BERKELEY, Calif. – As Berkeley students once again struggle with the endless labyrinth that is Dwinelle Hall, one man has emerged champion, remarkably finding his classroom within mere minutes; the location of his girlfriend’s clitoris, however, still remains a mystery.

“It was no big deal,” shrugged a bashful Justin Lawry to a roaring sea of fans. “I sorta stepped through those doors and, I don’t know, I just had a gut feeling. Something deep within my primal instincts almost seemed to sing to me; next thing I know I’m taking a right, another right, a left, another right, another left, walking up two flights of stairs, crawling through the tunnel that connects the north and south wings, taking a left, climbing up a ladder, taking the slide down the other end, and taking another right. Boom. I was there. I made it to my discussion section 45 minutes before everyone else, including my GSI.”

While the crowd of fans who had gathered around Lawry cheered and awed at his tale, his girlfriend, Amber Min, remained quiet.

“It’s totally fine,” she said lightly. “Justin and I have been dating for about eight months now. It’s been great. Super great.” She gave a tight smile. “It’s funny though! Like how he just soared on through Dwinelle in under two minutes yet still hasn’t managed to ‘figure out’ how to give me an orgasm. It seems that Dwinelle is actually less complex than my vagina. Isn’t that just the funniest thing ever?” Her smile hardened. “I provide plenty of guidance and instruction, by the way. Plenty. But that’s never been enough, it’s always ‘too complicated.’ Really. Just so funny!” 

The only other person who seems to understand the intricacies of Dwinelle Hall is Pat Rick, a member of the custodial staff who has been cleaning the building for over forty years.

“What people don’t understand,” said Rick in a low tone, “is that She’s not simply a building.” The dim blue lights of his basement office cast an eerie glow. “A building is a physical, tangible thing. It is concrete. It is unmoving, unfeeling. This thing you folk call ‘Dwinelle’– She is not a building.” The shadows on his face deepened. “The folds of her walls are nothing but a mismatch between your three-dimensional perception and her seven-dimensional existence. She has nine other floors you’ve never even seen. The mysteries of the Universe are contained within Her. She is All, and She is Nothing.” The lights flickered in a way that made the office seem to warp in shape. His stark white grin was the only thing that remained unchanged, like a lantern bobbing in a jet-black sea.

At press time, the Berkeley Physics Department was overheard discussing the black hole that may or may not have appeared in Dwinelle’s ground floor women’s restroom. Take caution bears!

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