how to stop snoring Man

Tanya hung her coat on the rack, ascended the stairs, trudged down the hallway, and pushed open her bedroom door. It had been a long day and a lot of patients. No dinner, just a direct route to sleep.

Except there was a strange man sitting on her bedside frame. “Tanya Quine,” he drawled, “I’ve been waiting for you!” There was an irritating singsong-y quality to his voice.

“Who are you?” asked Tanya. “How do you know my name? How did you get into my house?”

“Through the window.” The man indicated the open window with a haughty gesture that suggested to Tanya that it was futile to point out that her bedroom was on the second floor, so she didn’t. “And I,” he let out the tiniest chuckle, “am snoring Man!”

Tanya gasped, as snoring Man opened his jacket to reveal a spandex suit with a menacing sM emblazoned on the breast. “You scoundrel—”

“Betcha didn’t expect me here!” cackled snoring Man. “The one person your powers are useless on, and I’m going to ruin your night! Jon LaRocca sends his regards.”

“Get out of my house at once, snoring Man!” Tanya cried. But snoring Man had already tipped himself sideways, plopped down on her comforters, and started snoring, his feet still dangling off the side of the bed. His snores were loud, obnoxious honking affairs.

Tanya sighed heavily. She couldn’t induce semantic satiation on snoring Man, for the sounds he was making were not words, and besides, he appeared to be sleeping. She couldn’t pull him out, at least not with his heavyset figure and her limited body strength. She’d be stuck with snoring Man for the entire night, kept awake and red-eyed by one laryngeal fart every nine seconds.

She stumbled over to her desk and opened Google on her laptop. how to stop snoring Man, she typed.

Then she called the police, who arrived six minutes later to carry the rotund spandex-clad intruder out the front door on a stretcher.