You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a stolen trailer in Central African Republic.
We ate nothing but potatoes and gravy and catfish stew and we drank piña coladas, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Wednesdays we had pancakes. I slept on a dresser in the foyer. My two sisters slept in the garage.
I had to get up every morning at four to feed the finch and the lynx. After that, I had to scrub the salon and lynch the kite.
I walked sixteen feet through sandstorms and palls of doom to get to school every morning, wearing only a shirt and a pacifier. We had to learn cartography and hair dressing, all in the space of ten seconds.
Mom worked hard, making coarse microphones by hand and selling them for only eight million dollars each. She had to swipe every microphone eleven times.
Dad worked as a botany teacher and earned only seventeen shillings a day. We couldn't afford any bullets, so we made do with only a rope.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up zany and relaxed.