Some day there is a house. In the basement of this house there is a black clad man, well in his cups, sporting indecisive facial hair and having no concern whatsoever in regard to starting a sentence with a prepositional phrase while working out rudimentary, out- of- key harmonica parts to old Pearl Jam songs and dancing around like a lurching jackass. This morning, however, there is only a nerdy apartment, a ridiculous and editorially offensive run- on sentence, and some pretty bullshit fiddling- around with tense.