Adios Nostrildamus

I suppose I am not the best neighbor in the world. I don't greet my neighbors, know their names, or even who all lives there. I have never given them cookies...herpies either. But I do have vague awareness of some of them.
Like the party boys next door. They play their stereo too loud, too late...like 10 o clock when I am trying to sleep. So I pound the wall, shout at them...they also have played the Door Ding Gnome symphony on the Eclipse's door. That is going to cause some major problems pretty soon when I send my minions to deal with them. It will not be pleasant.
Despite their rudeness and destruction, they are not...or were not...my least favorite neighbors. Oh, no. That dubious honor belongs to my downstairs neighbor. The man who has kept me awake longer in a more disgusting manner than anyone else I have ever encountered.
He has nasal issues. I don't know if they are allergies, dust mites, or he just enjoys blowing his nose. What I do know is how loud it is. Thunderous. Think the climax of the 1812 Overture. Think the conclusion of the Fort Vancouver fireworks. Think the cheer heard in Boston when the Red Sox beat the Yankees...and then the Cardinals. It is LOUD.
Even worse, it is predictable. I know that every night he was going to play the nose fluglehorn for a while. It would be one thing if he unleashed a couple boogers and moved on with his life. But no no...he had other plans.
The groteque symphony of the nasal passage cleansing would go on for a half hour...an hour...sometimes two or three times that long. And it would wake me up. It would wake me up from a sound sleep. It succeeded where my ex-wife failed when she was feeling it...in other words, the decongestant explosion was LOUD and obnoxious.
I tried to combat it. I ran the washer and dryer. I would turn on the dishwasher. I would dribble a basketball around and jump up and down on the floor shouting sweet neighborly pleasantries through that floor such as, "See a doctor already...can I suggest Dr. Kevorkian?"
One day I encountered him for the first time ever. I had slept maybe three hours that night because the nocturnal nose tuba assault had fired off about 11 and again around 3. So I looked him in the eye and said, "Suicide will clear that up." He was so stunned he did not reply and to be honest, I don't know if he caught the gist.
Regardless, his audible assaults on my sensibilites were almost predictable so I started calling him Nostrildamus. I still think it is one of my favorite glosses ever.
Tonight when I got home I noticed all the shades were drawn, the apartment was clean...Nostrildamus is gone. Long live Nostrildamus. Now tonight maybe I can finally get my sleep. I just have to blow my nose first.