You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in an ordinary flat in New Orleans.
We ate nothing but apple pie and cotton candy and we drank glasses of milk, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Tuesdays we had beef bouillon. I slept on an ottoman in the boiler room. My five brothers slept in the attic.
I had to get up every morning at three to feed the shrew and the chicken. After that, I had to scrub the salon and hide the stack of papers.
I walked twelve yards through typhoons and hot, sunny days to get to school every morning, wearing only a bowler hat and a wig. We had to learn psychology and nutrition, all in the space of two years.
Mom worked hard, making bent dishes by hand and selling them for only twenty-four million dollars each. She had to spin every dish eight times.
Dad worked as a telemarketer and earned only fifty-one ha'pennies a day. We couldn't afford any whoopee cushions, so we made do with only a toilet seat.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up crafty and annoying.