Tuba playing neighbor

I used to live in a duplex — a house divided into two apartments, each having its own entrance — thus I shared a wall with my neighbors. This wall that we shared was so thin that I could hear almost everything my neighbors said and did. Their family consisted of a young mother and father, and they had one son, who seemed to be around the age of primary school. This son of theirs played the tuba. Of course, whenever he practiced, the noise would bleed thru the wall. (Even if our wall had been thicker and better insulated, I likely would have been able to hear him practicing; for the tuba is not exactly the daintiest instrument.) This annoyed me, so, each time the boy started his routine, I would retaliate by pounding on the wall and yelling horrible, abusive things. Once, I threatened that, if he dared to play another note, I would grab him by his hair and hurl him bodily to South America. I figured that this would terrify his family, because they had the look of people who had never visited anywhere outside of Bloomington, which is where we all lived. 

Then, one day, this kid and I happened to be leaving our individual apartments at the same time; so, after locking my door, I hastened over and clamped my hands down on his shoulders, spun him around so that he was facing me, stared right in his eyes, and said as follows, in a menacingly slow voice: 

“I think the tuba’s a stupid instrument. I’d like to mute whoever invented the thing. Listen, lad: Back when I was in school, whoever played the tuba was considered disreputable. Nobody liked such a person. All of us cool kids would laugh right in their face and then kick their tuba down the stairs. Do you know what our catchphrase was? It was: ‘I’d rather wear Zubaz than play the tuba.’ (In case you don’t know, Zubaz are a brand of pants that are unfashionable.) I’m not joking: I’d even advise you to switch over and play the flute — at least that instrument is charming (it can literally charm snakes), and it was played by ancient shepherds who were poets. But I’d be ashamed even to be seen standing next to that blasted tuba. It looks like a sculpted brass profanity. Actually, that’s its only interesting aspect. Seriously, tho: abandon this path that you’re on. I’m warning you, I’ve already told your classmates that, if they see you hefting that tuba around in marching band, they should pelt you with wet tissues. Don’t be a dunce. Give up that instrument and, instead, go hang out at the mall: Find a girlfriend, get married, join a good church, and become a missionary to one of the lands that hasn’t yet heard of Saint Paul’s Christ. Just think of all the souls that you’ll be saving from eternal punishment. (Eternity’s a long time, let me tell ya.) But, most importantly, stop with this tuba nonsense. Alright? I’ll let you go now. Have a nice day at school. Wait, here’s some cash for a taxi — I might’ve made you miss your bus.”