Yes, the rumors are true. Campus has buzzed with talk of a time when Wriston dwellers could access the Ratty through underground passages. Some have dismissed this as mere folklore but I do not lie when I tell you they exist. The etchings on their walls are the stuff only a genius could dream up. If you put your ear to them, you can hear stories of a different age, a hallowed past, filled with secrecy and whimsy. But I shan’t lead you down them until you present me a legally binding marriage certificate lawfully wedding me to my beloved Christina Paxson.

I walk these tunnels nightly, children. I pound my fists on the walls in heartache, for my bride is not yet mine. I so desperately wish to show Christina Paxson my perspective of campus, but she is chained to a life aboveground, in sterile offices and buildings. I want to propose to her on one knee, deep in the dirt, down in the muck of the underground Ratty tunnels. I want to declare my love for her as soil eats at my jeans, tell her I’ve roamed this campus for ages, preserving it for her. I’ve even begun carving out a tunnel for us to live in where we can build our lives together. But I cannot show that to you – nor can I show you the rest of the tunnels – until I can show her my undying love.

Listen to the grounds of this campus, young ones. Put your ear to the grass and hear the stories of previous Brown students and their antics deep below. Hear the walls sing the songs of an earlier age, of a time when the New Curriculum really was new. Now hear the walls sing a wedding march. This is what I need before I can show the world how to find the tunnels. All I ask is that Christina Paxson commits to a life with me where we can live happily together in the Earth, under the Ratty, where we truly belong.