Are you a midriff-baring teen from Paramus who recently had your fake ID taken away at B.E.D? Blame Vanity Fair media crotch Michael Wolff. Or, rather, his daughter Elizabeth—a "slight, loafer-wearing Brearley brunette" youth-culture reporter at the New York Post.

As Isaiah Wilner (yes, that one) notes in his slightly premature obit for Chelsea's W. 27th Street in this week's New York mag, Post Sunday editor Lauren Ramsby dispatched the younger Wolff to chronicle all the drunk, underage riffraff vomiting on themselves in West Chelsea. Her resulting front page exposé, "Dead-Drunk Risky World of 27th Street Horde," led the NYPD to erect sobering flood lights and checkpoints on either end of the street.

Of course, the story did have everything. Says one anonymous Post-ie: "It's linked to a murder. You have the villain: club owners. They're giving alcohol to underage girls. And then you have law enforcement falling down on the job. You have the city-bureaucracy aspect, you have the commerce aspect, you have the stricken family losing their child, you have a little sex involved because she was raped. It can't get any better." Unless, you know, you're Jennifer Moore.