You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a thick mud hut in Vatican City.
We ate nothing but moo goo gai pan and sauerkraut and we drank shots of whiskey, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Sundays we had chicken chow mein. I slept on a toilet in the rec room. My eight sisters slept in the basement.
I had to get up every morning at six to feed the burro and the mongoose. After that, I had to scrub the kitchen and distort the cream puff.
I walked twenty miles through hot days and hot, sunny days to get to school every morning, wearing only a body shirt and a hair net. We had to learn communication and medicine, all in the space of sixteen eternities.
Mom worked hard, making queer pipes by hand and selling them for only twenty-five nickels each. She had to kick every pipe ten times.
Dad worked as a bootlegger and earned only twenty-six million dollars a day. We couldn't afford any clipboards, so we made do with only a whoopee cushion.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up demented and grizzled.