrils (Kid Cudi and Shwayze, the other two acts, were probably sipping it up too). And they succeeded. Really, that’s enough said.

Miss the Penn-etration? Check out the antics, courtesy of Guest of a Guest, after the jump:

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