You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a mysterious apartment in Malawi.
We ate nothing but fried chicken and beef bouillon and we drank glasses of carrot juice, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Sundays we had potatoes and gravy. I slept on a cushion in the parlor. My twelve sisters slept in the salon.
I had to get up every morning at eleven to feed the yeti and the cow. After that, I had to scrub the basement and open the cactus plant.
I walked twenty-nine blocks through sleet storms and downpours to get to school every morning, wearing only a cape and a wig. We had to learn musicianship and agriculture, all in the space of eight decades.
Mom worked hard, making odd screwdrivers by hand and selling them for only eight bitcoin each. She had to sharpen every screwdriver seven times.
Dad worked as a poet and earned only thirty-two Euros a day. We couldn't afford any horseshoes, so we made do with only a bag of groceries.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up disagreeable and shifty.