Click through to find out how the banging goes in NYC, who this damned Cowboy is, and whether his linguistics are quite as cunning as he claims.

CornellWatch: I saw you wrote a guide to having good sex in hotels on HotelChatter. Have you been sex writing/blogging at all since you ended your run with the Daily Sun?

Jenna: Yes! But nothing public — or at least, nothing with my name attached to it yet. There may or may not be a blog floating around out there with all the snippets that never made it into the column or occurred after the column ended, but it’s written completely anonymously. I figure as long as I’m 21, I might as well record all this shit before I turn into an old bag of wrinkles and stop getting laid altogether, which could be in the next year or so judging by the amount of time I spend tanning.

Speaking of getting laid, we heard from IvyGate that you wrote in to Savage Love about how guys viewed you as a trophy conquest instead of a prospective girlfriend. Has that trend continued in New York?

NO! Thank GOD. Life on the dude-front has been largely back to the pre-column days. Leaving the campus allowed me to leave behind all the bullshit that came along with being a campus character, like the interrogations and the dudes who just wanted to sleep with the sex columnist. I have my last name and a little bit of my dignity back, which is all I can ask for.

But are you still getting some play-play?

Significantly less, but whatever. I think I get a little bit more respect when people aren’t aware of the goings-on between my legs. Also, it’s nice to be able to look back on your college days and talk about how crazy they were — but once you’re out in the real world, you have to give some thought to growing up. Did I really just say that? Jesus.

You’re talking a lot about growing up. Have you found anyone to grow up/old with?

I may be growing soft three months out of college, but let’s be real for two seconds… I havent changed much, and the dating pool has gotten larger and, if you can believe it, older, and even a bit dorkier than it was at Cornell. So, short answer? No. Long answer: nnnooooo.

Longer answer: Boooringgg.

I wish I could be like, I’m engaged, suckas!!! To the Cunnilingus Cowboy!

WHO IS HE?

I won’t name names, but he was — and still is — a very close friend of mine. And let the record reflect that I do not give shitty head.

The record currently reflects a dismal 5.75 out of 10. Where do you rank yourself?

8. I don’t know, Evan, where would you rank me?

5.75 of course… You know I don’t never change my stance once I’ve taken a position. Right back atcha: where do you rank his taco-tonguing?

I just giggled like a little girl at the phrase taco-tonguing, so clearly my points about growing up and shit hold no truth.

Imitation is the sincerest flattery?

Something like that. But anyway he gets a zero. Fail.

Epic fail, perhaps? Harsh. Let’s talk about your time as Sun sex columnist extraordinaire. Now that you were ranked in the top 6 of the UWIRE 100 and won a Sex-Positive Journalism award, there’s big shoes to fill. What are you thoughts about Liana Mancini, our new “Shocker”?

Full disclosure: I’ve worked with Liana for the last couple of years on the Vagina Monologues, so I know she won’t take any shit from anyone and will command the respect that any sex-positive woman deserves. I can see that she’s going to be taking the column in a different direction than I did, and I give her major props for making the column inclusive in ways that I never did — I know she’s frank, and I know she’s a fierce bitch… and as far as I’m concerned, the column is in good hands. As long as she doesn’t wake up one day and decide to go all Carrie Bradshaw on us (SO unlikely), I think she’s going to kick some ass.

Is there anything wrong with Carrie Bradshaw besides the fact that she could NEVER NEVER NEVER afford that apartment and that her character has those horrible “typity-type-type bad-pun-bad-pun-ban-pun, question mark?” endings?

Well, she didn’t maintain her highlights, so she always had dark roots, for one thing. And really, she never talked about sex except for that one time the politician tried to piss on her and she wrote about how weird and awkward he was for having a fetish. And she was fickle and flaky and always asked questions at the beginning of each column and never really answered them. Oh, and by the way: She wasn’t real. And if she was real, I guess I would fault her editor for letting her introduce every column with “I couldn’t help but wonder…”

So we’re agreed: Carrie’s writing style needs to die a fiery death. Enough of flawed women… Describe your ideal man. And your sexytime with him.

Oh shit. [Long pause.] I’d like a taller-than-5′8″ writerly type with an affinity for good music, good books and a fucking decent sense of humor. In bed, he’s gotta be in charge. In life, not so much.

Okay then, fill in the blanks: My ideal guy will buy me a _____ at the bar, then we’ll go home and eat _____ in a manner reminiscent of _____ and I’ll _____ his _____. Then he’ll put me in the _____ position and he’ll fuck me _____.

My ideal guy will buy me a DOUBLE VODKA SODA WITH 2 LIMES at the bar, then we’ll go home and eat CHOCO-COVERED STRAWBERRIES in a manner reminiscent of GOSSIP GIRL and I’ll TURN OFF his iPHONE.

Then???

I am not answering the second part. I’m not going to give up ALL of it.

Fair enough. Any new euphemisms for the penis? Wrinklebeast, peen, etc. slay us, but we want some new ones.

If we want to keep it seasonal, I’ve been using Summer Sausage a lot lately. Kicking it old school with weiner, also… tubesteak. I guess I’ve been on a meat kick.

Tasty. Finally, what’s up with the kissyface you make in pics, like the one from your personal blog profile (at right)? Are we sad, happy, from Staten Island? I don’t know what to feel for you.

I am very happy, actually. It sucked leaving Cornell, but things are pretty baller these days. I’m doing what I want to be doing (writing), going out all the time, and living in the big bad city. Shit’s good. There is, indeed, life after being a big slut at Cornell.

Can’t get enough of Jenna? Check out her personal Web site or stalk her Tumblelog!

But we want to know: who is the author, the so-called “Cunnilingus Cowboy”? The Sun provides these little hints at the bottom of the story:

The ‘Cunnilingus Cowboy’ is a senior. The Sun granted him pseudonymity to protect his identity, but has verified, to the best of its ability, the facts of the article. The article is printed with Jenna B.’s permission.

Pseudonymity? Fuck that shit. We faithful readers want answers.

After the break: a poorly thought out theories of mine as to who this disrespec’in’ cowboy is.

Possible Bachelor: Mark Coombs

Because his whole journalistic identity can be summed up as: I’m-such-a-Southern-Republican-that-this-unseasonably-large-cowboy-hat-is-permanently-glued-to-my-head. Mark also says “y’all” a lot. Mark writes choppy sentences that make him sound like you’re back in the good old days when everything was simple and colloquial. Here’s a little sample of his Southern hospitality:

Whoa, whoa, whoa — wait a minute. We’ve been back for two weeks and I haven’t once dropped by the Opinion section to give you even the tiniest tip of the Stetson yet?

Well.

Aren’t I the rude one.

Let me start February off right, then, by forgoing a tip and taking my hat off to you entirely.

I have, after all, been slanting the same sombrero in your direction for almost two years; that you want to keep me around for long enough to make that a whole two years surely deserves a little more than the standard salutation.

Marky Mark may have disguised his choppy sentences by leaving out the adorable paragraph breaks that so defined his Texan accent, but there may be some traces:

I got a drink and went over for the obligatory greeting plus boob graze, and we were off to the races. She started regaling me about some book she’s gonna write and slugged back another double V&S in about 3.8 flat. I thought to myself “now’s as good a time as any.” We left.

The walk home was an exercise in personal strength and agility. I had to try to balance my own drunk ass, along with hers, while she tried to rip down her third cigarette over the course of about 20 minutes. Danger.

So after nearly getting stabbed in the face with her Marb Ultra Light and dragged to the sidewalk because her heel broke, we made it to her bedroom (I’m guessing this is where one finds the notorious “Bedroom Eyes,” but no such luck). She said something odd to one of her roommates and the bedroom door sealed us in.

Blah, blah, blah, undressing, kissing, slightly ripped undershirt.

The first two paragraphs end with those short conversational flourishes that Mark seems to usually break off into its own paragraphy. The third one’s flourish is separated off like his usual syntax.

Before I overanalyze anymore, let’s just say Coomb’s Facebook profile pretty much pronounces this theory dead on arrival: his “Conservative,” “Southern Baptist” personage is dating a UMiami co-ed who seems to be his high school sweetheart. Besides, he’s a sworn “Huckabeliever.” Would he really cruise a one-night stand in ‘Rullies’? I faintly recall there’s something in the Bible against that….

Thoughts on who our real Slim Shady is? Email us at watch@kitschmag.com.

PROPS: to the Daily Sun’s Jenna B. and Julie Block, for writing a cleavtastic piece that “plunges into the implications of our boob fixation.” After seeing a girl whose “chest was ostensibly on its milky way to exposing a bit of her caramel-colored niblets,” the fearless femme fatales show some cleavage themselves in order to gauge the reactions. They also explore the Western world’s obsession with boobage as well as its social and political “showings.” Classic, gals–I’m a big fan.

DROPS: This week’s “The Bias Cut” with Martin Ambrose. A couple preliminary notes: first, we don’t get your column’s name and we never will; second, looking like a transgender MTF is not fashionable; lastly, we think the Sun’s copyeditor hates your column so much they won’t touch it. I have to admit—this week’s column is not terribly bad content-wise. Martina discusses swimsuits in preparation for Spring Break, recommending decent brands no one has ever heard of (Ralph Lauren, J. Crew, etc.) and providing the unheard-of advice not to wear Speedos like “your sixty something year old dad who passes out by the pool with the New York Times in hand.” What really annoys me about his column isn’t its insufferable banality but its awful lack of a copyeditor… some “gems” follow:

“Let’s start with the men out there. You’re job isn’t so bad.”

“And no, a speedo isn’t a bathing suit unless you’re an athlete whose sport requires it, European and over forty, or you’re name is Arnold and you’re a politician in California.”

No, no, no! I think this is an apropos time for a “And you go to Cornell?”

Might we add that we heart the lascivious Jenna B. (Bromberg). Jenna has received a lot of flack from various sources for her sex column, but she seduced us with her seemingly bottomless pit of imaginative sex terms. (In the words of one fan, “She had me at ‘wrinklebeast.’ “) Students resent that she goes there with flair and confidence, calling her a “big slut with an over-inflated ego” and hating on her “ugly” sorority. She was even derided on IvyGate as “icky” for various reasons, among them admitting that the condom got lost in “the murky depths of [her] vag” the first time she had sex. We can understand that not everyone takes to devilishly raunchy turns of phrase (taming the one-eyed trouser snake, anyone?) or cuttingly honest treatment of squeamish subject matter (having sex while you’re menstruating), but do what everyone else does when they see something they’re not into–turn the page!

It has become almost a cliche to hate on Jenna B., and we’re tired of it. It says something when you’re so “disgusted” by someone that you go to lengths to bring it up and when it’s up, you go to lengths to make sure your fully disgusted opinion is heard, loud and clear. The girl is clearly not for everybody–namely Christians who are “saving themselves,” pansexuals, or your parents–but give her a break!