You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a hand-carved loft in Armenia.
We ate nothing but Froot Loops and chicken chow mein and we drank daiquiris, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Tuesdays we had ice cream. I slept on a crib in the family room. My seven brothers slept in the game room.
I had to get up every morning at six to feed the wolf and the cheetah. After that, I had to scrub the oubliette and switch the contract.
I walked twenty-two light years through rainstorms and hot days to get to school every morning, wearing only a pair of overalls and a burqa. We had to learn Greek and hotel management, all in the space of eighteen lifetimes.
Mom worked hard, making narrow tin whistles by hand and selling them for only nineteen doubloons each. She had to hide every tin whistle eleven times.
Dad worked as a guitarist and earned only fifty-one doubloons a day. We couldn't afford any potatoes, so we made do with only a needle and thread.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up depraved and evil.