The Oboezoo

I'm on a train, and someone a few seats ahead of me is quietly listening to some music that is driven by an instrument that I can only describe as a mix between a toddler playing the oboe and a drunkard giddily humming into a kazoo. The oboezoo is being played hectically, at a pace that reeks of panic and desperation. It sounds like it could be the music that accompanies a man wildly stomping on an anthill; at first he's just trying to destroy the home of these hardworking creatures, dancing about like a giant in the throes of a petty power game; very quickly his vindictive stomps transform into the panicked kicks of a man whose feet and legs are being swarmed with ants.  

"Get off!" he cries as he propells his legs downward to rid himself of these angry insects, all to the beat of that chaotic, mind-grating, never-ending oboezoo solo.