You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in an imitation palace in Huntsville.
We ate nothing but pie a la mode and crab rangoon and we drank painkillers, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Fridays we had clam chowder. I slept on a canopy bed in the oubliette. My two sisters slept in the dungeon.
I had to get up every morning at six to feed the chimpanzee and the yak. After that, I had to scrub the linen closet and bury the Frisbee.
I walked eleven centimeters through gales and sleet storms to get to school every morning, wearing only an Eton jacket and a bandana. We had to learn botany and hygiene, all in the space of seventeen hours.
Mom worked hard, making greasy cages by hand and selling them for only five Euros each. She had to soak every cage twenty-six times.
Dad worked as a scientist and earned only ninety-five Euros a day. We couldn't afford any bullets, so we made do with only a hand puppet.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up stylish and apoplectic.