As long as the door of my Cocoon is slam shut against his unendurable, glottal dissonance occurring through the delta sleep, I don't mind my uncle's sadistic stertor symphony that adorn our nights (and most of our mornings). A consequence of chain-smoking for more than 30 years, his intestines must have already lost the plot yet I wonder how the hell they haven't pulled a strike together by far and decided to suffocate him to end both their misery and save our stratosphere! No matter how familiar I may be with this torture, there are moments when I cannot stand it.