YALE — No More Open Season on Priveleged Poon Tang!

Well, the Ivy League just got a whole lot less inviting, if that’s even possible for the likes of us drooling, mumbling, illiterate and ill-bred menaces to society over here at WHACK! We always knew, growing up in the hinterlands of Appalachia, amidst the cow patties and Chevy trucks, that the hallowed halls of Yale University would forever be closed to us; but we had always dreamed that the legs of its smarty-pants undergrads might not be. The thought of all that brilliant booty, tucked safely away in Connecticut beneath layers of upper-middle class privilege, white guilt, and even whiter cotton panties has always driven us mad and inspired us to keep WHACKing away at our keyboards and our crotches, hoping that someday, someone at Yale would recognize our latent genius and give us all professorships in… I don’t know… satire, or sexuality, or American Studies, or something. Whatever they teach up there. And then it would be open season on privileged poon tang! Fresh freshman flesh would be the plat du jour! Extra credit? Helping us in our side venture: the filming of Ivy League Lust, a XXX look at the seedy underbelly of hot, girl-on-girl dormitory action…

But alas. Alas! Our dreams have been forever crushed: The March/April issue of the Yale Alumni Magazine recently announced that henceforth, Yale faculty are officially banned from having sexual relationships with undergraduate students. At all. Ever. Deputy Provost (Editorial Note: Has anyone ever had any idea what the word “Provost” actually means? We’re guessing “Prudish dork who never got laid in undergrad and is now taking out his frustration on all those who come after him… or cum at all.”) Charles Long, who has wanted to pass this rule since 1983 apparently, says that Yale has “a responsibility to protect students from behavior that is damaging to them.” The revised Yale handbook says that undergraduates are “particularly vulnerable to the unequal institutional power inherent in the teacher-student relationship and the potential for coercion, because of their age and relative lack of maturity.”

What in the Sam Hill is going on here? Are these Ivy League Losers trying to say that eighteen year old undergrads at one of the top universities in the world, whose IQs are usually greater than their body weight, are not equipped to make good sexual decisions? Are you out of your mind, Mr. Long? The chicks at that school are so intelligent and so entitled that if anyone stepped to them like, “Hey, I’m the world’s foremost expert on modes of temporality in Spenser’s The Faerie Queene, you wanna bone for good grades?” we’d assume they’d be like, “Bitch, you know I got way more theory on the deconstructionist view of time according to Calidore in Book VI than you, don’t even pretend like I need to suck your cock for an A!” But, in our minds, she’d then suck his cock because she wanted to, because she’s real slutty like that.

But the thing is… like… dude, have you not seen any barely legal porn? Any “Teens Like it Big” movies? Any “first time” DVDs? Do you not know that in the United States of America, an eighteen year old man or woman is an adult and therefore has the right to make his or her own decisions regarding his or her body and sexual encounters? They are adult individuals, free to make their own choices… except the one about drinking, which is a damn shame because according to what we’ve seen on MTV’s Spring Break for the past however long we’ve been alive, drinking really helps undergrads make entertaining decisions. And, look, eighteen year olds are hot. And they’re horny. And the whole reason that people become professors in the first place is not because they love Spenser but because they want to fuck hot and horny teenage girls. We know that saying you taught at Yale is a serious feather in your cap and all, but we’re damn sure that—Yale being one of the few remaining high-profile schools without an outright statement of prohibition on professor-undergrad banging—was the whole reason the school has gotten any new fresh blood on its faculty in years. And we’re pretty sure there are a few young spitfires in the ranks of freshmen who were hoping to get some hot up-against-the-chalkboard action. Handsome Dan is not doing himself any favors by telling any aspiring new profs they can’t touch the student body.

One thing’s for damn sure: when Yale comes knocking on my door in a few years, begging me to come teach undergrads about representations of the feminine in post-feminist, queer porn scenes involving double penetration with strap-ons, I will so not be taking the job. —Miss Lagsalot

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