Sahndringham or Hahvard, the world’s grahndest locations were Jeffrey Epstein supplicant centers, full of people peeing themselves at the prospect of moolah from the captain of the Lolita Express.
Writers at the Harvard Crimson have selected some real beauts among expressions mixing memory and desire from a swath of Harvard éminences. The Harvard prof quoted in my title, now hiding out in LA, hits all his marks: Fond memories of our lowly origins before we got fahncy; reminders that since we come from the streets we don’t give a shit about any fucking justice system (cue Jets Theme, West Side Story); loyalty pledge.
At once poignant and hilarious, a wee legal assistant to Epstein’s best beau The Dersh strives earnestly to answer Epstein’s odd inquiry about transporting minors for sex. “I’m sorry I was a little confused about what you were asking on the phone,” he wrote to Epstein. The lad is clearly trying to get up to speed on the dirty big boy world into which his massive LSAT score has catapulted him.