Upstairs

The boys who live upstairs have some of the most annoying habits I've ever witnessed. It's like living with a spoiled younger brother who always gets his own way, except you can't ever exercise the familial privilege of shouting at him and locking him in his room. The boys upstairs are very fond of believing they are singer-songwriters. Unfortunately their version of singer-songwriter involves too many late '90s covers and a completely stupid amount of foot stomping. I should add that the foot stomping rarely, if ever goes with any actual rhthym, making it hard to tell whether it is actually foot-stompingly good sex, poor dance coordination, or some weird combination that I don't want to think too hard about. And this shit goes on at all hours. It appears that when the Muse tells you to play a Clap Your Hands Say Yeah cover (they're quite fond of "Upon this Tidal Wave of Young Blood") at 3 am, well, you just GOTTA play that shit.