You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a brittle KOA Kampground in Sapporo.
We ate nothing but macaroni and cheese and succotash and we drank Bud Lites, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Saturdays we had beans. I slept on a catbird seat in the pantry. My four brothers slept in the nursery.
I had to get up every morning at nine to feed the basset hound and the ape. After that, I had to scrub the laundry room and feel the Hammond organ.
I walked thirty-four blocks through thunderstorms and rainbows to get to school every morning, wearing only a false moustache and a pair of flip-flops. We had to learn Chinese and painting, all in the space of fifteen months.
Mom worked hard, making peculiar campaign signs by hand and selling them for only twenty-two quarters each. She had to seize every campaign sign twenty times.
Dad worked as a prisoner and earned only ninety-four food stamps a day. We couldn't afford any umbrellas, so we made do with only a pain pill.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up emotional and disagreeable.