You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a modern mansion in Costa Rica.
We ate nothing but cornbread and pot roast and we drank shots of bourbon, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Wednesdays we had pecan pie. I slept on a buffet in the living room. My six brothers slept in the basement.
I had to get up every morning at nine to feed the wolverine and the magpie. After that, I had to scrub the den and enshrine the can of shaving cream.
I walked twenty-three furlongs through palls of doom and dust storms to get to school every morning, wearing only a girdle and a diamond bracelet. We had to learn agriculture and oceanography, all in the space of ten eternities.
Mom worked hard, making well worn boxes of candy by hand and selling them for only eight pennies each. She had to swirl every box of candy twenty-three times.
Dad worked as a park ranger and earned only seventy-four cents a day. We couldn't afford any watering cans, so we made do with only a stick.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up gallant and disgusting.